Table for one

[Lih]

“Where are you staying, ma’am?” asked the driver who the embassy had summoned for Lillian. He looked fresh and eager.  

“Doesn’t matter. Where can you get a drink?”

“A bar?” the driver replied with a little halt in his voice that suggested he thought there might be a trick in the question.

“Where do you get a drink?” Lillian asked.

“The Kalliste, or Cafe Mio the sometimes.”

“Either will be fine,” Lillian smiled. She closed the car door and grinned at the driver encouragingly. As she sat down, she pinched the thighs of her pants to hoist up the slack in the legs. 

“They’re both quite busy.” the driver replied. He seemed uncomfortable. There was a look in his eyes, the way he regarded her, that suggested she was special handling cargo he’d taken notice of.

“Good. I don’t want to go to a bar that isn’t busy.”

“No, I mean they’re full of locals right in the red light district. You people use clubs like the Ritz. Bars reserved for political personnel.”

“My people?” She shook her head like it was all a joke and she didn’t care. The grin didn’t leave her lips.

“Diplomats,” said the driver. “There’s a list of clubs and bars that ambassadors can use, provided you’ve got proper papers.”

Lillian had papers. It was one of the few things she was certain of. Most of everything else was a fuzz. It was hard to peg the time of night. Lillian sat back in the leather seat as the driver turned west onto Metropolitan and accelerated towards the neons structures of the redlight district.

It amused her to think that the driver had precisely fuck-all idea how uninterested she was in drinking with other diplomats. Those approved nightclubs were tourism, dressed up to make peoples feel like they’re visiting somewhere authentic. While they’ll show you things they show everyone. You follow their tours around at the beginning while finding your feet, then you give the guide the slip. That’s how it always worked.

Foreign correspondences and affiliates, sorted by old acquaintance or new loyalties; government employees; locals working the room; selling everything from sources to sex in order to leverage a little advantageous outcome for their organization. It wasn’t that her peers won’t surrender some useful, juicy nugget to her, she just wasn’t that much interested in whole one hand washes the other ecosystem. She’d learn the good stuff by living in it, with real people.

She wobbled her head from side to side.

“No, thanks. Take me to … the Kalliste. Makes a change.”

She was bone light and lagged from too many years riding jets. She’d got the transport down and arrived in good time, but the lag had got her. She was wide awake in the middle of the night, and hungry for something she couldn’t specifically identify. For the moment, she wanted a drink, maybe some variety of baked goods, and twenty minutes by herself in a clean bathroom. She’d need to look refreshed and well equipped.

She checked herself in the mirror. Her suit had creases that could draw blood. Her hair was a white lawn, mown short. The overhead lights, unflatteringly hard, glinted off the shiny brooch at her chest. She lit a cigarette and wondered if her driver could smell her smoke through the partition. Fuck him if he could.

The driver took her to the Kalliste. The place made up in business what it lacked in soul, flushed with tasteful lighting, music and fitted with interesting furniture and all kinds of people. There were distinct currents separating the crowd: a mix of artsy and professional.

Lillian prepared and lit a smile, slowly and expertly, like it was a Cuban cigar.

She got to talking to a corporate type at the rail of the bar. The guy was ordering a tray of drinks. It was a co worker’s birthday. As the bartender filled the drinks, a casual question or two got the office worker to admit that the mood was downtrend among Starleigh staff. Development contracts were running over budget or remaining unfulfilled, grants were being cut and the share prices had dipped badly on the market because of public perception.

“My stocks are in the shitter,” he said, “and our reputation is floating right there beside it. The public thinks we’re driving this through corporate greed.”

“That’s not the case here, is it?” she leaned forward slightly. She was curious about Starleigh. There hadn’t been much else to do during her flight. The political, military, and social briefings she studied had run to several hundred thousand words, and had been remarkably informative. They had made it abundantly clear to Lillian just how much stonewalling was going on.

“Anyway, enough about me. What do you do?”

“I’m a diplomat.” She kept her smile alight, tending it to make sure it doesn’t go out. Lillian got her game face on and turned up the charm. “Don’t you think this entire situation is political in nature?”

The man nodded, and folded his mouth down into a shape that indicated he was quite impressed.

When it was her turn to order she asked for a gin and tonic. The bartender was good looking but it was a camera ready attractive. There was no depth to her appeal. It was all cosmetic.

He offered to buy her G&T drink and took her to meet his colleagues. They were a pale bunch who’d plainly spent too much time indoors in the tailored environment of their corporate glass cage. Lillian had never understood that. She looked pale because she spent too much time aboard flights where there was no outside to step into. But if you’ve gone to live and work for a Corp for the rest of your life, why didn’t you go outside more? You might as well be on a jet. You might as well have stayed anywhere.

They wanted to know about her career. She gave them a short but embellished version, romanticizing her own diplomatic cred. They all oohed and ah’d in all the right places, like they knew from bullshit.

Lillian listened to them talk. It was automatic, just warming up her political muscles. They weren’t saying much that was interesting beyond the state of the corporation. They were worried about their futures, about their careers. They were fretting about what the bad press was doing to their stocks and bonuses.

Her drink was crappy but welcome after the flight. She got a little buzz cooking and felt good about herself. She arranged her face so it looked like she was interested. At first she tried to open the birthday boy up a little, but by the 3rd drink he became singularly dull and unforthcoming, and spent most of the time talking to her about import tariffs. She wasn’t that fussed though. She spent her time sipping her drink in an attempt to feel drowsy while trying to listen to the man from Starleigh logistics. The latter was a purely academic exercise. She told herself it was useful training to get herself back into the ring.

She kept an eye on a nearby table where some workers had clustered after their performance. One of the faces looked familiar, like a younger, carefree version of a man she had once known. He was the most able and clued in journalist she’d ever worked with. They’d become friends, but then he started a farm in houston, leaving the political life for good.

Lillian turned the tall glass by the rim with her thumb and fingers like she was cracking a safe.

Lillian