I catch my own green eyes in a mirror on the wall of the coffee shop and I smile at myself. It feels good to be sober for a little while.

I walk right up to the counter and speak as comprehensively as I can so the waitress can understand.

“Coffee.” I say and she nods. Out of all the other options, I ask for a plain coffee. I never really liked coffee. Alcohol is my morning brew.

It occurs to me that I may be an alcoholic.

I pay for my coffee and find a seat against the wall of the café inhaling the glorious aroma of coffee beans and glazed confections.

Before I can even reach for the book in my bag, my phone beeps. I reach for my cell phone in the pocket of my shorts and check the text.

It’s from my father. Three words. Not ‘I love you’, or ‘I miss you’, but instead: ‘Speak to me.’ What happened? Did he run out of character space?

I switch the device off and turn to my book, the one with the pig wearing glasses on the cover.

I skip the introduction and start at the first chapter.

It takes me forever to finish the first chapter. I’ve been here at least two hours and had three cups of coffee. Finally, with an unsteady hand, I leave the café and sweat all the way back to my hotel room.

I’m going back today. To the coffee shop. It’s a fun hangout. It’s entertaining to watch other people have fun. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t finish the chapter, because I was too busy watching other people do normal things.

Someone keeps looking at me. She has brown eyes and seems jittery.

Too much coffee, I think. I approach her.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask seductively.

“What do you have to offer?” She replies in a strange accent.

“Anything you want, really.” I smile, stand a few seconds at her table. “May I?” I gesture to the seat across her.

“Be my guest,” she says. Her hair is short. Pixie cut with peroxide-white tips. It looks really, really unflattering.

“So, Babe. What are you doing?” I ask.

“Well I just broke up with my girlfriend,” she says, “but you don’t want to hear about that.”

I smile, I don’t, I think to myself. “No, please tell me.” I urge her with my false enthusiasm. My real intention is to get into her pants.

“Well, she cheated on me with my best friend. We fought. I hit her. We broke up. Now I’m here in a dingy coffee shop.” With your one-night rebound.

This place is anything but dingy. It looks as if it opened just last week. Rust colored couches and seats furnish the place, contrasting against an oak backdrop.

“Do you want to come back with me to my hotel room? I can make you forget all about your ex… girlfriend.” I linger on the word ex.

She tilts her head sideways. “How well do you handle rejection?”

I have two seconds to lie and make it look like truth. Should I lie? Don’t look down when you lie. Smile to stall.

“Well,” I smile. “I don’t handle rejection. I ignore it.” I decide to tell the truth.

She nods slowly and begins to smile… “Fair enough. I’ll come with you. I am, after all, looking for a new experience.”

I had quite an afternoon and night with her, but it’s morning now, and she needs to go. I feel as if I’m reverting. Relapsing.

I haven’t even started detoxing, though. Two days without alcohol and a bit of sex and I’m a new man? I don’t think so.

I didn’t like the life with books and no day-drinking and no sexual stimulation. That wasn’t my life. I’m wealthy. I don’t need to be famous. I don’t need to tone down my behavior. I’m rich.

“Get up, uh…” I command her, too coldly. Crap. I don’t even know her name.

“Wh–at?” The woman grumbles.

I quickly grow irritated, “Get up! You have to go.”

“But what about breakfast?” She asks from among the pillows.

I gather her clothing off the floor and toss it to her– on her. “What about it? Get the hell up and get out of here!”

“What’s gotten into you?” she asks.

“I don’t want a relationship. Let alone with you. I don’t care about you or your damn girlfriend. Oh, my God– I don’t even know your name!” I admit coldly.

Her stunned expression turns to embarrassment.

That said, I turn around to give her privacy as she dresses. A few minutes later, I hear a sob and the door opens and closes shut.

That was unnecessary. What is the root of my anger anyway? Feeling ashamed of myself, I pour myself a drink, and then another when that’s finished and another as the day goes on. Soon, I’m back to my old ways. Not that I ever changed.

It’s been two weeks. I’ve been bar hopping and visiting clubs, coming home with different girls. Getting drunk. And I did everything all over again. Point is, I was having fun– or my perception of fun, at least.

I think I’ll read today. Move on to the second chapter of that book.

I dress for a day in the coffee shop where I know I’ll be able to snag a lioness easily.

I’ve been flirting all week; so how hard can it be to hit on anything that moves? Clearly I’ve got enough game to give to charity.

I’m on the couch in the coffee shop when I see her. She catches my eye. She’s dressed like one would think a spy should be dressed, in a beige trench coat adorned with black buttons. She wears black stockings and patent leather stilettos. I can’t see her eyes because she hides them behind round, fifties-styled glasses, but I’m sure they’re beautiful.

“This should be easy.” I say under my breath as I approach her table.

I take the seat right in front of her. She doesn’t look up from the newspaper.

I wear my best smile now, and begin, “From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew that you were a keeper.”

“Go away!” she says, hushed. Exhausted, almost. She isn’t from Hungary either. Must have just arrived.

“Oh, come on, Honey–”

“Go away, Honey.” She says. And raises her head to look at me.

“What’s your name?” I ask, ignoring her order.

“Listen!” She removes her glasses now revealing ice cold blue eyes, “I am not giving you my name. I don’t want to speak to you. Now remove yourself from my company before I unleash Hell on you. And I swear I will.”

Her painted red lips are closed tight while my mouth is in a pout of astonishment. I raise my eyebrows in a gesture of ‘okay, that was a flop’, and leave her presence, as she previously requested.

I can’t stop looking at her. Her blonde hair falls perfectly in flawless waves.

A few seconds later, a shiny chrome vehicle comes to a halt outside the storefront. She, who rejected me, quickly puts on her glasses, grabs her plastic bag from the floor and hastily makes for the door. There’s something shady about her.

The car doors open and two people, a man and a woman, step out. Just as the blonde reaches the door, they step in. It’s as if she tenses for a second but she manages a smile, and forces past them.

This man and woman look even more devious.

The lady immediately asks the cashier if she’s seen a lady and then reaches for a sheet of paper from her pocket. A photo. Three photos on one page.

She shakes her head and then points to one of the images. The man mouths something that must be startling and she points to where the blonde was sitting. Then she points to her left, which must be the direction she went.

It only now registers. The blonde sounded tired. What if she was running? What if she was running from them?

I immediately rise from the couch and head for the door. I’m trembling. I’m trembling but I must hide it or they might suspect I know something.

“Hey,” calls the woman, and my heart stops. I turn around slowly and smile at her. “Isn’t that your book?”

I nod. “Thank you.” I say as steadily as I can. I stride back to the couch and reach for the book as casually as possible and leave. They follow me out.

In the time it takes them to get to their car and start it, I’m already at the corner of the block.

I see the blonde’s head among the crowd. She’s walking hastily.

I walk fast too, almost in a sprint. I’m close to her now and the chrome car turns down the street, cruising.

I touch her shoulder when I reach her. She’s clearly startled, so stunned she can barely move.

“We have to go somewhere.” I say, but I don’t think she can hear me and the crowd shrieks.

People are being pushed over and trampled upon which means they’ve seen her.

“Go!” I yell at her and instantly, we’re in motion.

We dodge past people, run past cars that can almost not stop. Then there’s the threat of bullets. I take her down an avenue I don’t even know and we run.

Stay with a crowd. I keep in mind. Don’t let go of her hand.

We run together and I think she begins to cry. I feel bad for her now, but I can’t stop to reassure her that she’ll be okay because we still face the threat of these people and I don’t know for sure that she will be okay.

“Run!” I yell at her, and she does in fact run a little faster.

We run, dodging bullets, through the crowd and we disappear into another brick storefront– a restaurant.

I don’t care what now. What or who I push over. We force our way through the crown to get to the kitchen. We both squeeze each other’s hands tightly. There’s a back door and I try to open it.

“Open the damn door, for shit’s sake!” I yell. Someone takes the keys hanging by the door shakily in their hands and unlocks it, frazzled. Almost as frazzled as the blond girl and I are.

We rush through just as there’s a surge of tension in the diner section of the restaurant.

We’re at the back door of the restaurant leading to an alley. There’s garbage bins next to the door but if we hide in there, they’re bound to look there first, especially since we’re this desperate to escape.

I lead her down the alley and we’re in another street. Close to the hotel. We’re far from the alley and we both hear faint gunshots.

For just a second, the crowd seems fazed. Where she goes, so does destruction. We’re literally one street away from my hotel and traffic is picking up, which gives us a slight advantage.

I can hear her sobs more clearly now. I feel that we’re safe, but I won’t be sure until we’re in the hotel. She probably won’t be safe ever again.

We’re just at the entrance of the hotel when we both see the car cruise down the street. Her hand squeezes mine and her sobs start again. It’s at least five blocks away, so we’re safe for now.

“It’s okay for now. It’s okay. We did it.” I say breathlessly and keep her close to me. I begin to worry about both of us and what might come for her.

I’m safe.

She isn’t.

***

Tell us: This mystery woman sounds like trouble. What do you think she is being chased for?