She came to the bar a lot, usually alone. She was post college aged, dark hair, dark eyes, very good posture, she radiated awkwardness. She had a sort of uniform, tight high waisted black jeans, cropped blouses which were often striped, and a black beret.
The bar was called Harry's. I came to there to people watch. It was a little Lower East Side place, not a dive exactly, just a sort of local bar that somehow survived the various waves of trend and gentrification.
It was a good place to catch bits of characters. Regulars, couples, tourists, artists, drunks, weirdos. The girl in the beret nursed a glass of wine and read.
She fended off pickup artists, curious strangers, and horny regulars pretty easily. She just didn't engage, she just read her book. Guys often made that hard. If spoken to she said, "sorry I'm reading." After that, she ignored them.
It was the kind of place where if a guy didn't take the hint, Eddie the bartender would tell them to back off. Maybe that's why she came there.
I would certainly be categorized as "horny regular" but I left her alone. One day when she wasn't there I asked for the dirt and Eddie told me her name was Marie. She moved to the city from the Florida. She was in publishing and hoping to move to Paris. It seemed just as clichéd as the rest of us.
One night it was more crowded than usual and the only seat was next to Marie, who always sat at the bar at the stool next to the far wall.
The crowd was younger than usual, a group doing a bar crawl or something. They were loud and douchey. Eddie seemed both happy for the business and on the edge of kicking them out.
Marie read, as usual. She positioned her softcover book so that the title was not visible. I wondered if that was to stop people from coming over and using it as a conversation starter.
Eddie got me a beer and a shot of bourbon, by default. We nodded at each other as we looked at the little sea of red faced bros and basic girls. It was a depressing reminder of the reality of contemporary America.
Still, I studied them. There wasn't much else to do. The guys were loud, yelling into each other's faces about some sports thing. They cheered each other on to do shots. The women in the group mostly rolled their eyes at their compatriots. There was flirting, bursts of laughter, belching, it felt like I was watching a nature documentary on the mating habits of some lost tribe.
When two guys started getting into an argument I caught Eddie's eye again. He was a veteran bartender, he knew the deal. He kept an eye on them.
From the corner of my eye I saw that Marie was annoyed by the noise and commotion. She broke her normal isolation and met my eyes a few times in commiseration.
When the fight eventually broke out, I picked up my drink and stood up just in time to miss getting drenched as two pitchers of beer spilled across the bar and a bunch of glasses broke. Marie wasn't as lucky and her book got soaked.
Big Steve, the door man, rushed in, Eddie jumped from behind the bar, and even the barback got into the fray. I wondered if I should do something too, but within a minute or two the crowd was being pushed out of the place. A few minutes later the cops came.
Eddie laughed it off. He was ringing up their drinks and charging their cards as the cops took a report. Just another night at Harry's.
After the bar was wiped off Eddie offered Marie and me a free round, as well at the few other regulars who stuck around.
We all toasted each other. I smiled at Marie.
"I'm Bill," I said, trying not to spook her.
"Marie," she said, in a soft voice, no real accent.
I didn't want to bother her, but it seemed liked if there was any time to strike up a conversation, it was then, when all of us regulars were alone and feeling comradery.
"Are you a writer?" she said as I was trying to figure out how to approach her.
"Um, yeah. Well, I still have a day job, but I'm trying," I said, looking down at my moleskin.
She gave me a half smile and a nod.
"That was pretty exciting, huh?" she said, motioning to where the fight was.
I laughed, "I guess so, though it's been awhile since I've seen an actual fist fight. Those kids were all shit talk and pushing," I said with a shrug.
"Used to be there was at least one good fist fight a night and four on Friday," chimed Eddie, as he washed a glass.
Marie smiled a little brighter.
