Chapter 3: The Woman in Red

Amanda Meyers was still a mystery to Matt by the time of their next meeting, which happened only a week later.

"That Amanda woman asked me to give you this.", his sister said, placing in his hands a handwritten telephone number. "Did she say anything else?", he asked, the fear being perceptible in his tone. "Only to call her.", she added.

He typed the numbers into his phone and hit dial as his heart took turns between staying frozen and signaling a stroke. Finally, a click sounded.

A: "Yeah?"

M: "Yeah, hi... uhm... This is Matt."

A: "Good. Can you make it to Reicher's in an hour?"

M: "Uhm... yeah, I think I can."

A: "Good. Be there."

And a final click ended the conversation.

Without any clue in the world what Reicher's even was, Matt hailed a cab and placed the name, thankfully there was only one place fitting the bill. Reicher's Arms was one of the more refined pubs that London had to offer. Those two words can't usually be placed in the same sentence, but the Arms had some of the strictest policies and the highest prices you could find in anything short of a hotel, with the cost of a beer being enough to sustain whole groups of people elsewhere. It was quiet, and decent, two qualities that almost disqualified it from calling itself a pub.

As he entered the establishment, Amanda was lounging at a table, a half-filled ashtray holding her latest cigarette and two glasses before her, one empty and one in the process of being so.

He approached her deliberately but cautiously, feeling more out of place than a priest at a gay bar. She looked up as soon as he got within five paces.

A: "Good. Glad to see I'm not committing the worst crime possible."

W: "Excuse me?"

A: "Drinking alone is as worse a crime as shitting with company.", she said casually, a quick drag and a big gulp following her words. All Matt could do is sit down and look her in the eyes.

She looked away, towards the bar, "HEY! Two more Guiness and another ashtray here!", she shouted, calling the attention of the whole bar. The patrons quickly turned away after just one look.

A: "You were serious back then? You don't know me at all?"

M: "I seriously don't."

A: "Now, I don't know if you're f*****g with me or if you're actually serious, but let's just assume the second."

His response was a silent nod, done while he pulled a cigarette out of his pack.

A: "Ever heard of Shrieker?"

M: "Can't say I did."

A: "'Course you didn't. Here I am, having millions of fans, and before me stands one boy who doesn't want to kiss my feet."

M: "You're famous?"

A: "Try asking a less stupid question next time. Yes, I'm famous. Half of the people that walked through those doors came at me for autographs. Can't get a f*****g second to myself."

As those words left her, a girl brought their order. Just as she was reaching for the empty glass, Amanda finished her drink in one mouthful and pushed the glass her way, pulling the new one beside her. The girl left just after she extinguished her current smoke. She pulled out another and lit it without even taking another breath. Matt pulled his drink beside him as well, but not as hastily.

M: "I didn't know, I mean... I had never heard of it before now."

A: "I guess that happens, living in a backwater country."

In her own uncaring words, Amanda went at length to tell the boy about her line of work, about how Shrieker was the most popular R&B band in England, spanning millions of fans domestically and half as much abroad. She and her band mates also went into acting, scoring several hit movies and a few loved TV series, but the biggest surprise came from something nobody would assume of a top rated artist like her.

M: "You're a psychologist?"

A: "So I've said."

M: "Why? I mean... no offense... seriously, but... you don't look the type." He struggled to send the first part of that sentence more than he'd do in a fight for his life.

A: "It was necessary."

M: "May I ask why?"

A: "You can ask later. Now it would be stupid."

M: "It's just that it leaves me quite puzzled."

A: "And I can explain it to you once we get past the first date."

M: "Uhhh.... This isn't a date..."

A: "If you say so."

The events of that day unfolded to the continuous surprise of the young boy, with topics more and more serious being approached by her, despite her high alcoholism. At the fourth pint, Matt refused another, but the new drink was shoved in his hand while the woman had two more on her side.

By nine o'clock the damage was more than visible, but his older partner had no change in stance.

"I'll foot the bill.", she said, placing enough money to feed a family for a month into the waitress's hand. Matt was nowhere near legible, and it became even more obvious when his rise from the chair was followed by a quick crash back."Oh, for heaven's sake..." were the words he heard before he was whisked on her shoulder like a fresh kill. She drove him back home without any trouble, ending the night by dropping him on his bed at the hotel without even looking back. Thankfully, he didn't puke anywhere during the ride. The boy didn't hear her last words before they separated that day: "I'll admit. That was fun."

Over the next year, he got to meet her colleagues, got to know her better, and even got an answer to his last curiosity. She had an energy about her that the boy learned to adore, and she occupied his mind more often than not. Like many others before him, most of greater stature than him, she took him to her bed several times, and while he was in no way new to this, she knew the art better than most. Like many more before him, Matt went to love her, in a way that can only be described as obsessive and lusting, and this killed the last of the interest she had of him at first, he became another fan, and to him, she was a goddess. He'd often leave home to be with her, with no problem to being one option of hundreds, while she was his priority. Amanda taught him a lot about life, about sex, and even a bit about psychology, and now, she was about to get a new friend.