Sometimes being in charge sucks. Usually, our consulting firm is a smoothly running machine. My staff of six is hard working and always meets their deadlines. However, in recent weeks, things had become considerably more hectic and it had all of us on edge. A large client had hired us to put together a proposal tied to a multimillion dollar real estate investment, and they gave no quarter when it came to wanting absolute perfection from us. They called constantly, would drop into our suite unannounced, and were putting a lot of pressure on me go get everything finished before the weekend. All of us were suffering from sl**p deprivation due to the long work hours, and people's patience and tolerance were growing thin.
Trevor, my newest employee and the lowest on the totem pole, suddenly and without warning decided that he had "had enough of this bullshit" and stormed out, quitting on the spot, leaving his part of the project half finished on his desk. I had no choice but to finish it myself, and ended up staying in the office almost until midnight to get the final copy completed.
Needless to say, I was tired. I was stressed. I was struggling to keep my thoughts together due to fatigue. And lord, I needed a drink. A stop off to my local watering hole was in order.
McDougal's is a few blocks from my apartment—an easy walk, which meant I could enjoy a few without worrying about driving home or finding a ride. So after I checked in and dropped off my work bags,, I took the five minute stroll without even changing clothes. I undid a button on my blouse and walked to the bar at midnight in a pencil skirt, black heels, and an untucked top
I usually don't go to the bar on my own. More often than not I am with Amy or Heather on a Saturday night, where we usually wind down and try hard to have a good time. This time, though, it was a Friday night and I was alone. But I didn't care. I was there for the sole purpose of getting a buzz and trying to forget about my crap day.
McDougal's was about what one would expect on a Friday night. Lots of college k**s celebrating the beginning of the weekend, a few regulars huddled in their private corners, and a smattering of working stiffs of all ages hiding from their responsibilities. I found an empty stool at the bar and had a seat. I didn't recognize the bartender, but looking at her name tag she was Cindy, a 30-something blond who was there to charm the patrons as much as she was to serve drinks. I ordered a chilled shot of tequila and exhaled audibly, glad to have my day over with.
I threw back my drink, taking it down in one gulp, the chilled booze tingling my throat as I swallowed. It hit my stomach, sending welcome warmth from my core to my extremities. I ordered another from Cindy, deciding to take this one a little slower.
I didn't see anyone I recognized in the bar upon a quick examination of the common room. A few coeds were playing pool in the arbitrary bar billiards table, while another group of students sat at one of the larger booths, screaming and laughing at the top of their lungs even though they were sitting right next to each other. Sitting on one side of me was a middle aged man in a wrinkled business suit, his tie loosened—my male doppelgänger for the evening. He finished his beer, paid Cindy, and headed out, probably home to see his wife, who more than likely would be irritated at him for staying out so late. Hey, at least he wasn't here to visit his mistress, so far as I knew.
After a light sip on my fresh drink, I realized that I had to pee, and quickly excused myself to the bathroom in the back of the room, grabbing my purse on the way. The bathroom was about what one would expect in a bar—a little too small and a little too dirty—but it would suit my purposes well enough. I did my business, washed my hands, and sauntered back over to my spot at the bar.
Unfortunately it appeared that my spot had been taken while I was gone. My stool, and the empty one next to it, had been taken by a couple in their 40s, and they were ordering drinks from Cindy, who looked at me out of the corner of my eye, obviously seeing my disappointed look. She just shrugged at me, clearly unsure about what to do.
I didn't need this. My barely touched drink had already been cleared to make way for the new patrons. I puffed to myself steamed a bit internally, and strode up to the bar.
"Hey, Cindy, did you already take my drink? I had just started on it."
"Oh, uh, sorry. I thought you had left. We're pretty busy tonight, and they asked if they could sit here."
I turned my my nose and pursed my lips, trying hard not to take out the day's frustrations on the hapless bartender. I took a breath and tried to collect myself, content to just give up and call it a night.
"Well, I didn't pay for it. I guess it's okay..."
Cindy chirped again. "Like I said, I'm really sorry. Let me pour you another one, on the house."
Having neither the inclination or the energy to fight, I silently nodded, and she deftly poured me another tequila, shaking it with ice beforehand. I took the glass and slammed the liquor again, wanting nothing more than to walk home and be done with the day. I closed my eyes, willing the liquor to do its magic as quickly as possible.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were sitting here. We're happy to move for you." My eyes snapped open at the direct address to me, and I looked at the couple who was in my seat. They were striking. A husband and wife, judging by the rings on their fingers. He sat closest to me, a tallish, fit gentleman wearing jeans and a casual blazer over a yellow oxford shirt. He had short brown hair and a day or two's worth of stubble. He smiled at me kindly, revealing extensive laugh lines and crows feet as his face lit up. Handsome, but not necessarily my type.
I glanced at his wife, however, and found myself catching my breath. She was short—about my height, but it was hard to gauge exactly given that she was sitting down. She wore a loose bohemian-style skirt, full of color, that covered her crossed legs below the knee. Her feet were adorned with flat sandals, and wore two silver toe rings, one on each foot. A fairly tight sleeveless tank top with a matching silk scarf d****d around her neck completed her look, the neckline plunging enough to put her near-perfect cleavage on display where a dainty pendant nestled teasingly therein. She had short, curly brown hair and black glasses, with just a hint of freckling on her skin. She ran her fingers idly through her hair, and I caught a glimpse of a delicate thumb ring, subdued pink nail polish, a small tattoo that looked like a globe of some sort on her wrist, and a hint of underarm hair. Bold and brazen, and I had to catch myself for fear of staring at her for too long. She smiled at me, more than likely well aware of my gawking.
I regained my composure to respond to him. "It's okay. I was on my way out anyway. You two are more than welcome to stay here." I smiles as positively as I could and began to head towards the exit. He gently touched my forearm, stopping me momentarily. "Please," he said. "We insist. We wouldn't mind a little company."
Honestly, I've heard a lot of lines in my day. Including this one. But I didn't have the energy to protest. And probably wasn't really in the right state of mind to go home and simmer in my thoughts, especially with a well-stocked bar in my kitchen. So I shrugged, smiled weakly, and rested my elbow on the bar. The wife then looked over to Cindy. "She'll have another."
The husband reached out his hand. "I'm Steve. And this is my wife Rachel." I found myself thinking that he looked like a Steve as I accepted his handshake. Steve then stood up, offering me his stool. We switched places, with me sitting between the two of them, Steve standing at my side to my right. Cindy slid another drink to me and I fiddled with the glass nervously.
"A tequila drinker, huh? You're braver than I am," Steve said, running his finger along the top of his wine glass."
I smiled briefly. "I usually save the hard stuff for special occasions. Normally I'm a beer woman. But I had a rough day at work."
"We're happy to listen to you vent. That's what bars are for, right?"
