Dream Sequence, Part One (editing)

I was on a golf course in a car, glancing back at him. In retrospect – of course he saw me – but this was a dream. Other russian agents were monitoring him, but I was just a bystander happening upon him, drawn to the way he spoke, captured by how his tone to my mind was intriguing. When the agent on the phone attempted to capture him in some lie, he spoke right back to the heart of the matter, diverting the agent and putting him on the spot.
I realized I needed to leave right then because the situation was moving into levels where I could get caught into the broil of it, if I didn’t leave the scene.
But the man with short, tight wavy curls cut fashionably in feathering, businesslike and sheik in his dark sunglasses and well formed suit kept filling my mind with questions, wondering how to get close to him and know him.
I found where he was staying, as I’d overheard him mentioning that their convention was staying at this bed and breakfast in. It was a concrete set of compounds, unappealing to the eye and only two stories high, two long buildings set ac4oss the street from each other. 
I was on a bicycle by then, I guess for ease of moveability in exploring. As I biked by to investigate the situation, I saw many foreigners in the bedroom open curtain3d 2indows, and it did not seem a place nor time where I could add my lodging without seeming completely out of place.
I traveled away from there, exploring the downtown grime of the place, noting there was a nightclub scene and wondering if I’d have the courage that evening to go to it. I swung around again to return to the bed and breakfast, determined to look further into it. As I rounded a corner, I noticed my tires needed more air in them, crossed the street at a light and happ3ned upon an older woman in obvious distress, trying not to cry.
Wary of the usual homeless ruse, I took the leap and extended my hand out to her, pausing in passing on the bike. She broke into tears and told me she was so worried about her husband. I said maybe I could help and went to go get him for her. Of male friend of his came with jim, and I stood there with her as her back up for confidence.
It turned out they were the couple who ran the diner for the B&B and he confessed to me that he’d been feeling more glum these days, with a sense of foreboding and depteression. He reached out to touch his wife’s neck, lovingly, and reassured her she was still his lovely sweetheart, which made her eyes tear up with relief and happiness.
I suggested it was the influence of the city and they ought to get away to the country for w bit.
They asked me to help them give coffee to some guests, as they were short-handed. I obliged, hoping to help smooth out some of their days tensions. At the table in the corner, there he was with a cluster of russians, still wearing dark colors, like the rest of them, I guess to also blend in. As I served them coffee and was right next to him, suddenly I had a flashback to childhood. He and I had grown up together (since then, where had I been??!)
I blurted out that I knew him and reminded him I’d been in love with jim, which immediately broke the t3nsion at their table, as now thr Russians had something to jibe him with.
I apologized and quickly took my leave, now confused by what I’d suddenly done in outing him as I’d has sudden revelation, and wondering who the heck I was, as I discovered the older couple were somehow my relatives!
The dream transported me back in time to when he and I were children. He always looked out for me and knew I loved him, but for some reason, in his mind, we could never be. There was a code he ascribed to early on, one that forced him to lock his heart away and set him on the path to becoming wired for international agencies.
I remember when he left one day. He came to say goodbye when we were just 11. I was never the same after that, having felt completely bonded to him, as if we should always be together. 30 years later, I found myself back to some of my original beginning. What had happened to me?  It turned out, none of us had always lived in America, and where we’d grown up was in the British Isles. I remembered little of them except for some grassy dunes where we used to play, our whole world consisting of each other and time by the ocean.
When the older couple heard of my outburst at the table, they knew instantly who I was and welcomed me as their grandchild. I apparently had extensive family of international tendency. They were polish and hardworking. I began remembering visits to my nana and “grumpa” – as we used to call him, as even back then, he always seemed to be worrying.