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.
"I guess no matter how civilized we get, we still always kind of want to see a little blood," I said, sipping my beer.
"Sure, that's what football and boxing are supposed to do. Sate our bloodlust," Marie said, sipping her wine.
We all had a little laugh at that. Marie and I still sat on stools next to each other. She swiveled a little around, looking more engaged than I'd ever seen there. As she twisted in the stool, her knee hit my leg. She did it again. I looked up at her.
She was more cute than pretty. With the beret she was trying hard for that Amélie look and she came close. Her outfit made her look a little ridiculous, but she had a gravitational pull of mysterious sexuality. Her tight black jeans with her thick thighs and butt, then the striped blouse that showed a thin line of her belly and just the slightest suggestion of the swell of her small chest. As her knee his my thigh again her eyes narrowed on me.
I wasn't exactly sure what to do.
She leaned forward and took my notebook and pen. She opened to a blank page. She touched the paper thoughtfully, finger making a little circle, she wrote something in a quick script, a few lines, then she closed the book, got up then with a start and headed to the back, to the restrooms.
I opened the notebook slowly and found the page.
"I live very close by. Are you still up for a fight? You could hit me. I would like that."
Eddie caught my eye. I'm sure he'd seen what happen, but not what she wrote. I closed the notebook. He gave me a big smile. He probably thought I got her number. I was still trying to figure out what I got.
When she got back I put a $20 on the bar and got my coat. She very casually got her things, throwing her beer soaked book in the trash, and walked to the front door. I saw that it was a Proust novel in the original French.
I followed her into the cool evening air. She walked briskly, not looking back at me. We crossed the street and went down a block, made a right, until we got to one of the larger brownstones. She walked up the stairs and I followed her. I was a little freaked out, not having any communication with her since I read her note. She unlocked the door and I held it for me.
Our bodies connected for a moment. She looked cartoonish with her hat and her somewhat dramatic eye makeup. Her eyes were wide and longing. She looked young and excited, like she was on an adventure. I was game to be an adventure.
We went down the hall and she hurried up a flight of stairs. I followed her, all the time my eyes on her ass, up one, two, then at the third she turned and went to a door. She unlocked three locks and waited for me to enter.
Inside the dark apartment I waited as she re-locked the door, adding a chain. She turned and leaned against the closed door and I stepped forward, closing in on her. She let out a little gasp and the air that exited her body was like some power that went right into my veins.
