The Charming Man: Friends Long Forgotten

CW: Implications of violence / Profanity

It is later than I expected – Thinks to herself a middle-aged woman, while walking towards an Irish Pub. Her old, beige trench coat hasn’t seen a washing for as long as it was serving its duty. Her grey hat, slightly tilted to the side, similarly can’t boast its pristine condition. Yet with all her ruggedness, akin to bedsheets after a long sleep, she still manages not only to look presentable, but intimidating. The at-all-times kept straight back together with her long legs are to blame. Elegant and scuffed, as if a mannequin from a long-forgotten and closed store had a cat and three mortgages. She continues walking until she reached the front door, opening said door and entering the Pub with as much energy as a dead rat would demonstrate.

The decor was as weird as it was of no importance to the woman. The black and white striped floor, the stripes of which resemble crudely simplistic lighting and the occasional red curtains are passed with little to no regard, as the woman makes her way to the counter. In her relentless push towards a pint she skips just about everything. After finally arriving and making herself present to the man behind the counter and his Hercule Poirot-esque moustache, she finally takes a moment to acknowledge her surroundings. Turning around and resting her back on the counter, while slowly taking her hat off and placing it nearby, she starts looking. Just to the right of her gaze a well-dressed man is sitting in a lounge chair all by himself, smoking and staring into a wall, no companion, no newspaper, book or anything of sorts, just the man, his cigarette, a glass of something and an empty look. Behind him a group of seemingly young men, 5 to be specific. While dressed well, it is very easy to tell that they are off from their office job. Some have their shirts untucked, about all of them have their ties loosened and just any other queue that helps build a picture, “chaps loading up after a proper day at work”, one of them though does catch her interest, almost as if she recognises him. That feeling does not stay for too long as her tiredness is both the reason for not wanting to think too much as well as the excuse to believe that she is just mistaken. Moving her head to the left she sees a large table of 8 or so students, in here for all the same reasons as the office plankton to her right. A mixed bunch, some boys, some girls, all drinking, talking and enjoying themselves. The notion that she is sandwiched by two visibly happy groups of people makes her feel uneasy, yet she then remembers the blank-stare man and the new feeling of not wanting to associate with him too makes her turn back to the counter.

Right in time, as the Hercule Beeirot made his way to her.

– What can I get you miss? – says the bartender, purposely elongating the a in what, almost as if he forgot what he has to say after that

- A pint of any stout you got if you’d be so kind boss

- A pint of any stout for the beautiful lady it is then

The woman scoffs but accepts the compliment-in-passing. The back shelf, which she looked at while her drink was being poured and served was not of any noteworthiness. Just a shelf, on which there were an unquantifiable amount of booze squished in-between similar shelfs up and down. – Four shelves – She thought to herself, continuously pointing out and counting just about anything her eyes would be laid upon.

She gets her drink, nods to the bartender and proceeds to take the first sip. Done. She now can officially relax, as the pint first hit her palms and then her lips. The day can be ceremoniously called “finished”. After the relief she simply continues to drink and look around, again. The woman turns and sees the kids to her now-right, still having fun, although she does notice that they finally broke into smaller groups, too many people, too much to say and too little group attention, expectable. She slowly moves her head. Now, the man in the lounge chair, just about the same really. Turning from that unsustainable angle her neck was maintaining, she decides to check out the office chaps, just to see that one of them, the one with glasses, the one she seemed to recognise, is drilling her with his eyes. There is no way to tell for how long he’s been doing that, but since he appears to be not blinking, probably not for too long, she thinks while taking another sip. – He must’ve recognised me too then – A very, very logical thought passes. Thinking it to be too weird at this point, she decides to break the eye contact and turn to face the bar. Now, all she has to do is wait until he stands up and approaches her.

He does.

In an unpredictable turn of events, as soon as she turned around, the man, fixed his glasses, oh the tie too, the shirt together with his pants, took his glass and slightly shaky but with a respectable amount of courage came up to the tall woman.

- You know kid, it is very, very rude to be staring down a woman in such a crowded space, I could punch the soul out of you. – She makes a sip – Or call for help

- Bitch who you calling a kid? – Very sudden, a whiplash of a wet towel on naked skin sudden - We are the same age you stuck up lamp pole! – The woman slowly turns her head, applying now all the brain capabilities she can muster to try and remember who is that – Dressed up like a fucking detective and thinks she can talk to her old friends like that!?

What was obvious through his tone is that he indeed was not planning to start the conversation in such a way. Most certainly it is the fact he was not recognised that insulted him, prompting a brash reaction of sorts.

- Oh shit its Phill – She thinks. Phillip in question being her university buddy and a very close friend. She even considered dating him once, shame or not but that never happened.

- I knew it was you Phill, no need to chimp out like that, I was fucking with you. – She is just trying to save herself as she clearly, did not recognise him

- Yeah right, even if I were to believe you, you still – He makes a big emphasis on the still – did not come over to say hi, shit let alone a wave or a nod – Clearly even more pissed now at her attempts to salvage the situation, critical failure that one. – But whatever, that’s one way to meet a friend – He then, as quickly as he reacted, proceeds to switch the mood entirely by forcing out a laugh – How you’ve been doing Liz?

- I’ve missed your bipolar rollercoasters man – She leans away from the bar and gives him a hug, a well deserved now after a beer-induced tantrum – I don’t even know where to start man, how many years has it been? Five, more?

- Yeah, more I suppose, ever since you’ve joined the force I guess, I kind off lost track of you – He pauses for his drink paired with a hefty dollop of reminiscence – You moved too fast and I had my first job coming over, kind of crazy, kind of difficult

- Yeah, more than five then. But I’ve been good, good, yeah, just came in here for a drink, very long day it was

- Oh yeah you tell me, not sure how’s the copper office rotting but I can reassure you without any trace of doubt, corporate one ain’t any better. – He takes a moment to look back at his friends, after which he decides to change the topic once more – Oh crap where are my manners, lets go, I’ll introduce you to the new “gang”, you’ll love em

- Oh well I was planning to go already and all you know – She scrambles hard the corners of her mind to come up with even the slightly believable excuse not to. Sadly, all in vain, there is just no stopping of the Corporate Bull. In the battle between the unmovable tired middle-aged woman and the unstoppable booze and endorphin/oxytocin-fuelled middle aged man, the latter succeeds.

That Phillip practically drags Elisabeth over to his friends. The conversation that follows is of no interest to both of them. A formality, nothing more, healthy work relationships are not maintained by air alone. The mutual introductions are followed by questions that could sunder the sky by their profoundness.

- Ah neat, so you’r like, a police woman? – Asks one of the clerks

- Yeah, sure, a policewoman, went through training and my fair share of patrol duties

- Mad. – Adds one of them, standing in the corner, looking like a firebombing victim. To his side, two other victims, although in their case it would be fair to assume they were able to timely find shelter

- That must be quite interesting, no Liz? I mean you always were very stuck up and stiff about dorm rules, so I’m not surprised that you went all the way – Intervenes Phill, wanting to maintain the conversation, as the burden is wholly on him for starting it in the first place.

- I suppose so, too much office work at certain points, but can’t say I didn’t have my fair share of stimulating cases – She adds while either looking at Phill or into the rare but still present empty spaces right in between people – Mentally stimulating that is

- Heh, stimulating. – The bomb victim points out

- What about you guys though, office this and office that, but what enterprise are we even talking here?

- Oh yeah, shit did I not mention already? – Phill sounds genuinely surprised

Elisabeth simply shakes her head, while taking yet another sip of her stout.

- Some small company on the sidewalk of the business life of this beautiful city – A rather slick member of the clique lays out. His slickness in this case is mostly due to the fact that he looks the most sober out of them all

- Oneiric Shore sumbitcheeeeees – Say in unison three out of the five clerks, the exception being the Slick and Phill

- God damn Phill, Oneiric Shore? How did your mentally handicapped ass got in there? – Says Elisabeth shocked, truly shocked for the second time this evening

- I know I know, had to murder the interviewer with my unbridled charisma and untapped well of accounting knowledge! – Smugly explains himself Phill

- Certainly, untapped it is, untapped it will always be – Says the Slick – But yes, Head Office, all of us, accounting and auditing

Elisabeth smiles. The joke did reach the target audience.

- Must pay like Hell, and if it’s the Head Office I’d assume you get to meet the Cyclops, the big-dick macho mogul king himself

- Hey hey young lady, bit of respect for THE mogul king – One of the ABV bomb survivors interjects – Mr Worcestenger is a genius who gives us good money and dental coverage, a bit of decency in regard to him is absolutely necessary

- Sure sure, Mr One Eyed blood sucker must appear from time to time – Elisabeth starkly adds, not even hiding her opinions on the matter

- Hey! – The other clerks exclaim – Uncalled for! The witch disrespects the King! – They add

- Yeah well so there is that, as Bobby pointed out, great bucks, and teeth in better shape than when I was born – Phill adds, now almost purposely dragging the conversation back onto himself - But I think we got the conversation far enough, Elisabeth was planning to go home, aren’t you tired longlegs? Plus I need to smoke – He then cuts himself off

- Yeah, I suppose – She finishes her pint and puts the glass on the table nearby – Nice to meet you guys, please don’t mind the banter

- The pleasure is all our mysterious friend – One of the clerks says, with others either nodding or just politely smiling in agreement 

- We’ll cover your tab, I mean if its only a single pint we’re talking here – Phill adds after looking at her glass

- Suit yourself brickhead

The clerks giggle at the new coworker lore dropped onto their heads and bid their farewell to the lady in the trench coat . She takes her hat and Phill finally manages to find his cigarettes. After walking out, they move slightly to the side of the entrance for Phill to smoke. He did seemingly take all of his belongings from out the Pub, which Elisabeth noted.

- Hope they weren’t too drunk for your liking, Miss Officer

- No they were fine, and I’m not in the police anymore – She says in a half-smile

- Oh damn, how come? Termination or just got tired? – Phill asks while lighting a cigarette

- My then husband died, Rob, something with the lungs, the doctors were all over the place until the last moment – Elisabeth states that as blankly as she could

- Oh Christ, so sorry, I didn’t mean to push on it – Phill looked fairly concerned

- No its fine, been half a year or so at this point. I think you two have met, on campus for sure.

- I do remember him, Rob Southwark? Tall? Blonde? Proper Aryan type, no? – The words fly out of his mouth as quickly as he comes to regret it – Shit so sorry I meant

- No its fine – Elisabeth giggles – Yeah, proper Aryan type. Couldn’t handle that work and the news combined, so packed my things and quit. Run his agency now, he used to write and run a magazine, “The Happening”, ever heard of it?

- No, sadly doesn’t ring a bell – He makes a quick pause after which he continues – Will certainly check it out now that you’ve mentioned it! – Phill is desperately trying to sound as supportive as he can

- Thanks Phill – She turns to glance at the street and then at his almost-finished cigarette

- Oh I’m almost finished. Do you live far? I can walk with you if you want. It is quite late and all – Phill tries his best for it to look not like shooting his shot but rather a gesture of decency and friendly compassion

- Willing to drop the battle buddies all surrounded by beer? – She sarcastically throws that at him

- Oh they’ll be fine, seen them through worse battles than this

- Well then escort the lady home, brickhead

On their way, the pair continuously talked. Be that of their school years together, or their lives apart, the conversations went on and on. Elisabeth couldn’t help but notice how much the dumb sport jock of a Phillip changed. He never was the smart type in their group, the funny and get-us-out-of-trouble, sure, but not a career-driven accountant at a huge multinational conglomerate. That entire interaction, from start and up until now felt very refreshing. Something very much needed and welcome. Still, at the core of it all Elisabeth was not very surprised, as a lot of time has indeed passed. Things do tend to change, humans do tend to grow.

- Eh what did you say?

- Oh I said that “humans do tend to grow” – Elisabeth repeats

- Can’t argue with that. You know Liz, you always had a nick for great conclusions, there always was something poetic about you. Like a tall tree dangling in the wind

- Oh shut it – She barks

Philips childlike laugh is yet again interrupted by himself, as they approach the barricades.

- Fuck, we walked into the strike territory – He quietly points out

- Don’t know how that happened, I usually manage to walk around

- Well that is of no matter now, we do look suspicious so try not to make any eye contact

- Look at you, a clerk teaching member of the force how to deal with union strikes

- Ex-member, and you’d be surprised of how much I personally have to deal with them, shits been going on for months now

In a turn of events not a single soul would’ve doubted, two begrudged and disgruntled factory workers slowly make their way to the pair, and eventually block the sidewalk. Before she could react, in any way really, Phillip takes a first step. What proceeds cannot really be described, as it had to be witnessed. The amount of bullshittery spewed per a cubic centimetre of word said by Phill was enough to fill three and a half oceans. He went on how they two are union office workers, going home nearby after an extended shift, reminding the two proletarians that a workers liberation machine must be oiled up by the union bureaucracy.

At a certain point, where the tension was just high enough and Elisabeth was reading to start a fight, Phill pulls the final trick, a union membership card. Fake, obviously, Oneiric Shore workers are eviscerated from existence for even walking nearby a union, let alone be in one. But in her ever-present snooping, she accidentally sees not on the stylish inside of his designer coat, but most importantly a holster with a real gun in it, which luckily enough was neither seen nor used, which prompted even more silent questions. The two workers swallow the bait and let the old friends be, after a final fiery speech on the soon-coming yet much needed dictatorship of the masses.

The strikers leave, with Phill and Elisabeth standing on the street alone

- An accountant you say?

- Yeah well, a story for the next time longlegs

- I have a lasagna at home, how about a deal, food for stories?

- Just promise not to post it anywhere, I know you journalist folk

- If you promise to be a bit more sincere, sir union clerk

- That is a deal settled then