If I Were You [FEATURED]

6 - Alexandra

"I want a real drink before heading back home. The Bridge happens to be on the way to Brown Tower. If I bump into him, it'll be pure coincidence."

"You say something, Lessie?" Through the rear view mirror, Wendy tries to meet my gaze. When her bushy brows knit together to squint and discern my silhouette among the shadows, hundreds of lines crease her face and betray her age. Except her cheeks. Those are deceptively chubby.

With a tight smile I answer, "Nothing, Wendy. Just thinking out loud."

The fifty-four-year-old woman redirects her attention back to the traffic, but not without shooting me a knowing look. I can't fool her. Never could, never will.

The limousine's passenger compartment twinkles with gloomy Christmas colors as we pass red and green lights. It's quiet outside. Montrealers stumble out of restaurants yawning and rubbing their bellies. For most of them, the evening out will end here. However, the restless ones--like me--crave a last drink.

Six hours. For six fucking hours I looked over my shoulder, and both dreaded and yearned for Florian's proximity. Champagne did little to calm my nerves, no matter how many flutes I gulped down. Fortunately for my liver, the subject of my thoughts remained tucked away behind the buffet. I managed to stay clear all gala long, until this old douchebag harassed him. How was I supposed to ignore the anguish in his eyes?

"How was the party?" Wendy asks while weaving between cars.

"You know. Same old, same old. Too much alcohol and not enough food. People kissing my ass in the hopes I'll throw money their way."

"Did it work?"

"Of course it did. You know I can't resist endangered species."

"Anything else happened?"

I click my tongue. "Nothing interesting."

"No matter what you say, you looked like you had a good laugh with that cute blond waiter." A chuckle. "I overheard his plans. He'll be at The Bridge. Guess it's a coincidence if it's also the club you picked."

Annoyance drips from my rebuttal. "Weren't you supposed to wait in your car, like a real driver?"

"If you wanted a real driver, you should've hired one of those posh cunts instead of a friend."

"Fine. You're fired."

Without missing a beat, Wendy gives me the finger.

I take out my phone and pretend to be busy to end the conversation. After a few seconds of switching between random apps, words tumble out of my mouth. "He's no one."

"Mmh." Her tone is detached, but the impatient drumming of her fingers on the steering wheel gives away her curiosity.

"Just a clumsy boy with a pretty face."

"Mmh."

"I bought the catering company he works for."

"Mmh mmh." The second mmh is slightly high-pitched.

"And I hired a private investigator to look into him."

"What the fuck, Lessie? You're bonkers. This reeks of a harassment lawsuit."

"He doesn't know I'm his boss. I've done nothing illegal." I cross my arms above my chest.

"No, but buddy, you're walking a damn fine line."

With an exasperated sigh I withdraw into silence. Ten minutes later Wendy parks in front of The Bridge. While the people queuing outside the club gawk at the limousine, I shrug off my tuxedo jacket and put on the one I lent Florian. As expected the boy's perfume lingered and teases me.