Ines’s eyebrows rise as she glances at me. We’re both thinking the same thing. “You’ve been there?” she asks.
“Sure. They have the best nacho poutine around.”
Ines hangs up and stares at the phone. “Tool belts,” she says thoughtfully.
I try not to laugh. “Where do you think they wear the work socks?”
Her face twitches as she starts the car again.
The bar is about ten minutes away, and Jihoon calls as we enter the little dimly lit foyer. I answer because I want to talk to him in case I’m delayed further.
“Ari? Where are you?”
Although it’s not as loud as a dance club, the place is lit up like someone set off fireworks. Ines heads to the right, and I sniff cautiously as I look left. It reeks of fried food, sweat, and Tory Burch perfume, and I raise my voice to talk into the phone so Jihoon can hear me. “I’m at a bar.”
“A bar? I thought you were leaving.” He sounds more confused than upset. I edge into the main room so I can multitask finding these women and talking to Jihoon, but cheers erupt as a man takes to the stage swinging a sledgehammer. The entire effect is more nerve-racking than arousing as I wait for him to accidentally take out the stripper pole.
“The guests disappeared. We’re trying to find…oh my God.”
A man dressed in a jockstrap and tool belt has popped up in front of me. “Looking for a good time, baby girl?” he asks, twitching his oiled pecs in my direction. “I like the cute ones. I’ll give you a discount, make it good.”
There’s a choked noise on the phone. “Ari?”
Poor Jihoon. “It’s for work. I’ll call you back.” I hang up.
Tool Belt Man drops me a wink. “Boyfriend, huh? Have him come by. I don’t mind.”
I ignore that. “I’m looking for five women. Mostly blond and they’re probably drunk.”
He adjusts his belt. “Yeah? Take your pick, baby girl.”
I leave my new, almost naked friend and start peering into booths, increasingly desperate to get on my way. The nacho poutine, which is about six inches high, does look good, though. I’m fending off another tool belt handyman and am about to recheck the tables when a text comes from Ines.
Found them, it says.Meet me at the door.
The best message of my life. I race back to the exit and meet with Ines, who’s outside taking deep breaths.
“They’re good?” I ask.
“Very happy, and I have learned several different applications ofthe termflexibilitytonight,” she says. “Let me run you to your car. Gregor can pick them up.”
I take a photo of the neon sign, including the Pec Popper, who is blowing me a kiss, and send it to Jihoon.
Me:Taking you here next time you’re in Canada.
Jihoon:Can’t wait baby girl.
Me:Shut up. On my way back.
I delete the next flood of StarLune update notifications, and this time I turn the damn things off. I have plenty of stress already, thanks.
I’m going to be late.
Seven thirty comes, and I check my phone. I’ve kept Jihoon updated on my painfully slow progress, and I see the message I’ve been dreading.We need to leave for the airport soon.
I can make it, I send back.
Ten minutes later, I’ve moved about three kilometers. Soon comes another message, read out by my phone.
