13.
Milly’s Godzilla plushy stands snugly fastened between her handlebars. Exiting the secure garage of her towering apartment building on her green sports motorcycle, she accelerates up the eastbound on-ramp, zooming past an AI-driven car. Receding into her blind spot, its passenger flips her off.
Because of cameras on the bridge, she slows. But before Bellevue, cameras end where dilapidated shoreline mansions begin. Debris gathers alongside the highway. Flooded apartments crumble. Unfinished construction sits idle.
Milly usually guns it here. Tonight fits the pattern.
As her speedometer rises, one corner of her mouth turns upward. At Bellevue, she brakes hard, taking the first exit near a gleaming, newer air-sealed tower.
In a parking garage, the security guard stretches his neck, leering at Milly changing clothes behind her motorcycle. She stuffs boots in one side compartment, jacket in the other, and then sets her helmet over Godzilla. Milly puts on big glasses and slides her feet into leather heels that match her skirt.
She approaches his security booth, passes by, and enters the elevator. The doors close in front of her. “How quaint — buttons.” Pressing the highest, she ascends.
Under massive skylights, Milly’s heels click, clack, click on the polished tile. She cruises past the queue stretching from the food court of the posh sealed mall to the entrance of Ambrosia.
Three friends wave her down. One squeals, “Love your glasses!”
“Antiques.” Milly wiggles their white frames. “Meet you gals inside.” She continues to the front of the line. “I’m on the guest list.”
The bouncer says, “Still have to check your bag.”
Milly provides it.
“That’s a lot of lip gloss,” he says.
She winks. “Is that a bad thing?”
“ID?”
She points at his screen and holds up her glossy black card. “Milly.”
“Mildred?” He squints. “Utah? This ID is almost expired.”
“Same name,” another bouncer offers. “I’ve seen her before.” He nods her in. “Remember, no photos.”
Milly passes multicolored holograms of swirling, miniaturized galaxies surrounding Ambrosia’s entrance. Her pupils grow in the darkness; a bar top glows in the distance.
🎵 “Pon de Replay” - Rihanna 🎵
“Look at that dish.” An androgynous bartender nudges a male coworker. “She your type?”
Sauntering towards the far end of their bar, Milly kicks her heel up on the footrest. A custard-tan skirt, fur dressing its hemline, cuts across her thigh. Flaxen mane overflowing a buttermilk blouse, rosé cheeks flank her guava-pink mouth.
“Damn,” he replies. “She’s everyone’s type.”
The androgynous one smirks. “Don’t know about that. How many X chromosomes do you think she has, though?”
“All of them.”
They smile. “Go get 'em, tiger.”
Milly orders from the barman. “Scotch on the rocks.”
Delivering her drink, he smiles, almost speaks, but then leaves as more customers arrive.
Sitting beside Milly, a man unbuttons his navy blue crushed velvet jacket. “That’s a lovely bracelet.” His accent is slight, unplaceable.
She shrugs without looking.
His features are rounded and pleasant. “But I wonder if — like you — it’s dangerous?”
Milly spins; they lock eyes.
He gives her a little smile. “You shouldn’t drink alcohol on painkillers.”
She removes her glasses. “I’m not on painkillers.” As she glances around the bar, her right hand slides to her bracelet.
“Milly, I’m not here to hurt you, but this meeting is not optional. Bingo told me about the misunderstanding. I’m Heoh. Sit with me a while.”
She slams her drink, then flexes her back.
“What do you like, then?” He taps her empty glass.
“Scotch.”
“Your favorite?”
She nods.
“I hate scotch. Try something with me.” Heoh points at the top shelf, holding up two fingers to the bartender. “Shochu.”
Milly blinks twice and knits her brow.
“Did I catch you off-guard with my little game?” he asks. “Or are you just accustomed to getting whatever you like?”
She recoils.
“Both, then,” Heoh says. “Try not to make this so easy on me.”
“What do you want?”
“Make no mistake, you are a menace to our accounting. But this conversation is about something else — an opportunity. It’s yours to decide.”
Her shoulders settle.
The barman brings a dusty bottle covered in Japanese writing. He breaks the seal and pours.
Heoh and Milly sip.
Her nose wrinkles.
🎵 “Cooler Than Me” - Mike Posner 🎵
Heoh sips again. “What brings you to Seattle?”
“You think I’m not from here?”
His eyes are dark. So is his thick hair, graying near his sideburns. He offers only a smile.
“I like the water,” she says.
He squints. “That much is true, but the real reason, please.”
“My life had a change of plans.”
“I’ve been there, too. You’ve traveled a lot?”
“Some.”
“Outside the States?”
“Yes. Hawai’i.”
Heoh takes a sip. “The Autonomous Protectorate! How lovely.”
The male bartender approaches. “Did you like the Shochu?”
Milly lights up with a big, flirtatious smile. “Amazing, thanks.”
Smiling back, the bartender pours. “Try it chilled.” He places her glass on a small metal plate that crackles with frost.
“Mmm … better,” she coos, batting her lashes.
“On the house.” The bartender leaves.
“He’s cute.” She turns back to Heoh.
“Yes, he is. Anyone could tell that bartender thinks he has a chance.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“But,” Heoh says, “I was watching you. You’re not attracted to him in the slightest.”
Raising her palm, Milly’s eyes sink. “How are you better at this than I am?”
An excellent question …
“I prefer men, Milly, but my eyes focus. Do you also see how people treat you differently?”
“I’ve done my research. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, I did.” He taps the corner of his eye. “But how do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Read people.”
“Must I answer that?” She enunciates her “t’s” sharply. “Now?”
“Of course not.” Heoh smiles. “Change of subject.” He looks down and up her frame, ending at her face. “How do you stay in shape?”
“I’m just lucky,” she says, monotone.
He chuckles. “You’re fun. I could do this all night. But your friends will be here soon.”
She ekes out a tiny smile. “I avoid eating sugar.”
Heoh laughs. “See? We’re having fun! Go on.”
“I run. Lift weights. Scuba. Martial arts.”
“Impressive. Why this club, tonight?”
“You tell me.”
He stares. “Hmm. That time, I didn’t glean anything from your expression. You learn quickly.” Heoh explains his ancestry is Chinese, English, Vietnamese, and French. “My parents died in The Floods. I made it to Japan under their refugee worker program. After the war, I decided I don’t belong anywhere.”
“I thought I did.” The corners of Milly’s mouth subtly fall.
“Then maybe we are the same.” He places his thumb and his index finger on the corners of his mouth. “I understand sadness, like you do.”
She furrows her brow. “I can’t read everyone.”
He smiles wryly, then finishes his drink. “Milly, I just met someone I believe is special. Like you, I am curious. Curious enough to introduce you to my superior.” He slides her a paper card with an address. “But wear something more athletic, won’t you? It’s a gym.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Hmm, what did you really think of the Shochu?”
Milly sticks out her tongue a tiny bit.
“I thought so.” Heoh stands, straightening his coat. “Shochu is complex, like life. You may develop a taste for something new.” He taps the card as he turns to leave. “Seven o’clock tomorrow. Not optional.”
“I thought we just had the meeting?”
“We were just having drinks — on the house.” Heoh winks. “Good job. See you tomorrow night.”
Milly gulps, exhaling as she slides the card into her purse.