Forest of Rope

Chapter 21

It took a lot longer than he expected to find the bar. Riley began his search on the ground floor only to be kindly informed by a receptionist that he was thirty floors off target. Its actual location resided on the cusp of the building's full height, a gigantic glass cube filled with liquor and stale pretzels, facing down against the city overbearingly like a modernised observation deck. The astrodome of a glass roof let in plenty of the night sky which Riley noticed was marred with light pollution.   

'A glass of whisky please. Dry, no ice,' he said to the barman with a yawn, taking a seat.

'It's on me.'

It took a few calculating moments for Riley to react. At first he thought he'd imagined it. The voice had ambushed him from behind. Its owner sat herself down in the vacant stool next to his. She looked as old as thirty, had strawberry blond hair and a voice that belonged to the Southern States. The barman turned back to Riley searchingly who felt too polite and pressured to refuse. He gave the barman a small nod of reluctant approval and he set to work.

'And I'll have a double rum and coke,' the mystery woman added when she'd set down the amber handbag which matched her low-cut blouse on the marble counter.

Momentarily stunned, Riley thanked the woman with an appreciative smile.

'That's okay,' she replied courteously, gumming on her cherry-red lips. 'You looked like you needed someone to buy you a stiff drink.'

Riley's eyebrows shot up by their own accord.

'Don't act so surprised,' the woman insisted. 'It's written all over your face and mine too. Jet lag: It's murder. So have you slept yet?'

'I actually just got here.'

'Hot damn!' she exclaimed in a soft, tenaciously vibrant voice. 'What brings you to Tokyo?'

'Honeymoon,' he answered quickly, setting apart his crossed arms to reveal his ring.

Riley half-expected her to back off at that point but she continued brightly, unaffected by this information.

'Hot damn...' she repeated.

The barman hospitably placed their drinks on the counter.

'My name's June,' the woman said, lightly raising her glass to him, it twinkled in the fuzzily cast lamplight.

'Riley,' he said after a pause. They clinked their glasses together.

'I was married once.' June swirled her rum and cola around reflectively. 'Wasn't as young as you though.'

Riley knocked back his whisky until he felt like he was breathing fire.

'And how'd you find it?' he croaked, rubbing his reddened, clouded eyes.

'Hated it,' she answered stolidly. 'Lasted five years. It almost killed me. I got out with my life.' She downed half her glass in one sitting, as if to chase away the memory. 'I know that sounds really shitty of me but I'm sure it won't be like that for you. You're probably one of the lucky ones.'

Riley circled the rim of his glass with his index finger meditatively.

'I was never too lucky myself,' he told her openly. 'I doubt I'll last as long as you did.'

'Sure you will,' June retorted. 'You just gotta have a little faith is all. Faith in the relationship. I mean, it's too late to get off the ride now. Otherwise it really will kill you.'

'So what are you doing here?' Riley abruptly changed the subject, choking down another mouthful of whisky.

'Talking to a newlywed with insomnia.'