Fractured [SHAWN MENDES]

~1~

Tricia looked up from the highball glass she was drying when the bell at the top of the heavy oak door sounded. It was early afternoon on a snowy Tuesday, and the bar was empty except for her and Zack, the cook.

"If you keep showin' up like this, I'm going to wonder if you're sweet on me," she told the man who'd become a regular in recent months.

He ignored her friendly comment as he took a seat at the far end of the bar near the door to the kitchen. "Rye."

"Comin' right up." Patricia poured two fingers of the amber brown liquid into a glass and placed it on a white cocktail napkin in front of her customer. She knew he preferred it without ice so she hadn't asked like she normally would. "You starting a tab?"

"Thanks...yeah I am," he said as he reached into his jeans pocket to remove his wallet. He set the black credit card down and took a long drink.

In all her years of owning this bar, Tricia had never seen a black card until this client showed up. To say that The Good Luck Lounge was a dive was a compliment. It was the kind of hole in the wall that many people in Toronto overlooked when they passed by it on Adelaide Street. That didn't mean it didn't do well. The opposite was true. GLL, as the regulars called it, had a steady clientele of folks who wanted to escape the big city, work, or their stressful lives for a couple hours. Zack was an outstanding cook and the place had a reputation for some of the best bar fare in the area. Food was only served in the evening, so if someone wanted a midday drink, they had to settle for a bowl of complimentary pretzels. At night there was an assortment of hot and greasy options including burgers, fish and chips, and wings so spicy you'd feel them the next day.

Tricia went back to the glasses that the under-bar-dishwasher never seemed to dry completely. As she worked she hummed along to the music that played over the speakers mounted in each corner of the room. When the Leafs, Blue Jays, or Raptors were playing, the music went off and the TV volume was turned up, but typically the sound of classic rock filled the room.

The bar wasn't much to look at, but it was clean. Patricia came in early each day to mop the floors, wipe down every surface, and scour the bathrooms. Her father had been a pub owner in Ottawa and told her time and time again that a bar didn't need to be fancy, but the seats should be comfortable and the tables should never be sticky. She inherited his worn barstools, tables, and chairs when he passed away fifteen years ago from lung cancer and then brought them to this bar when she opened it with the money he'd bequeathed her as his only child.

Once the glasses were dry and put back on the shelves under the counter, Tricia pulled from her purse several paint chips that she'd picked up at Dulux Paints this morning. She came out from behind the bar and walked over to a swath of wall near the kitchen. Using scotch tape, she stuck the colorful samples side by side and then stood back to get a better view of them.

Her sole customer had been watching her as she did this. "The olive green is best," he observed.

She turned and smiled, surprised that he chose to comment. "You think? The bar has been this burgundy color since I bought it and it is long overdue for a change. I was thinking something bright and cheerful like that gold might be nice."

"God no."

"Why?" she asked.

"It'll ruin the atmosphere. You need something neutral and dark."

"It's not drab?"

He shook his head. "I think it'll be soothing and it will look good with the dark wood."

Tricia chuckled. "You've just said more words to me during this conversation about paint than you've said combined in all your visits. Lemme get you another rye for helping me out. On the house." After refilling his glass she poured herself a small one. They clinked glasses before drinking. "I'm going to leave those paint samples up there a bit, because I don't wanna rush the decision. I'm thinking of painting around Christmas since business will be slow."

He just nodded since he didn't want to get involved in a discussion about the holidays. He wasn't sure why he'd spoken up about the paint, and he'd regret the decision if it meant the bartender saw it as an opening to be chatty with him. He gulped down the rest of his rye and stood up. "Thanks for the drink. Let me settle up for the first one."

Patricia grabbed his black card from the register drawer and handed it to him. "Nope. It's not worth runnin' this card through."

He put the card back in his leather wallet and pulled out several large bills and set them on the bar by his empty glass. "Goodnight," he told her as he walked out the door into the cold night.

Ten minutes later, he was at his condo. "Evening, Mr. Mendes," the security guard said as Shawn walked by his station. He responded with a slight tip of his head.

Once he got up to his penthouse, he took off his heavy coat and pulled the gray toque from his head. He ran his hands over the stubble that covered his scalp since it was always a little itchy after wearing a hat so long. "I need to shave again," he muttered to no one.

After changing into sweats and an old t-shirt, he settled onto his white sectional sofa and stared out the large windows at the Toronto skyline. The view used to bring him such pleasure but now it haunted him.

"Oh my god, Shawn! I can't believe you get to look out at this whenever you want!" she'd squealed the first time he brought her to his hometown.

"Amazing, right? I love it," he'd replied, his face aching from the gigantic smile he'd had on it since he'd picked her up at the airport. "Let me give you a tour."

The condo tour started and ended in the bedroom, because she pulled him onto the king-sized bed and attacked him with kisses. "I've missed you so much," she said as she undid his belt.

Shawn let out a deep sigh as he recalled how happy they'd been back then. Was she happier now? There'd been a feature article on her and her husband in People magazine last month. The cover showed them on the beach with their baby. Everyone was all smiles but he knew she was the master of putting up a deceptive facade. She could lie with her words, her touch, and her face. It was diabolical, yet even after he knew she'd betrayed him, he continued to adore her. Even when she testified against him in court, he was consumed by toxic love. His only goal in life was for those feelings to fade so that the pathetic life he led wasn't so miserable.

He knew that wasn't possible, though.