It was a city I had been eager to explore for years. With my separation now official almost three months to the day, I had coerced my close friend to spend Thanksgiving away from family and the associated traditions. From the first “bonjour!” at the hotel reception desk, I was more than pleased by my decision to forgo the annual craziness and spend the next four days in Montreal.
“Hey Stef, you ready yet?” My fifteen-minute wait felt like hours. I knew our 350 square foot ‘high floor room with a view’ was considered spacious in comparison to the options at the neighboring hotels. Definitely a bonus, but the extra living area for the long weekend had no impact on my patience level.
“Chill out, we have plenty of time. But yes, I’m ready. Let’s go!”
Looking at my travel companion, I burst out laughing. My mom would have said we looked like the Bobbsey Twins, although I was clueless as to their identity. We were both dressed in our Friday night uniform: black tank, leather jacket, distressed jeans, and black booties. Changing wasn’t an option as the rest of my wardrobe resembled our current attire.
We took the elevator down to the lobby, where only steps away was the swanky little bar we’d missed visiting yesterday. Fifteen tall leather cushioned stools were arranged in a curve around an expansive wall of liquor, the bottles neatly displayed by type and in alphabetical order. Grabbing the two empty seats in the middle of the U-shape, we situated ourselves in the best spot for people-watching, starting with the bartender. She confidently approached us in a little black dress, houndstooth patterned tights, four-inch platform Mary Janes, and hoop earrings that grazed the top of her shoulders.
“Bonjour!”
“Bonjour!” we responded in unison. I let seconds pass, pretending to review the menu on the counter in front of me when my beverage selection had been determined back in the hotel room.
“I’ll have a Cosmopolitan.” I felt like the drink reflected the setting; might as well kick off the evening with a martini.
Within minutes, the bartender poured the rose-colored liquid into a chilled martini glass and carefully placed it on a small square cocktail napkin. Ignoring the fact that my fashion clone was still waiting for her vodka soda, I took a small sip of my pink drink and set it back down in its place. Remembering I still had money in my pocket from last night’s outing, I unfolded the cash and laid it by my glass. As I realized the faded red tint of the weathered ten-dollar bill matched the pink shade of my cocktail, I started to giggle.
Startled by an elbow digging into my ribs, I turned toward my friend. “What the…?”
“Your left…” Stef whispered, barely moving her lips.
Somewhat annoyed since I almost spilled my Cosmo, I glanced over to see two familiar faces. Three empty stools separated me from George Clooney, wearing a black beanie and looking better in person than on the silver screen. His companion resembled Larry David, not remotely the same level of interest.
Barely twisting my upper body back toward Stef, “Holy crap, what do we do? Should we go over there? Maybe buy him a drink?”
“He has a drink! I was trying to tell you, but you were too obsessed with your matching Cosmo and cash!” she hissed under her breath. She was right, I was entertained.
I needed to get the bartender’s attention. She was pouring a can of Guinness into a tall beer glass, watching it settle as she emptied the last few drops into the black sludge. Why wasn’t she turning around? I didn’t want to call attention to myself, but I felt compelled to connect with the famous actor.
Leaning with his hip against the bar, he downed the last of what resembled a clear mixed drink with a lime. Placing the empty glass back on the bar napkin, he rotated his head to the right without moving the rest of his body. George Clooney was now looking directly at me, with his Cheshire cat-like grin that was sneaky and sexy at the same time. Trying not to look completely stunned, I smiled back awkwardly and lifted my martini glass with a shrug, hoping he understood my gesture. With a sly wink and ‘sorry’, he turned 180 degrees now facing his far less attractive sidekick. George adjusted his hat to cover his ears, took a couple bills out of his pocket and dropped them on the bar. He walked through the parting glass doors, Larry following while mumbling something intentionally inaudible.
Shocked, I looked back at Stef, now cackling while shaking her head.
“I tried to get your attention, but you blew it. Julie, you could have been the next Mrs. George Clooney!”
Author: Julie Levin
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