The Barkeep And The Model Pt 01

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I was watching the bar while my bartender grabbed some dinner before our happy hour rush would start shortly. The chime on the door sounded and I looked up to see perhaps the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in person enter alone which was somewhat unusual in these times. Still, it was fairly early and light outside and very likely she was meeting a friend or date here and had just arrived first.

She was about 5'3", probably 105 or so pounds, with large A or small B cup breasts. Her complexion was flawless, a shade somewhere between cinnamon and brown sugar. "Welcome to Dusty's!" I called out.

She walked over to the bar and climbed onto a stool. "So, who's Dusty?" she said.

"That'd be me, ma'am," faking a Texas accent.

She laughed and asked, "So you're a cowboy, Dusty?"

"Nope, just old," I retorted, grinning.

"Oh, I don't know. You don't look much over sixty or maybe seventy," she grinned back at me.

"Ouch! I'll have you know I'm barely old enough to legally serve you. So what will it be before I get busted?"

"Hmm, I don't know. What can you recommend?" she asked.

"How about a Vanilla Ice," I suggested. "We have our own version of the drink here. Very refreshing on a hot, humid day like today."

"I've never heard of it but it sounds interesting. Okay."

I quickly poured brandy, Jamaican rum, a splash of lime juice, a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and some crushed ice into a shaker. After shaking it well I strained it into a highball glass and garnished with some lime zest. With a flourish I placed a cocktail napkin in front of her and set the glass on it. "I'll just need to check your id before I can let you have this," I said.

She handed over her driver's license. She was born about three years after me. I quickly memorized the date but not her address as that would have been stalkerish. "Thanks," I said, handing the license back to her.

"Excellent!" she said after taking a small sip. "Definitely refreshing, thank you, Dusty."

"That's a very unusual name," I said.

"Yes, you probably don't meet many women named Xanthe," she said, pronouncing it Zhan-the. "It means 'golden yellow in Greek," she added while pointing to her arm. "Personally I think Tawny, which is Old English for 'golden brown', would have been more accurate but Mom didn't ask my opinion."

"So, are you meeting someone here, perhaps for dinner? Should I reserve a table for you?"

"Nope, all by my lonesome I'm afraid," she explained.

"In that case perhaps Mom should have called you Dove," I said, eliciting a groan from her. I laughed and beat out a rimshot on the bar with my hands.

Rob, my bartender, returned from his dinner break so I came around the bar and put my hand on the back of the stool next to Xanthe. "May I?"

"Certainly Dusty. It's nice to have some company. And while your bartender is very attractive and not wearing a wedding ring, I'm pretty sure I have shoes older than him."

"Yes, we old geezers need to stick together," I laughed.

"Old! How dare you! I'm sure I'm younger than you by a long shot! Just older than him," she said pointing at Rob.

"Actually, according to your license I'm less than three years older than you. So if I can convince you to date me I won't be robbing the cradle," I said hopefully. "That is, assuming such a beautiful, intriguing woman as yourself is single." I'd already checked out her left hand and she wore no rings there.

"You don't like to waste time, I see," she said.

"I'd love to get to know you better and don't believe in playing games or beating around the bush," I replied.

"I'm good with that. Having just met, we should definitely leave the bush beating for the future," she grinned. I laughed, loving her open flirting.

Xanthe and I spent the next hour and a half or so chatting, learning about one another. It was no surprise to hear that she had done professional haute couture modeling for several years in her late teens and twenties - she was clearly more than qualified in the looks department. But after about a decade the seamy side of that business got to her and she quit. Her earnings had been substantial so she spent the next three years earning a Bachelor of Arts in Business Administration. She was currently enrolled in a night-school MBA program, spending her days working for a medium-sized professional services company.

I told her I'd been in the military for about a decade before deciding to muster out and make a career change. I explained that the second floor of Dusty's was actually my apartment, which allowed me to use my VA benefits to get a mortgage on the whole place. A VA mortgage doesn't require a down payment so the money I'd saved over the years bankrolled my start-up costs. After eight years I felt we were sufficiently established to be as secure as anyone in the bar and restaurant business ever can be.

"So, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me? I know a great little place that's close by - in fact we can walk there, and I'm good friends with the owner so we'll get great service," I smiled.

"Oh? And where might that be," she asked.

I pointed to a two-top in the back corner. It afforded the most privacy yet wasn't near the doors to the kitchen.

"It would be my pleasure," she said. I rose and put out my hand to take her's then escorted her to the table and held her chair for her. I motioned to the hostess who had come on duty about forty five minutes earlier. It was a standing house rule not to seat anyone at this particular table without checking with me first. Gwen, my hostess, knew I preferred to sit here any time I had a dinner date.

"So, what do you recommend," she asked while looking over the menu.

"My guilty pleasure is a hamburger. We use only bison meat and serve them on brioche buns. But the steaks, chicken, and fish dishes are all excellent as well. Just depends on what you're in the mood for," I explained.

"Well, I stopped starving myself when I quit modeling, but I still watch what I eat. The baked salmon is calling my name."

I waved to Betsy, one of my waitresses and she quickly came over to take our orders. Xanthe had had two Vanilla Ice cocktails followed by a glass of white wine so she opted for a sparkling water. I ordered another scotch - Glenmorangie this time.

"Dusty, may I ask a personal question?" she said.

"Of course. Anything you would like to know," I replied.

"No offense but you're about the whitest guy I can imagine. Obviously I'm not. Does that bother you at all?"

"Not in the least. If you'd been a white guy, or any kind of guy for that matter, I'd be bothered. But you're obviously not a guy by a long shot," I smiled.

She smacked me playfully on the arm. "That's not what I meant and you know it! This is a relatively small town in a pretty conservative, even redneck, part of the South. Some people don't take kindly to whites dating people of other ethnicities."

"Sure, there are prejudiced people around here but the worst of them seem to frequent a couple of dive joints that attract that crowd. Heck, most of our customers here are actually edumacated - even got a few with high school diplomas or at least GEDs," I winked.

"You're a goof," she said, smacking my arm again.

"Xanthe, I did tours of duty in seven different countries while I was in the service. My units had all sorts of guys and gals - every color, religion, ethnicity you can think of. We all learned very quickly that there are just two kinds of people in the world - buddies and enemies. The black or Jewish or Latino guy at my side had my back every bit as much as I had theirs. My head chef is black and one of my bartenders is a Latino - I served with both of them.

"Besides, I think you're absolutely gorgeous, and your skin tone is part of that package. I wouldn't change a single thing that I know about you already. And I'm hopeful we'll get to know each other even more as we continue dating."

"Oh, are we? Going to continue dating?" she asked, eyes widened.

"Only if you want to as well. But if you don't want to I'll have to kidnap you I guess. Dating would be easier - no need for the handcuffs and stuff."

"Darn it," she said, snapping her fingers. "That's the best part!"

I honestly couldn't tell if she was kidding or not, but figured it would be fun finding out eventually.

"I'd love to see your apartment but I have to be leaving in about an hour. Even though tomorrow is Saturday and I don't have to work, I do have studies to do and a paper to write," she explained.

"Sure. Would you care for coffee? We can grab a couple of cups down here and take them upstairs," I said.

"That would be great."

I rose and again took her hand as I asked Betsy for two go cups, black for me, light cream for Xanthe.

As we headed to the back of the bar carrying our coffees, Xanthe was surprised to see the small personal elevator I'd had installed back when I remodeled the bar. It was equipped with a biometric sensor that read my fingerprint to ensure that customers couldn't accidentally invade my private space.

When we reached the second floor - higher than typical as the bar has fifteen foot ceilings - the door opened into a small foyer, intentionally designed so that the elevator wouldn't be right in the living area itself. Once we passed into the main room, Xanthe gave a low whistle. "Wow! Not what I expected from a former doughboy!"

I laughed. "Well I might have been a lowly grunt, but I'm smarter than I might look. I hired an interior decorator and asked her to give me something casual but classy. I think she did a pretty good job."

"She certainly did! Will you show me around, please?"

"Of course." Since the apartment was as large as the entire bar, restaurant, and kitchen areas, it totaled nearly three thousand square feet. In addition to the living and dining areas, I had three bedrooms, each with an en suite. There were also two half-baths as well, one off the living room and the other off the game room. The game room held not only a state of the art entertainment center, but a wet bar and pool table also. The kitchen was comparatively small because I ate most of my meals downstairs. Still, I enjoy cooking for guests so its' size was balanced by high end appliances and equipment.

"This is gorgeous!" Xanthe exclaimed. "I could live here easily!" She paused then quickly said, "I didn't mean it like that! Sorry!"

I turned to stand in front of her and put my hands on her hips. Not only did she not resist, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me. I locked my eyes onto hers then leaned down and did the same with our lips. She reciprocated fully when my tongue caressed her lips which opened to allow it in.

We french kissed for several minutes, until I broke it off and moved back, afraid she'd feel my rapidly inflating member. She was onto me, smiling and saying, "I'm flattered, Dusty. But I do need to leave. Just let me arrange a rideshare. I walked here from my office which is only four or five blocks, but my apartment is several miles."

"When can I see you again?" I asked.

"Let's exchange numbers and I'll call or text tomorrow once I see how my studies and paper are going. Just so you know, I haven't dated anyone in more than a year. No bad breakup or anything, just focused on my job and school."

"I've had a few casual dates but nothing serious so no entanglements on my side either."

We took the stairs back down so she'd know where they were. I walked her outside where we chatted idly waiting for her rideshare. When it arrived I verified that it was the car and driver the app had connected her with and made a show of copying down his license plate number. She saw what I was doing and gave me another kiss, then whispered "You're sweet. Thanks" before getting into the back seat and closing the door. "Tomorrow!" she called as they drove off.