The Amateurs

No, he wasn’t drunk, so that wasn’t why he was pissed off. Or it was only part of it. The real reason was that he’d finally caught his moment, and then the asshole had come over.

It was the guy Alex had gone to see. Mitch didn’t recognize him but guessed he was some sort of a bigwig, because Alex had nodded a lot and then disappeared into the back room and hadn’t returned. Which was perfect, because a few minutes later, Ian excused himself. The guy was famous for long bathroom breaks-they had a ru

They had made small talk for a couple of minutes, Mitch still polishing lines in his head. When the conversation dropped off, he’d finished his beer and leaned forward. Now or never.

“So, I was thinking.” He wanted to meet her eyes but couldn’t, stared at his empty beer glass instead. Spun it on the edge. “You know, it might be fun sometime-”

“Hello, beautiful.” The voice that smooth tone of someone used to getting what he wanted. “How come I’ve never seen you in here before?”

Mitch had looked up to find the guy standing between him and Je

Je

“No, couldn’t be that. Must be I’ve been in the office most of the time,” the guy said. “I own the joint.”

“Yeah?” She said it with a slight challenge, but Mitch couldn’t help but notice that her arms weren’t folded.

“That’s right. This one, a couple others. Keeps me busy. But if I’d known you were out here, I wouldn’t have worked so hard.” The guy held out a hand. “John Loverin. People call me Joh

She laughed. “You kidding me?”

“I know,” he said and laughed too, the smug bastard. “What do they call you?”

Don’t say Tasty. Please don’t say Tasty.

“Je

“Oh, yeah?” The guy turned at the waist, gave a quick nod, then turned his back again. “Nice to meet you, Je

Mitch cleared his throat, said, “Listen-”

“Let me get you a drink. On the house.”

“Well-”

“Hey.” The guy nodded to the bartender who was covering Alex. “Get the lady a-what is that, a martini? Get her a Grey Goose martini, would you? And a Glenlivet for me. Double.”

Unbelievable. Mitch leaned back on his stool, tried to catch Je

“Hope I’m not being too forward. I’m a little jet-lagged still.”

“Yeah?”

“Just got back from Cancun,” Joh

She shook her head, took an olive off the toothpick, a move Mitch always found hypnotic, the way she slid the toothpick into her mouth, lips tightening as she gripped the olive and drew it off. The way her cheekbones flared as she chewed, carefully, like she wanted to squeeze out every drop of flavor.

“I gotta tell you, it’s beautiful. Paradise.”

“Isn’t Cancun pretty much due south of here?”

“About.”

“So how are you jet-lagged?”

He laughed at that. “You got me.” Took a sip of his drink. “Flying can wear you out, though. And the airports, shoes off, belt off, arms out, stand, spin, hula dance. But I got this place down there, right on the beach, private, makes it worth the trouble.”

“You own a house there?”

“Sure do. You should come down sometime. Check it out.”

“Right. How about tomorrow? We could get married in the surf.”

“Hey,” he said, “no need to bust my balls. I’ve got two bedrooms. You could just relax, see if you like it.”

All right. Enough. Mitch leaned forward and put his hand on the guy’s shoulder. He didn’t push, not exactly, but the booze made it maybe harder than he’d meant.

Joh

“Yeah.” He felt the blood in his forehead, anger plus a little liquid courage, and decided to go with it. “I’d like you to leave us alone.”

“Hey-,” Je

“It’s OK,” Joh

“I just told you.”

Joh

“You too.” Asshole.

The man’s eyes narrowed. He stared for a moment, then held up his left hand, flicked his thumb against his pinkie ring. Dice, a five and a two. “You see this? Platinum, ninety-five percent pure. Two and a half in flawless stones.”

“So?”

“These shoes are handmade in London. This shirt cost four hundred dollars.”

“So?”

“So fuck you.” Joh

“Listen-”

“No, you listen. The lady and I are having a conversation. Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Mitch glared. His hands were shaking with adrenaline, and he could hear his pulse. He slid off the stool, stood as tall as he could.

“What?” The guy smiled, showing bright white teeth. “You going to do something, busboy?”

“Joh

“Jesus, I don’t need-,” Mitch started.

“Don’t take that tone with her.” The man leaned forward, eyes menacing.

“Everything OK?” Alex had reappeared behind the bar, his eyes pa

“Mitch didn’t mean anything,” Je

The wrong foot? What the hell? Why was she talking that way, coming on like he’d been an asshole? Trying to save him? He didn’t need that. He’d been trying to save her from this sleaze.

“Really, Joh

The man stood straight, his eyes locked on Mitch’s. The moment held for a long time. Then the guy nodded, said, “All right. You both vouch for him, I’ll let him be.” He turned to Alex. “But it’s Mr. Loverin.”

“Sure. Sorry, Mr. Loverin.” Alex spread his hands.

Loverin turned to Je

She hesitated, then put on a smile. “That sounds nice.” Mitch knew her well enough to know the smile was fake, but still.

The man nodded, then said to Alex, “Her tab’s on me.” He snorted, then, jerking a thumb contemptuously over his shoulder, said, “His too.” Mitch started to argue, but Alex caught his eye, gave him a warning look, then said, “That’s nice of you, Mr. Loverin. Thanks.”

The man turned and walked away. Mitch watched him go, the guy actually strutting. There was silence for a moment, then Alex said, “What the hell?”

“What?” Mitch shrugged. “He came over, started being an asshole.”

“You were kind of rude,” Je

“I started it?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “What are you talking about?” Mitch shook his head. “I’d like to go get him, tell him to meet me outside.”

“No, man. You don’t do that.” Alex took Mitch’s glass, held it under the tap. “I know he looks silly, but he’s serious.”