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Chapter 15
As we walk the streets I start feeling grateful to Melissa for her presence. She has a map and she does all the work to figure out where to go. The enthusiasm she gives out gives me the illusion I am here for fun, as if I were nothing but a tourist with a home somewhere else and a normal life.
After about an hour we reach the pub. The three storey building which hosts it is old and it slopes a bit towards the right, the windows on the upper floors are crowded with flowers and statuettes and vases, all very exotic.
The pub itself is one of a kind. It’s dark inside, and it is only after a few minutes that my eyes adjust to the dim light and I get a taste for the pub’s atmosphere. The place is an improbable pastiche of styles, with stools from the 50’s, liberty style faint lights, flags of hokey and football teams draped all over the ceiling.
“Groovy!”, Melissa exclaims
Even in my current state of mind I appreciate the craziness of this half organized chaos. What was my sister doing here? Was this a place she simply liked and from where she decided to place the phone call, or is there something behind the scenes?
Suddenly I decide I want to check out the bathroom. I ask Melissa to order a coke for me as I start to get up.
“A coke?”, she echoes back surprised
“Thank you”, I reply, and disappear to where the arrow with the TOILET sign is pointing before she can raise further objections.
The narrow hallway that leads to the bathroom reveals nothing in particular, and the bathroom itself is nothing but a tiny well-kept bathroom with no useful clues. What did I expect anyways?
And yet I can’t give up.
I look around for a while longer and then flush the toilet for the sake of the show. Am I being tracked down just now?
Perhaps even Melissa is there for a reason, perhaps she is not who she says she is. This thought seems a bit far-fetched, but at this point nothing is making full sense anyways.
When I walk back Melissa is sitting at the bar, talking to a guy. She introduces him to me, before shifting her interest back to him and cutting me off the scene. I sit with my coke, landscaping the place, while the two of them chat and flirt. The temptation to ask the barista if she has ever seen a girl who looks like me is strong, but it doesn’t seem wise to make myself noticeable. Not that I am not, someone who knows my sister will take no time at all to recognize me.
And after a few moments I start to suspect the barista does.
Her side glances are not conspicuous, and yet something tells me she is not unaware of my identity. I take a peak, she takes a peak, and we continue for a while till I get fed up with the game.
“Do we know each other?”, I ask
She doesn’t reply, and looks down at the counter she is wiping over and again, then turns to take some glasses from the dishwasher.
Melissa’s friend looks up at me for a moment, but Melissa is all over him and his attention gets quickly diverted. The two of them seem innocent enough, but I sense that the barista won’t talk while they’re there.
I place a bill under my glass and push it on the table, then get up and start walking out. Melissa is so taken with the guy she doesn’t seem to notice, and he gives no sign of noticing either.
The sky is starting to cloud, and after taking a few steps away from the bar I stop, disheartened. The bar is where I should have found some clues, and I know the woman at the counter has seen my sister. But even then, how can I get her to talk? Perhaps I must go back again, if I’m lucky I’ll find her there alone.
I am still standing in the street when I hear, wait. I turn and see the barista. Her footsteps are so light and swift I hardly heard her approach me.
“This way”, she tells me pointing to a side street. I hesitate, unsure if I am about to fall into a trap.
“Hurry, I have no time. I’ve sneaked out the bathroom window, but it won’t be long before he notices what I’m up to”, she urges me
“Who is ‘he’?”, I ask, following her
“The guy who hooked up your friend”, she says
So he is not that innocent after all.
“Have you seen my sister?”
“Yes. Go to the museum district tomorrow at 12.30 sharp. There’s a bench in front of the large fountain right where the Van Gogh and the contemporary art museums are. The bench is white, it says “Amsterdam” on it. The place is full of people, we’ll be less noticeable in the crowd. Sit on that bench and wait for me”, the woman tells me
“Who is the guy?”, I insist
“Tomorrow at 12.30, where the bench is”, she repeats, and walks away with the same silent swiftness that surprised me earlier.