For 51 year old Kelly Flynn, owner and operator of The Village Inn, a rather rundown dive bar in the sleepy town of Newport in central New York, March 20th was just another day. Because Spring had not yet come she would only get the locals, and so soon after many of them had tied one too many on for St. Patrick's Day, the bar would likely be quiet.
For Denise Swanson, March 20th was a significant day because it happened to be her birthday, and this particular birthday was special because she would be turning 21. This meant that she would be allowed into The Village Inn, and while that might not seem to be a big deal to most, it was the only option for nightlife and entertainment within 10 miles. In fact, besides the bar and an auto body shop the only other viable business nearby was the convenience store Denise worked at.
While Denise was not unfamiliar with alcohol, having joined other young people around the sparsely populated area for beer parties in the woods, that wasn't what made Denise wait for the day she could go to the Village inn. The allure wasn't the ragged local garage bands that played there every other Saturday night or so either, although even that might be a welcome relief from watching television.
No, what Denise was interested in was the owner of the bar, Kelly Flynn, and ever since she laid eyes on the cheerful redhead when Denise had first started working at Stewart's after high school, Denise Swanson was in love. Not a crush, like Miss Crabbe the school librarian, had been. No, this was love and it had only grown stronger over the last 3 years or so.
Kelly would stop by the Stewart's every day and the girl's heart would race. Kelly was always wearing tops with the bar logo on them, either t-shirts or sweatshirts, and Denise loved the ones that had short-sleeves because they showcased the freckles on Kelly's forearms. That was something that really turned Denise on for some reason and she had always fantasized about how much farther up Kelly's pale arms the freckles went. Maybe along her broad shoulders and back too.
Kelly was always very friendly to Denise, but the girl realized that she was probably that way with most people. The woman certainly knew she existed, but Denise doubted that the woman felt like she did. There were rumors about the bar owner's sexuality, but that didn't mean anything because Newport was a gossipy town. Still, Kelly wasn't married and if there was a man around in her life he kept a really low profile, so there was always a chance for the girl although not if the only contact the two had was the brief interactions at the store.
****
Denise frowned when she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair looked decent after one of her rare trips to the stylist, her short blonde hair cut even shorter, but it was down below that bothered the newly minted 21 year old. The blouse she had bought especially for this night was beautiful, a lavender semi-sheer sleeveless top with ruffled shoulder caps, but the problem was that the catalog's claim that it was semi-sheer seemed to be a stretch.
To Denise's eyes you could see everything pretty clearly through the gauze, and while that might have been great for a lot of girls it only made her shortcomings more apparent. What Denise often derisively referred to as her 'mosquito bites' were on display if you looked at the right angle, even if perky lemons might be a more accurate description of her breasts. What was worse was that the feel of the silky material against her nipples made them stiff, drawing even more attention.
Reluctantly Denise went to Plan B, putting a bra on under the blouse, but the minute she saw what that looked like the young woman cringed and quickly shed the harness. The blouse went back on, and she hoped that the lighting in the dingy bar was weak. She could wear her jacket over it, but that would defeat the purpose of spending $24 she couldn't afford for something nice to hopefully get Kelly's attention.
It was a 5 minute walk from Denise's apartment to the Village Inn, and with Stewart's only 50 yards past that, the young woman's life was centralized, so who needs a car, Denise reasoned. She did, Denise noted to herself as she went out into the brisk evening air. What kind of a life was this to be a captive in Newport, New York? Denise had a former classmate who she would hang out with, and Carly would take her to the big city for groceries every once in a while, but that was it as far as getting around went.
Utica, Denise mumbled to herself as she began walking. Big city. Where did this all go wrong? Mom dying certainly was the trigger, but what really sent her life off the rails was when her father ended up in prison over in Marcy. Not that he was anything but a worthless son-of-a bitch anyway, but back then at least they had a little house and a car. Denise put up with him creeping around watching her get undressed after Mom died, but in retrospect she knew that the old man was getting more bold all the time so by now it would have been a nightmare.
There was The Village Inn ahead, with lights on and two cars in the parking lot. How many times had she come down here and just looked in through the cloudy windows? She had even tried to use fake proof a couple of times to get in but they were obvious fakes. Now she was going in, walking past the aging and sizzling neon "Utica Club" and "Labatt" neon signs and into the bar. There was no fanfare, just five people sitting at the bar and Kelly standing behind it, a smile making her ruddy complexion glow as she watched Denise find a stool a bit away from the crowd.
She recognized all of the people drinking there, customers of Stewart's, and while she didn't know them by name a few knew her and called out her name. It wasn't like the calls of "Norm!" on "Cheers", but her none-too-lofty position of cashier and assistant manager at the store gave her a degree of fame, such as it was in Newport.
"Denis - Denis - Denis," Kelly laughed as she came down across from her, wearing a sweatshirt that had the sleeves torn off at the biceps. "What have you got for me this time?"
Denis was what Kelly often called her, and that was in reference to the little name tag she had to wear at the store. Whoever made the original thing had omitted the "e" and it took until recently for the outfit to get her a proper one, and Kelly had kept calling her Denis. Anybody else would have gotten a dirty look or worse, but this was Kelly and that made it alright.
"I've got this!" Denise chirped as she pulled her driver's license out of her jacket pocket, nearly dropping it as she handed it to Kelly while her eyes went to the barkeep's freckled arms.
"Hmm... looks real," Kelly said as she looking over the license and then smirked at her. "Denise Marie Swanson March 20th... how about that! 21. You made it."
"I thought it would never happen," Denise admitted.
"What can I get the birthday girl?" Kelly asked and then quipped, "but anybody who spends their birthday in here needs more help than alcohol can possibly provide."
"Um... let me see," Denise mused as she looked at the three taps.
Utica Club, or Uncle Charlie as her old man called it, was a local brew and although she was no gourmet Denise though it was nasty even when she would swipe a quart of it out of the fridge. Bud was the middle tap, but the girl looked at the last tap and pointed at that, put a twenty on the bar and said, "Labatt."
"You realize that if I announce it's your birthday you probably won't have to spent a cent," Kelly chuckled as she leaned on the bar but Denise shook her head no.
"Please don't," she asked and Kelly nodded.
"Understood. Want a mug?"
"Sure," Denise replied, and then Kelly looked above the taps and grabbed one of the mugs hanging on hooks.
Denise's heart skipped more than one beat as she got the briefest of looks as the short ragged sleeve rode up, exposing more freckles on the outside of her arm, but better yet was the glimpse of the inside of the limb. The skin was ghostly white but the prize at the bottom of the cracker jack box for the cashier was the spray of bright orange hair under her muscled arm. Not unexpected by Denise but if anything the fur made Kelly even sexier if that was possible, and just in case somebody else came in and got a mug Denise moved a stool closer so she could see better.
Kelly put the mug under the spout, pulled on the Labatt tap and after a little bit of beer came out there was a blast of foam, some of it landing on Kelly. That meant the keg had kicked and got some chuckles from the bar flies as it erupted, along with an offer to get a replacement.
"Be glad to get it for you, Red," the guy Denise knew from the garage offered, but Kelly declined.
"With my luck you'd break your neck and end up owning this place," Kelly snickered as she headed for the room behind the bar, adding as she departed, "come to think of it, that wouldn't be a bad idea."
As the regulars chuckled Denise thought about Kelly being called "Red". She knew most people called Kelly that, but Denise was not one of them. Red might be a common nickname for redheads but the girl loved the name Kelly and never used anything else when talking to her.
