RENDEZ-VOUS
The washroom was dark and grimy, not exactly the kind of place you wanted to spend a particularly long period of time. The small pot lights flickered in their recessed ceiling alcoves and a glaring spotlight illuminated the bank of brown streaked urinals. The air was a pungent fusion of urine and bleach, a double blast of nose singeing chemical.
He fidgeted with the envelope clasped tightly in his hands and checked his watch again. Another four minutes had passed. He walked along the bank of toilet stalls again and slowly pushed each door inward with the toe of his boot. He knew that nobody was in there because for nearly 40 minutes he had been pacing the sticky linoleum floor waiting for his meeting to show up. He might have missed something though, a note directing him to a different location, or some other sign that things had gone off the rails.
He paused in front of the bank of broken mirrors over the water-stained sinks and stared at his reflection. The face peering out at him looked tired and he wondered, not for the first time, what he had gotten himself into. More importantly, he wondered whether tonight would be the moment that he finally put an end to the mess.
He heard footprints approaching in the hall and his breath caught for a moment. He turned to face the door, and quickly smoothed his shirt, a nervous reaction more than a desire to look good for his meeting. He heard laughter and a murmured conversation as the footsteps passed by the door.
He winced as the ventilation system kicked in with a loud thud and whir of machinery. 47 minutes late. The contact had obviously decided not to come. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket to check for messages or missed calls, but there were none.
Finally, with a sense of resignation and remorse, he decided that the rendez-vous was not going to happen. Rendez-vous; that’s what the man had a called it on the phone as though they were getting together for some sort of social event. He took one last look around the grotty washroom and stepped out into the hallway.
We wandered down the corridor towards the main lobby of the motel, passing framed prints of moose and ducks and a potted plastic palm. He pushed through into the lobby area and was again surprised by the timeless aesthetic of the space.
As he walked towards the main doors at the front, a man stood up from a vinyl sofa and crossed the room towards him. He didn’t say a word, but indicated the envelope with a flick of his wrist.
He handed it over and the man disappeared out the glass doors and into the night. He didn’t know how to react at first, dumbfounded by the silent transaction. He had envisioned countless potential outcomes of this meeting, but that was not one of them.
He realized that the envelope was no longer in his hand, and the man who had taken it was already disappearing into the night. With a sudden lurch, he ran out the doors and into the parking lot. He was too late.
His phone vibrated in his packet with a sudden intensity and he dug into his pocket for it. Maybe it wasn’t all for nothing after all.
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