Chapter Text
“What? But come on! Just one more!”
“No, I gotta go. I'm pretty sure Eleanor put a tracking app on my phone.” Adam said as he picked up his coat and dusted his business-casual sweater off from remnants of salted peanuts. He looked behind Owen’s back at someone, and his face momentarily changed to a more relaxed smile. “Hi there.” he told the pretty blonde who – to Owen’s knowledge – just spawned there right next to him on the bar stool to his right. She picked up her huge green eyes from the screen of her phone, and gave him a friendly nod back. Owen turned sideways to look at who’s his friend talking to. They both looked each other up casually. Yet the woman narrowed her eyes when he turned back to his buddy.
“Wait a minute. I know who you are.”
Owen looked back at her, this time turning fully with his back towards the bar. Adam gave him a glance.
“You are Owen Shore.” the blonde smiled at him like she was trying very hard not to act starstruck. She leaned her elbow on the bar and conversatively crossed her legs in royal blue heels, which matched her simple dress.
Owen sighed. He was used to getting recognized in public time to time. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times when it was a good thing. People laughed at him and the things he did in his journalism career, poked jokes at him, tried to suggest terrible ideas on what to do next… “Yeah it’s… possible.” he admitted.
She smiled wider as she took off her leather jacket that had hung over her shoulders, and she brushed through her fair locks. “You're pretty good.” That caught him by surprise. He expected a double take from her just to be sure, then maybe a mocking ‘Oh wow! What a day to meet a clown!’, but not a compliment.
“My friend’s gonna die when she gets here. We’re studying journalism at Columbia.” she added as she hung the jacket on a hook under the bar.
“Huh. Would you look at that!” Adam chimed in. “Nice.” Owen nodded, looking her up again. He was still not sure what to think or say. The sudden change in mood left him disoriented. His heart started beating a wee bit faster.
When she spoke again, her voice was like warm butter. “It’s so nice to meet someone you know. Most people we get taught about in class are either long dead or too stuck up to show up in public.” She kept eyeing him up with a smile all over her face. “I assume… not as nice as having someone not make you into laughingstock for once… Thanks! Um… what do they teach you about me?” Owen raised his eyebrows. “What was your name again?”
She beamed as they exchanged a handshake. Her hand lingered on his for a bit too long. “It’s Amy to you. They teach us that you are an example of how NOT to do journalism. I disagree with them strongly. Uplifting messaging is what people need in these times saturated with political drama, as a break from all the doom and gloom.” she chirped. Owen’s chest was swelling with a sense of happiness. “Wow. You really know how to butter one up, huh? Nice to meet you Am…”
A stern ahem cut him off. He turned his head back to Adam who was giving him a weird look. “Sorry to interrupt you, but we need to go. Come on, man we told our girls we’d be back by nine with those Christmas decorations. We have like an hour to get some…”
Owen, however, cut him off in retaliation, and added a bitter eyeroll to top it. “Nice try, man. But I'm not wasted enough to forget about Brooke going out there with that orphaned little piece of shit. You go, if you want, but at least let me finish my calamari, will you?” he reprimanded his Asian friend.
“You sure man?” Adam raised his eyebrows at him in a -I'm trying to help you here- kind of way.
The raven-haired reporter scoffed. “Yeah! Definitely! What, are you worried about leaving me alone? We’re not eighteen anymore, man! What’s the worst thing that could happen?” -Gee, you act like I'm gonna bend her over the bar the moment you turn your back. Calm your tits. I'm a married man.- he thought, wishing people had evolved to have telepathy.
His friend cocked his head to inspect Amy critically. “I'm not worried about leaving you alone, no.” She returned him the same look playfully. He gave a sceptical look to both of them. “If he starts talking about saving homeless people, cut him off.” he told her in the end, slapped a bill on the counter, and left the
blue-lit bar.
“Bye hun, love you too!” Owen called after him sarcastically, which served to earn him a middle finger pointed backwards. When his friend was gone, he turned back to Amy. “What a fun guy to be around, huh? Sorry about that. He’s just protective like that, for some reason.”
With the air cleared out, Amy slid closer and leaned in more. Just a little bit. But it was enough to make the bar feel more intimate. “Don’t worry. I have some friends exactly like that. When we sometimes go out clubbing, they immediately have to remind every guy I bump into that I have a boyfriend.” she giggled and took a sip of a drink that the bartender had put down next to her.
“Is the friend you mentioned you are waiting for one of them?” Owen teased. He swivelled around on his stool to fully face her in their conversation. Usually, he felt really uncomfortable talking to strangers off work. Without a voice recorder in his hand and his armour of truth – the suit he always wore for work – he felt vulnerable. Usually. But this woman somehow managed to dance gracefully around all the landmines that would set off his alarms. “Nooo… she's nice… She’ll be too starstruck to be mean to you.” she shot him the reassuring smile of a gay friend who’s trying to calm down their friend before their first blind date. “She likes to be late all the time, though. Hope you don’t mind staying for a moment?”
Owen glanced at his half empty glass. It was right next to his phone on the bar. The same phone over which he was trying to talk his wife out of leaving for Paris with the most perverted guy he ever met, just hours prior. The same phone that held the information about his secret plans of taking her to the city of love himself. He pursed his lips. “No. No I don’t think I'm hurried anywhere.” he said with a dose of bitterness and took a tiny sip.
The blonde leaned slightly over the bar to see his face better. “Everything okay?” She looked concerned. Genuinely concerned. Owen weighed his options. But in the end of the day, she was just a stranger still, no matter how infatuated with him she said she was. Dumping his problems on her wasn’t fair. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Personal stuff.” he sighed. “Let’s… talk- let’s change the topic. What about you? What got you into this line of work?”
She gave him a knowing look, but she let him lead the conversation. “I was an angsty teen, and I wanted to undermine the government. So I decided that I want to spread the truth. That phase of my life is long over, thankfully, but I still think it’s a good goal to pursuit. What about you? What motivates you?”
Owen laughed. Classic line straight from the journalism textbook. “I see what you did there. This has turned into an interview real damn fast, haha!” Amy laughed as well, hiding her eyes in embarrassment. “Sorry that slipped out.”
“Well, um… I wanted to be a weather anchor on TV, but I didn’t pass my math exams, so I took the next best thing where I could be out there with a mic and a cameraman. You know… so I could still be like ‘It’s real fucking windy out here, Andrew. There are homeless people tumbling down the streets’.”
Amy snorted at first. She tried to keep a straight face, but eventually her cheeks nearly blocked out her eyes when she wheezed from laughter. Her smile was so bright and genuine… It was so intoxicating, that Owen had to laugh too. Finally someone was laughing with him, not at him.
“Ohhh… that’s golden! Love it. You'd make a terrific weatherman. I never got that, though. They just read off the papers anyway. Why do they need to be educated meteorologists? Sounds like gatekeeping to me!”
“I think it’s because the audience needs to feel like the person in front of them knows what they are talking about. Yeah, they could hire professional actors, but they can’t officially give them fake titles.” Owen quickly explained while toying with his glass. “At least that is how they explained it to me when I wrote an angry letter to the board when they didn’t accept me to college.”
“Assholes. You'd be great.” she frowned.
“I’d flunk out in the first semester.” he disagreed.
“Yeah, sure… whatever… anyway, speaking about education – should I mention that I based my entire paper for media ethics around your bachelor’s paper on microagression?”
The reporter’s heart sank. “Re-really? I'm uh… flattered…” But the girl giggled. “Don’t be. You said that it’s a reporter’s job to expose without shaming. I refuted it. Shame is a useful tool.” When his high spirits wilted in front of her eyes – his shoulders and head slumped – she backtracked: “It was a great paper. I felt bad tearing it down. But I needed to brownnose the professor who hates your guts. He wouldn’t let me pass otherwise. I still love your reporting.” she put a hand on his shoulder to try and get back to him.
He gently pushed it off, looking like a sad puppy. “It’s fine. I'm used to it.” he said. “Alright then.” Amy pursed her lips awkwardly. “Maybe… how's life? What do you do in your free time?”
He relaxed a bit. “Not that I have much time… but I love reading. Balancing it with work and home life is almost impossible, though. My wife has been so busy with her gallery work recently too… we barely see each other in the evenings. I miss the quiet times.” he propped up his cheek on a closed fist on the bar. His brown eyes were resting on the bar. When given the chance to talk about Brooke, Owen loved to get that dreamy look in his eyes, like if he was out there with her in his thoughts.
As if staged, Amy’s phone buzzed. They could both see the message notification say Brianna: Sorry I have to bail. “Well, I guess it’s just the two of us drinking tonight, then.” Amy sighed and picked up the phone, standing up. “Would you mind watching over my stuff for a minute? I’ll be right back.” she gave him a smile of someone who has to got to pee.
“Of course. I'm not in a hurry.” he sighed.
“Oh. And… would you mind ordering us two monkey martinis? When I'm back, I’d like to talk to you some more, and you are almost dry here.” she squeezed his shoulder in one final sultry attempt. He, again, politely shrugged her off.
When she turned around, she watched his reflection in the mirror at the end of the hallway that led to the bathroom doors. She was hoping he would look at the ass she was sexily swaying just for him as she walked, or that he would at least look after her. Anything to imply he wasn’t an innocent man. But all she could see was him hunched over his nearly empty drink. Until the last moment before she rounded a corner into the ladies’ room, she mentally begged him. -Please. Look. You can’t do this to me. How am I supposed to hurt such a sweetiepie?-
Doors closed behind her, and she had to support herself above the sink. She couldn’t even splash her face with cold water to calm down, or she would ruin her makeup.
What a mess. she thought as she scoffed and laughed at her own heart’s games. She was supposed to test his loyalty to his wife. But the more she talked to him, the more she felt bad for pushing on such a puppy of a man.
She had met Brooke – or ‘Brianna’, as she had her saved in her phone – of course. She was the reason Amy was here tonight. Their interaction was stiff to say the least. She was the usual, conventionally attractive type that wore expensive-looking clothes and radiated insecurity from every word they said.
To think that this sweet potato came back home every night to such a woman… yet still, he ignored or disengaged all of Amy’s traps… That woman should be thankful for the man she had!
She looked at herself in the vanity mirror. -Those eyes… That look of sadness… I felt like a monster for making him feel bad… God, my heart… Why does he make me such a softie?! I struggled not to hug him and tell him I'm sorry!-
The phone buzzed again. The same message – a code that Brooke was supposed to send when she wanted Amy to abort mission. At least she was feeling doubtful. But on the other hand, it also meant that she really didn’t trust her husband to stay away from Amy, should she proceed with seduction. She didn’t trust this man, who probably showered her with love every day and couldn’t be more obsessed with her. Rage conflagrated in Amy’s chest so suddenly that she had to do a little circle around the small bathroom, or risk punching the mirror into million pieces.
“It’s not your call to make. It’s not your call to make. It’s not your call to make. It’s not your call to make. It’s not your call to make. It’s not your call to…” she had to mutter to herself like a mantra. “It’s their relationship, not yours. You are not here to fix things. You… Ugh…” -But she's probably such a bitch to him, though…- her inner voice protested.
“She wants me to abort mission. All I can do now is have a few drinks with him and excuse myself.”
-But he’ll be miserable if I don’t help them.-
Unhappy, the blonde girl leaned on the sink again, battled and baffled by what she should do. On one hand, this man deserved better. On the other hand, it was not up to her… Another buzz of phone. Amy’s green eyes hardened.
Shook, she walked back to the main room of the bar. At the edge of the hallway, she gave a guy sitting in a cubicle behind Owen’s back a neck-slicing gesture. The dark-skinned, tough-looking guy nodded, clicked a button on a small camera that he had set up on the table, stashed it in the inner pocket of his leather jacket, and he disappeared into the night outside. With her heart beating in her throat, she went to sit back down with the reporter. “I'm back.” she announced sweetly, putting on a smile for him. As she sat down, she noticed that there was only one martini waiting on the bar. “Oh? You didn’t want a drink with me?” she questioned.
“I can't. I really can't. You're a nice person, and I appreciate your compliments, and the nice conversation we had, but I have a wife waiting for me at home. I love her very much, and I can't just go and get drunk with random women.” he explained. Every can't drove a pike into her heart. This man… Her face felt hot. Thankfully, the dim blue neon lighting gave her some wiggle room to blush invisibly as long as she kept a straight face. He was so precious… “Not even if I ask nicely? Please?” she fanned her eyelashes at him.
“No. Sorry.” he looked away.
“I thought you said she went off with some sort of orphan or something. Isn't she out of town?” When he turned back at her, the eyes she was giving him were enough to move blood in the veins of a long dead grandpa. Startled, he blushed into the half empty room.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her manicured finger inching laps around the lip of her glass. Every time it completed a lap, it gently pushed the colourful cocktail umbrella out of its way. He could feel the warmth of her crossed leg’s foot near his knee. But he refused to play her game. “She is. Doesn’t make it right. I still love her. And I'm sure your boyfriend loves you too.” he glanced at her. Her face changed. It wasn’t a dramatic difference – sultry eyes aren’t that different from an intrigued look of interest. The warmth was still there, just in a different form.
“That’s so sweet. I appreciate the concern for Ian. But let me ask you… are you familiar with the concept of a hall pass?” Owen started looking at her in short glances. “What, like a list of celebrities that your loved one won’t get mad about if you sleep with them?”
“Exactly.” she nodded, glad that she didn’t have to explain it to him.
“And… Now I might come across as an egoist, but I'm gonna assume… I'm on yours? Is that why you are mentioning it?” he deduced.
“Exactly!” she nodded again. “Don’t you and your wife have such a thing too?”
Owen looked at her like she was crazy. “What? No way. Brooke would never agree to something like that!”
That admission struck Amy even worse than before. She felt so bad for this sweet man.
A moment of silence passed, only filled out by the quiet music, distant chatter of other bargoers, and the momentary clinking of glass. -It’s not up to me.- Amy repeated to herself. -Then let HIM decide.- the small voice stabbed her consciousness. She looked at him. He looked uneasy. She managed to make him uneasy with her constant advances, even though he was so easy-going at the start.
“Look…” she broke. “Um… there's no good way to say this… so… first… could I have a picture with you? I really am a big fan, and I’d like to save a memory with you before I tell you something important.”
He broke out of his small state, suddenly paying full attention to her. Narrowed eyes, fidgeting hands playing with the last few drops in his glass… she felt so bad for the way she treated him.
“Um… sure… I don’t see why not. There isn't any catch, right?” he scowled distrustfully.
She sighed. “No. No catch. What I’ll tell you is bad enough. The photo is just for me to remember the nice evening when I got to talk to my… number four on the hall pass list.” she stood up next to him, unlocking her phone and opening the camera. She pressed herself close to his chest, while he uneasily hovered his hand above her shoulder. She styled her hair in the screen, and then the phone clicked quietly.
“Thanks.” she stepped away, giving him a somber smile. “Ok so… look… I'm really sorry… But… I'm a bait. Okay? I'm a setup…”
His face warped into a vortex of emotional turmoil. Those eyes. Those brown puppy eyes. So full of betrayal it hurt to look into them. His mouth hang agape, and he tried to back away from her, which led to him almost bulldozing the stool behind him. He slumped down, running his hand over his entire head. “Who…”
“Your wife. Brooke Gatwick.” Amy said sadly. Her hand slipped into his on the bar. He was so shocked he didn’t even push her away. “She thinks you are having an affair, so she wanted to test you. Safe to say, she couldn’t ask for a better man.”
His cheeks and eyes slowly turned red, then he swallowed some bitter words and his nose started trembling, closely followed by his lower lip. “And you…”
“Yes… I'm… I do this as a side hustle. It is very good money. I'm sorry for lying to you. I just… couldn’t do it anymore. You were so precious… really head over heels for her…” she pursed her lips in shame. Even though it hurt, she forced herself to look him honestly in the eyes. In her opinion, she at least owed him that much. Her thumb gently rubbed the first three knuckles of his hand while he processed the punch to his soul’s gut.
His other hand reached for his phone with a distinct tremble. He was such a soldier, trying not to cry. “I um… I'm sorry… I’ll have to make a quick call.” he said. The voice crack broke Amy’s heart. He stood up on his weak legs, then immediately sat back down. “I-I’ll do it here if you don’t mind.” he added while opening the contacts. Amy could see the dozens of hearts that surrounded Brooke’s phone number in the reflection of his watering eyes.
The phone rang once… twice… thrice… Owen waited with the phone by his ear and the other hand over his eyes, slumped over the bar. Sudden quick beeps however told him that his wife didn’t want to talk to him right now. He called her again and again. With each declined call, an invisible hand closed tighter around both their chests.
“Honey? I'm in the middle of something over here. What…” Brooke’s voice finally came through. But Owen quickly cut her off, trying to mask his distress. “Heyyy… I'm at the bar here at Gramercy’s and… I just wanted to check something with you. There's a girl named Amy… She says that you set her up as a bait for me? What's that about?”
The silence at the other end got thick like glue. For the next ten seconds, nothing but static. To give herself some breathing room hold back emotions, Amy searched through her handbag. When her hand emerged from it again, she was holding an envelope full of money. She slid it across the bar towards him, though she couldn’t tell for his hand whether he saw it or not.
“What… Honey… of course not! Why are you at the bar hitting on girls anyway…?”
“Oh I wasn’t hitting on anyone. Because I love you. I really really love you. So it doesn’t make sense to me why this random girl knows you're Gatwick, not Shore, and why she has a full envelope with your number on it.” he parried his wife’s attack with a commendable control in his voice. “Honey, I need you to be truthful with me. Don’t act like I'm dumb, please. I need to know what the hell is going on.” His hand slid down his face, smearing plentiful tears along the way.
“I-I-I… Not now, Mr. Doyle. I'm talking to my husband. Honey, I… Ugh… She wasn’t supposed to tell you! I'm so so sorry, hun! It’s just… I was worried about you! You were sneaking out late at night…” the woman on the other side tried to explain, while seemingly something else was happening to her at the same time, which made her sound like she was fighting or jogging.
Owen’s eyes hardened when she mentioned her client. So much so, that a marathon of goosebumps ran down Amy’s back. She reached out his hand to him to say something, but he shut her up with one simple gesture. “Oh, Mr. Pervert is there too? How great. After you are done with modelling for his next masterpiece, I hope he’ll be at least enough of a gentleman to help you come and pack your things.”
Amy’s eyes widened in shock. She… messed up? She wanted a better woman for this man. One that would treat him right. But she didn’t expect… something so brutal. Not right away.
“Wait… Owen… no…” Brooke at the other side begged.
Owen’s voice finally broke, and fell to a lower, more chilling tone. “Yes, I went out at night. For what? To catch a sex offender in the act. So people would finally take me seriously. So I could be taken more seriously at the TV. So that we could finally have enough money, so you wouldn’t have to work your ass off at the gallery night and day, and we could finally be together for one day. Really together. But maybe I should have seen how much you’ve been shutting me down. Ever since we came back from the honeymoon. I'm sorry Brooke. I love you. But I don’t see why we should struggle on, when you obviously don’t trust me. Goodbye.”
Her pleas got cut short by the push of the red button.
Amy stared at him, flabbergasted. He stayed strong for exactly three seconds before he collapsed in tears and heart-wrenching sobs, forehead on the bar and arms covering his head. She didn’t know what to do. All she knew was that she hated seeing him hurt. In an attempt to console him, she put her warm hand on his back, as his entire body jerked with every powerful sob.
It didn’t make any visible difference. Maybe it did, in the long run. Noone would know. It still took him about half an hour to cry his broken heart out. A record time, for how devoted to that bitch he seemed before. The entire time, the blonde college student sat next to him patiently. Until he suddenly lifted his head and wiped himself in the sleeve of his dark grey sweater, putting on a strong face.
“It was called a monkey martini, you said? How many do I need to get drunk, you recon?” he turned to her, all red.