Out of a movie

The story I am about to tell you might not make a lot of sense. You might read it and think I am making it all up. Believe me, the thought hasn’t escaped me. In fact, sometimes I wonder whether I fell asleep watching a movie and dreamt the whole thing up or if this actually did happen. It’s too surreal, but at the same time, too outrageous for me to have made it up. Whatever the case might be, I will be sharing it with you and I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether you want to believe it or not. All I can say in my defense is that I don’t make lying a habit. In fact, I am a terrible liar, even in writing. Mark Twain said: “if you tell the truth you don’t have to remember anything.” That’s my motto.

These are the three main ingredients of what happened that night, which took place less than two weeks ago: a glass of merlot, a handsome date, my brother. The rest just seems to blur together into a big mess, or something out of a Steve Carell and Tina Fey movie, although perhaps with fewer puns.

I am a serial casual dater. I haven’t had a serious relationship in my life, which, at thirty-two might be a bit strange. I’ve just never actually met anyone I’d like to plant roots with. I have never had an issue with it, not even when my friends insist on setting me up on blind dates or keep pestering me about getting serious with someone, already! That the clock is ticking and that I won’t have my youth forever… And I say, let it tick! I’m in no hurry. I never wanted kids and I never wanted a dream wedding. I am perfectly happy with my life and I am not looking for anyone to fill any void that doesn’t even exist. To be honest, I think my friends and family have more of a problem with me being single than I do. I tell ya, though, single life is absolutely underrated.

Therefore, as I tell you this, you might understand why I seem a bit callous or insensitive. After all, this is not the “rom-com with a happy ending when boy meets girl, there’s a big misunderstanding, a separation time, and then they reunite to live happily ever after.” Nah! If that’s what you are expecting, stop reading right now, because that is NOT what you will be getting with this story.

I met Chris while having a glass of Merlot at my favorite pub at the end of a long week. He was tall, handsome and he clearly took care of his body. If I had to describe him in detail, let me make it easy, he could’ve played Chris Evans’ twin brother. I know the fact that the names are the same doesn’t escape me, but no, it wasn’t actually THE Chris Evans. I never got this Chris’ last name, but it wasn’t him (in case you are wondering, I follow the real CE on Instagram and he was filming somewhere on the other side of the globe), so if you were hoping for some steamy romance where the actual Chris Evans plays a part, you too can stop reading now. Not gonna happen.

He came over to where I was sitting and, with the most charming smile, asked me if I was expecting someone. I looked at him, I liked what I saw and smiled back watching him with my most seductive gaze (I had a full repertoire of those), and said the most cheesy thing (men love cheesy, otherwise they wouldn’t be using those lines on women all the time): “Not anymore. I’m Melinda. Who might you be?” I was never one to go around the bushes. I hate small-talk and I am very fond of directness.

“Chris is the name. Celebrating?” He said, gesturing with his head to my drink.

“In a manner of speaking. Another week on this Planet, another Friday, tomorrow is Saturday, and life is good. No reason not to.”

We talked about life, philosophy, politics, —I always love talking politics with someone to see what they are made of, not to see if they agree with my point of view, but to find out if they can stand by what they believe— and the current state of affairs in the world. I am attracted to intelligent men.

I invited him over to my place and I’ll spare you the details of what happened in the bedroom, the shower, the kitchen counter, and… oh, yeah, the couch. After all, this is not an episode of Game of Thrones. I think you can use your imagination to figure it out (if you can’t, then I suggest a little sexual education). My dogs know to hide in the second bedroom every time I show up with company.

I always liked my “dates” to stay the night, I never knew how many times in the night I might want to find them next to me to take advantage of them for the nth time. Oh, don’t be alarmed. If you didn’t know, women are as sexual as men are. Good sex is hard to come by with a stranger, but this stranger had the moves, so I was doubly happy to have him stay over.

I woke up the next morning to a knock on the door. I looked at the sleeping beauty by my side. I got up lazily to check out who it could be so early… oh, wait, it was eleven (what time did I go to sleep? Did I even get some decent sleep? Probably not).

“Hey, Josh! What’s up, bro? What are you doing here? Where we supposed to meet for…?”

“Where is he?” No ‘hello, sis, how are you?’ Nope. Nada. So rude. Big brothers can be so damn rude sometimes.

“What? Who? Why? A little late to be playing the jealous incestuous brother, dontcha think?” I joked.

“Cut it out, sis. Where is he?”

“Seriously, dude, you are freaking me out. Who? What are you on about?”

“The guy you took home last night. He’s not who you think he is.”

“Well, I know who he looks like, but I know that’s not who he is, so I don’t know who you think I think he is, except really good in bed,” I added facetiously.

As we were talking, me still in sleepy-land thinking that perhaps I was dreaming or that my brother had lost his mind, I heard the bedroom door open. Next thing I know I’m being shoved to the side, my brother withdraws a gun from behind him with the same speed as Roland Deschain, and fires. For a second I can’t hear a thing, and when I look up I see, lying on the floor, the body of Chris Evans’ look-alike, a gun in his hand. WTF? I looked at my brother as if I’d never seen him before.

“Who the hell are you?!” I screamed. I just couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Not now.” He said crass.

“Yeah, no, that’s not gonna cut it.” I looked towards the door where there was now the dead body of my latest lover. “What is going on here?” I was surprised at my calmness. I wasn’t even afraid, even though I had just found out in a not very subtle way that my brother was either an assassin, a spy, or some sort of secret agent.

“I’ll tell you later. I promise.” He got his phone out of his pocket and made a call. “Yes. It’s done. I found him. It’s as we thought. Yes, my sister’s. Can you be here in fifteen?” He wasn’t worried about any noise the guns may have made. They both had silencers. I only figured so much from movies I had seen, don’t ask me what type of guns they were. I’m just a simple architect. I had never even seen a gun up-close-and-personal before.

Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. My brother opened it. Three people entered, did a clean-up as if they did this for a living (they probably did), and left, body and all as if nothing had ever happened. They took everything and anything belonging to fake Chris Evans and left everything as if last night had never happened.

Once they left, I looked at my brother questioningly.

“OK, yes, so I work for a secret organization that finds criminals and spies all over the world. We sometimes collaborate with the CIA, Interpol, MI6, and other organizations that may require methods they are not prepared to undertake for whatever reason. Of course, I would’ve never told you if it wasn’t because of the current circumstances.”

“Right, but… who was he? And how did you know he was here?” My brother approached me, put his arm around my shoulder, and gave me a brotherly squeeze. He moved his hand up to massage my neck…

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I woke up in bed on Sunday morning at around ten. I felt disoriented… wasn’t it supposed to be Saturday? The last thing I remember was… FUCK!! The asshole! What had he done to me? And why the hell was it Sunday? How did I lose a day?

I looked over at where the fake Chris Evans had laid dead not twenty-four hours ago. I shivered.

My brother had a lot of explaining to do. I called him. It went to voice-mail. Of course. I started for the kitchen to prepare some coffee. I needed to wake up and PRONTO. While the coffee was brewing, I went to wash my face, look in the mirror and make sure I was still me and hadn’t completely lost all my marbles. My phone vibrated. A text from my brother.

I am sorry sis. I had to do it. I couldn’t answer all your questions and I know how you get. I had to meet with my superiors. Suffice it to say, you are safe and you don’t need to worry. I can’t tell you more. It’s a matter of national security. I’d have to kill you or lock you up if you were to know more. Not kidding ;-)

What? I was speechless. What the hell was that about? Couldn’t he have waited to kill the guy once he left my place? Why would this dude even come home with me? I can’t even begin to express how infuriating and frustrating this is.

You might be thinking: ‘but, what a letdown, you can’t leave me, the reader, hanging like that. I need to know what happened.’ All I can say is, join the club. I wish I knew more too. If it wasn’t for the text from my brother, and for the loss of my Saturday, I would’ve been dubious that it happened at all. Perhaps I should delete the message and pretend it never happened, might help me keep my sanity. Perhaps, you, whoever you may be reading this, should just pretend you never read it.