Player One: What Is to Become of Us Read Free Page B

halfway through his third drink, his favourite moment, the way he wishes all moments in life could feel: heightened with the sense that anything could happen at any moment — that being alive is important, because just when you least expect it, you might receive exactly what you least expect.
    ___
    Rick said to the woman, “Where are we — trapped inside a Bob Hope movie?”
    The woman at the bar, a nice little brunette, looked at Rick. “Very funny. Is it so wrong for a girl to order a Singapore sling?”
    “I’m going to have to look it up in my mixology book back here.”
    “Don’t bother. I’ll google it on my thingy. Wait a second . . . there . . . you’ll need one ounce of gin, a half-ounce of cherry brandy, four ounces of pineapple juice, the juice of half a lime, a quarter-ounce of Cointreau, a quarter-ounce of Benedictine, a third of an ounce of grenadine syrup, and a dash of Angostura.”
    Rick looked at the woman. “You’re here on an Internet hookup, aren’t you?”
    His customer’s head did a chicken bob. “Honey, you are good . How did you know that?”
    “I can always tell. Where’re you from?”
    “Winnipeg, and you didn’t answer my question.”
    “Okay, you asked, so I’ll answer. I can tell you’re here for an Internet hookup because you’re sitting with good posture on a bar stool but you’re not a hooker. Hookups never sit in booths, because it makes them look sad or desperate, but a bar stool — especially when you have good legs like yours, I might add — says to someone new, ‘Hey, let’s get it on.’ Also, you’ve got a tiny carry-on bag, which means you’re most likely not staying at this hotel or any hotel.”
    The woman asked, “In general, how do these hookups usually go?”
    “It’s always hot or cold. No middle ground. You either both click and you’re out of here and upstairs pronto, or there’s an awkward forty-five-minute drink of doom followed by several lonely drinks for the person who stays behind while the other one flies home.”
    “I hope there are no drinks of doom for me.”
    Rick scanned the room with its mismatched grey fabrics and furniture. His eyes rested on the astonishingly beautiful young woman — nineteen? — who’d been using the world’s most cobbled-together Internet booth across the lounge. The computer carrel comprised a power bar covered in duct tape attached to a brick-like North Korean monitor and hard drive, all shaded by a dusty plastic ficus tree. The beautiful girl’s computer made a casino slot machine’s ching-ching-ching noise. It stopped as soon as it had started. Rick called out, “Another ginger ale?” The girl looked emotionlessly at Rick. “No. I am properly hydrated.”
    The woman raised her eyebrow at Rick. “‘ No. I am properly hydrated ’?”
    “She’s a weird one, Miss Ginger Ale is. Cold fish, but not a cold fish. Like something’s missing.”
    “She spurned your advances?”
    “She’s too young for me, thank you. And she’s not the advances type.”
    “Too pure for this world?”
    “ Please . It’s a challenge to the laws of physics that someone that beautiful is even in this lounge.”
    “Thanks for making me feel great.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    She nodded. She and Rick looked at the only other person in the bar — a trainwreck of some sort who probably used to play hockey on weekends but now he’s going fleshy, maybe halfway between William Hurt and Gérard Depardieu. He sure looked like he could use a nap.
    Rick felt a bond of alertness between him and the woman, of having something to look forward to. Rick looked at his watch.
    The woman said, “It seems to me you’re expecting someone, too.”
    “As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”
    “Really? Who?”
    “You’ll see.”
    “I’ll see ? What — is it George Clooney, maybe? Or perhaps Reese Witherspoon with a posse of Muppets?”
    “Someone you’ll recognize.”
    The woman was intrigued. “You’re serious.”
    “I