A Name to Hold On To

Tabitha had expected more. When Charlotte picked her up after dinner, Tabitha had been certain that tonight would be the night. The night they finally met the man who had somehow become the focus of both their romantic lives. She'd spent an unreasonable amount of time getting ready, choosing a short, revealing dress that showed off her legs and hugged her figure. It wasn't the sort of thing she'd normally wear. The dress was more Charlotte's territory, really, but Tabitha knew her sister would be making an effort to attract a man's attention. She wasn't about to be left behind.

Now, several hours later, the two sisters sat at a table in a bar, dressed to draw the eye of a man they weren't even certain existed, and Tabitha was thoroughly disappointed.

Because he hadn't shown up.

In a way, she understood. Why would he? Was he even real? Logically, Tabitha knew how ridiculous the whole thing was. They were chasing a man based on a shared impression, a fantasy that neither of them could properly explain. There was no guarantee he would ever walk through that door, much less notice them.

But what else was she supposed to do?

It felt as though her entire love life had gone through a reset without completing the reboot. The things she'd once wanted, the people she'd once found attractive, all seemed to belong to someone else. Tabitha barely understood who she was anymore. She needed this man. This sexy, short, round, fictional man. He was the missing piece, the answer to a question she hadn't even known she was asking until recently. Somehow, meeting him would make sense of everything.

An attractive woman in her mid-twenties walked through the front door. She wore a flowing skirt and a tight top that showed off her figure. Her red hair was arranged in two thick braids, each one draped over a shoulder, the ends resting against her substantial cleavage. She was exactly the sort of woman who would once have caught Tabitha's eye. Before all this, Tabitha might have spent the next few minutes admiring her, perhaps even wondering whether she could find an excuse to strike up a conversation.

Instead, she studied the newcomer with something approaching academic interest. Attractive, certainly. Well dressed. Nice figure. But the familiar spark of desire wasn't there. Tabitha could recognize beauty without wanting anything to do with it.

Not when someone like her fantasy man might exist.

She sighed and took another long drink from her beer. At least Charlotte was sticking to water. Tabitha had already had enough to drink that driving was out of the question, and she suspected she'd been using the alcohol to soften the disappointment. Every time the front door opened, a little part of her hoped to see him. Every time it wasn't him, that hope took another small beating.

She'd imagined the evening so differently. They would come to the bar Charlotte had visited earlier in the month, find him sitting somewhere with a drink, and catch his eye. He'd smile. They'd smile back. Somehow, the rest would follow. Paradise on Earth, or at least the beginning of it.

Instead, they'd spent the evening at a table, turning away one hopeful man after another. Some had chiseled features, others expensive shoes, and a few seemed convinced that two attractive women sitting together must be waiting for someone to rescue them from an otherwise dull evening. The sisters had politely, and sometimes not so politely, discouraged every advance. Meanwhile, each opening of the front door brought another round of anticipation followed by disappointment.

"Are you sure this is the right bar?" Tabitha asked for what must have been the third time.

"I'm sure, Tabitha." Charlotte rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "I saw him here. That doesn't mean he'll be here every night, but this is where I saw him."

"But if he doesn't show up..."

"Then he doesn't show up," Charlotte interrupted. "I can't control whether he comes here or not. We could camp out in this place every night for a month and he still might never walk through that door."

"But..."

"I know." Charlotte's expression softened. Reaching across the table, she rested a hand on Tabitha's arm. "I want to meet him, too. Believe me, I do. But we can't force it. He either shows up or he doesn't."

Tabitha looked around the room. The televisions played highlights from a hockey game, the commentary drowned out by the steady din of conversation, clinking glasses, and laughter. People were enjoying their evenings, talking about work, sports, and whatever else mattered to them. It was an ordinary night in an ordinary bar. Nobody had the slightest idea that two women at one of the tables were having their hearts slowly broken by the absence of a man most people would consider imaginary.

"Screw this passive shit," Tabitha announced, pushing back her chair. "I'm going to ask around."

Charlotte opened her mouth, perhaps to suggest that Tabitha sit down and finish her beer, but her sister was already heading for the bar.

The bartender was a man in his early thirties, with short black hair and a neatly trimmed black beard. His features had a distinctly Middle Eastern look, and his friendly face seemed naturally suited to smiling. He wore a fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and moved easily behind the counter as he served the steady stream of customers. There was something relaxed and approachable about him, the sort of man who could make a stranger feel welcome without trying too hard.

Tabitha caught his eye and offered a smile. Not a particularly sincere one, perhaps, but a smile designed to suggest that she wasn't a lesbian and that he might have a chance if he played his cards right. It was an old trick, one she'd used plenty of times before. Men tended to respond well to it, too.

The bartender approached, wiping his hands on a towel.

"What can I get you?"

"A refill." Tabitha pointed to her empty bottle. "And some information."

"The beer I can do," the man replied with a grin. "For information, have you tried Wikipedia?"

"Not that kind of information, silly." Tabitha giggled, giving him a playful look. Men loved it when you giggled. The habit came naturally, even if she wasn't entirely sure what she was doing with it anymore. "I'm looking for someone. He's middle-aged, a little short, a bit overweight. Brown hair, receding hairline. Kind eyes..."

The bartender's smile faded slightly. He placed a fresh bottle on the counter, then studied Tabitha's face.

"I think I know the guy."

For a moment, Tabitha forgot how to speak.

The bartender knew him. He knew him. The slight change in his expression, the way his eyes narrowed as he considered the description, made it obvious. Tabitha had spent the entire evening wondering whether the man she and Charlotte were searching for was nothing more than a shared fantasy. Now someone was telling her he was real.

He was real.

"I need to speak to him," Tabitha blurted. "Me and my sister. We need to find him. Can you help us? We don't know what to do. I was starting to think he wasn't real, that maybe I'd made him up in my head. I feel like I'm going crazy, but you know him. You know who I'm talking about, right? How do we find him?"

The bartender stared at her for a moment. Then his gaze shifted past Tabitha to the table where Charlotte was sitting. A long, thoughtful sigh escaped him before he shook his head.

"I know the man you're looking for," he said slowly. "He's been in here three times. And I think I understand why you're looking for him. If there were some way I could help you, I would, but I don't know how to contact him."

"Please!" Tabitha's voice had become almost desperate. The possibility of meeting him had suddenly seemed so close, only to be snatched away again. Knowing he existed made the prospect of never finding him considerably worse. He was out there somewhere. He was real. And she had no idea how to reach him. "There has to be something you can do."

The bartender considered that, then reached beneath the counter.

"I suppose I could take your contact information. If he comes in again, I could pass it along."

He pulled out a notepad and pen, but Tabitha practically snatched them from his hand. Leaning over the bar, she began writing as quickly as she could. Her phone number, email address, home address. Then she added Charlotte's information, including every phone number and email address she could think of. She didn't want to take any chances. If the bartender had a way to reach either of them, she wanted to make certain he could.

"Is there anything else?" Tabitha asked, sliding the pad back across the counter. "I'll do anything. Pay anything. Whatever you want. I just need to meet him."

The bartender hesitated.

"He's... well, he's popular with the ladies," he said carefully. "He brought one here on a date once. Quite sexy. Big glasses, short black hair. I'm pretty sure she's his girlfriend. Well, one of his girlfriends, I suppose. He called her Zara, and she called him Roy."

Roy.

The name seemed to strike Tabitha with the force of an explosion.

Roy.

She had a name. An actual name. Not just a description, not some vague image of a man who existed somewhere in the back of her mind. Roy. Royroyroyroyroy.

She wanted to jump up onto the bar and shout it to the entire room. She wanted to run back to Charlotte and tell her. She wanted to say it over and over until the name became as familiar as her own.

She was in love with Roy.

And he had other girlfriends!

Of course he did. A man like Roy, with a heart big enough to love the way she imagined he could, wasn't going to limit himself to one woman. The thought didn't bother Tabitha. Quite the opposite. It was wonderful news. If Roy already had girlfriends, then there was no reason he couldn't have another two. Both she and Charlotte could have a chance with him. They wouldn't have to compete for his attention or force one another to step aside.

A man with a big enough heart for both sisters. It sounded like a dream come true.

"Thank you," Tabitha said, her voice suddenly much softer. "You have no idea how grateful I am."

"I think I might have an idea," the bartender replied, giving her a knowing smirk. "You're welcome. Enjoy the beer. Hope you find him."

Tabitha picked up the fresh bottle and turned away from the counter. A grin spread across her face, one she made no effort to hide. The evening had started as a disappointment, but everything had changed in the space of a few minutes. They still hadn't met Roy, and there was no guarantee the bartender would ever see him again. But now they had something they hadn't had before.

A name.

She walked back towards the table, feeling lighter with every step. Charlotte was watching her expectantly, no doubt wondering what she'd managed to accomplish. Tabitha could hardly wait to tell her.

Roy.

They had a name.

And soon, they hoped, they'd have a man.