When Harry met Z

Oh, yes, she was a journalist alright.

-Have you ever covered the army?

I asked her while we took shots. It was at least two or three in the morning, the bar was still full with late customers. The bartender seemed unbothered, used to that scene. 

Some people played cards, darts, or just watched television.

-Yeah, buddy, I covered wars. I was embedded once with the US marine in Afghanistan.

-Oh yeah. How was that? 

I said that, in part, with curiosity, in part, thinking to myself, how on earth this woman, this tough woman was sitting in some random bar talking to me? There was something about her that gave me confidence to keep talking. I liked her angst, how she was angry like I was. She was angry at her job, I was angry with my lover. But both seemed to collude, somehow, don't ask me why.

-I just remember we were given one week to stay with the US army, we got access to everything, and we talked to the privates, they told us stuff. But, they didn't really know much. We just tried to portray their everyday lives. Nothing more. Tough assignment.

- I don't mean to make a comparison, eh, Barbara. I really don't want to compare. But, sometimes I feel that's my experience. With the difference, that we became rich and famous.

- Wait a second. Who are you? What are you talking about? Also, should I turn on my recording device?

-I am not talking to you as a journalist. I just want to ask you a few questions. You see. I was once in a band, world famous, we had hundreds of thousands of followers, millions of fans worldwide. Everywhere we went people waited for us. I have played in the largest venues, here and everywhere...

- Wait. Who are you? Are you drunk? I am usually a good judge of character, I feel you are not lying to me.

She said that with her eyes straight piercing into mine. I could see she was a good journalist. Despite the many drinks we had during the night, she was still lucid. She was still able to reason, and she was ready to jump into the story, if it was worthwhile. 

I realised there was something I admired in this woman. She was a warrior. There to pick up on any sign of a story. I could be a bum, a nobody, a nutter, but there she was, listening to me.

- I was once in this band, maybe you've heard of us. "One Direction", does it ring a bell?

-F-k. What are you talking about? One Direction? What's that?

She said the name of our band slowly, as if she had NO IDEA.

Barbara picked up her phone and started googling, "O N E   D I R E C T I O N".

- Shit. There are tons of stories about you guys. Are you famous? Sorry if I don't know this shit. You know I am older, I am also not into pop culture stuff, I am a human rights specialist, I interviewed the Dalai Lama, I covered Afghanistan, pop bands not my thing. Who do you say you are?

I picked up my phone and called an UBER. Location, Malibu, my home. 

-Hey Barbara, I don't want to scare you. Am a bit drunk. Can I drop you somewhere? I parked my car nearby, but am calling an UBER. 

- Don't worry. I have an early assignment, have to cover the fire. It's crazy what is going on in this city. 

She picked herself up, and looked at me, a bit puzzled.

- Can I see you, maybe today? I mean, later today, I mean tomorrow, I mean, when you have time.

I wanted to see her again. There was something about her that reassured me. I needed to talk to someone, a stranger, someone who was used to handling secrets, I needed to confide on someone, and I wasn't religious enough to confess to a priest (gosh).

- Edwards, right? I am not sure we are in the right lane here. I am not at all following you. But, let's do this. You seem to be a nice guy. Let's meet tomorrow at 6pm here, downstairs. No drinks. You seem to have something you want to say. 

-Hey, thanks. I'd love that. You seem to have something you want to say too.

-Am going to spend the rest of the night in my office, we have a place there. See you tomorrow. Night night.

To be continued....

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