Perfect Strangers

They met at the bar and it was as though they had known each other all their lives.

"Did we meet in another reincarnation? Did we love each other?"

She smiled -- was it a flirtation? She sipped her martini with royal ease. He found her to be exceptionally attractive. She was so very nice to look at, stare at, observe. He could lose himself in those blue eyes, that red hair, that body. He could almost imagine himself in those shoes.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, puzzled, "We just met." She was smiling. She was smiling like there was no tomorrow.

"It's just that I feel so comfortable with you. You're literally irrestible!" He punctuated his comment with a clear exclamation.

He found his bachlor life confusing. He wasn't especially attractive, but he said what he meant and meant what he said which made him a gentleman he supposed. What made women attracted to him? He wondered. Her green and blue eyes, commingled and a golden sunrise over that. She was absolutely gorgeous and absolutely brilliant and she was really responding to him. It made him feel a bit vain.

She lay in his arms, tucked in, like a child. She had found her refuge in him, away from the masks that she assumed. She could be herself for a short while. It did not matter to her that she worked for the CIA as a front. She felt comfortable.

He tried to imagine himself in bed with her. He was afraid of intimacy, even terribly afraid. Would she ask for flowers? Would she ask for a courtship?

The curious thing was that they hadn't had sex. They had simply lay naked throughout the night, kissing and almost admiring each other. He felt so nude and weaponless in front of her.

"Rebecca, please send flowers to this address."
"Of course, Mr. Tymers."

She read the note on the flowers," You are a breathe of fresh air in an incredibly polluted world." All she could think of was Timothy.

On the screen it read, "You are a real-estate analyst for the firm, Washington & Enkels. Your name is Sharon Bradley. You are valuing homes for Middle-Eastern and Eastern European Clients."

Trisha Trousseau felt like a vampire. She could feel her fangs forming. There was incredible power within her soul. She had never felt this way before. It was very peculiar.

She looked around herself and literally everyone seemed to be staring at her or sneaking a look at her, smiling. It was quite amazing. What had she done? What had she left undone? Was it love that made her feel this way? Had she fallen in love once again, to purge herself of the meaninglessness of her life?

Timothy was dressed for the occasion, in a tux and faultless shoes. He appeared somewhat disconcerted from his day at work. It was so hard to adjust.

"It seems like we finished the meal before ordering appetizers," he blurted out.

"I don't often sleep with strangers," she added, "It's not a habit of mine."

"The veal is excellent. Very tender."

"Just like your heart," Trisha blurted out. Why had she said that?

They finished the dinner in silence, enjoying every bite. It was delicious. Then, they went outside to look at the stars. They were gleaming with envy.

"It's utterly cold and beautiful up there. Is that how your heart is?"

She was a bit taken back. Why did he ask such questions? Where was she? What was it that was so attractive about Timothy? What was she doing? Was this ethical?

Was this good?

In her mind, Trisha said to herself over and over again that she was Sharon Bradley. Like an actress, she rehearsed her part. She showed the properties to the Eastern European client.

"It's the perfect time to buy," she smiled.

"Can you support us on the margins?"
"Of course."

She had killed men. She had gathered up all the hatred of men that she had in her soul and cooled it until her hands became perfectly cold. A tender kill, she had thought. They were inferior to us anyway.

It felt good to kill someone whom she knew was almost completely evil anyway. She had seen what they were like, even slept with them. She had seen how they were driven by an intense selfishness fed by sheer id. They were consumed by their instincts and nothing else. They were literally eating up the world around them. She had observed them with her eyes and she had grown cold, icy, and mindful. They deserved death. Death was coming to them. She was an agent of beautiful death.

"You are smiling, Trish..."
"Of course. Life is so beautiful when I am with you. My heart warms up to you."
"You are so kind."

They kissed as trillions of stars circled around them. The stars were distilled into brilliance, shining like mad diamonds when lightbeams strike them at a cut angle.

"I feel drunk."

She felt the gun in her hand as the female Chinese spy lay in bed. Her black hair lay lazily on the white pillow. This was a woman who stabbed enemy spies with eight different knives. She knew all the right parts to stab in the body. Sometimes, a spy could survive if she gave the right information. Each stab was potentially fatal.

She shot the woman once.

Why was she remembering this as she was kissing Timothy? She shot her once. It felt perfect. She smiled. The body did not even move. She had turned out all the lights except one. She had given her a chance to get up. She was dead. It occurred to Trisha that there was no difference between her being dead and her being alive. She added nothing and took away nothing. That's why she was a spy.

The furniture lay immaculate in her condominium. An off-white leather couch set circled the red, marble table. A bar was nearby, waiting for some lonely soul to take a seat. Timothy sat at the bar. Trisha served him a martini.

"I never figured you as a bartender."
"I am a woman of many talents."

Timothy smiled. Finally, a woman who could make a drink.

"Tim. Don't you think that there's something wrong with our relationship. It's almost perfect. We're in complete sync with each other. It can't be real."

"I'm enjoying every moment of it."

"Maybe we should break it off while it's still good."

Timothy's smile disappeared.
"Are you seeing someone else?"

"No. I just sense that there's nowhere for us to go. I feel that we both had just finished a project or assignment, and we were both looking for a restful relationship, in relationship in which we could simply be ourselves and not have to wear any masks, but WHAT I AM ASKING IS, where can such a relationship go? IT CAN ONLY GO DOWN."

"Serve me another martini," Tim requested. He stared at Trisha for a long while. Her face was blank.

"You enjoy such a relationship. When you drink fine wine, do you not enjoy every moment of feeling that the wine offers you?"

"But you learn to stop drinking the wine when the feeling goes and drunkenness takes over."

"Are we drunk with love then?"

"If we were, we would be doing crazy things."

"What's the harm in that?" Tim seemed to be enjoying himself now.

"I think we both know the answer to that question."

"You tell me."

Trisha stared into Tim's eyes and then smiled triumphantly.
"You're a spy who kills American spies for kicks."
Trisha stressed the work "kicks."

"And you're a spy who kills spies who kill spies," Tim was looking almost sober now.
"So what's the verdict," he asked as he finished off the martini.

"Death."

"No exit?"

"Hell is other people."
"You always knew, didn't you?"

"I suppose I did... but I wanted to enjoy myself."

"Before the punishment?"

"My crime is against God, not against you."

"I was going to give you a chance to get away."

"But I fell in love with my judge."

"I'm just the judge's messenger."

"I had my chance to kill you. I was charmed. Women, you can't kill them when they arouse your id."

"No, Tim. Men like you want to be right, but you are screwed the wrong way."

"All of those spies deserved it."

"It doesn't make you any less of a mass murderer."

"That's not too easy for you to say."

"One shot."
"One shot, huh."
"In Silence."