A Greenville were 3 people who walk into a bar. 1
st
in a series of the Esquire Bar Tales
Preamble Ramble
- I know I need an editor. Needing one and getting one are two totally different things. Editing is a very difficult thing to do. And a lot of people don't have the time to do it, especially for free. For this story I finished on a Friday. Reread it on Saturday morning, found lots of mistakes. Checked it again Saturday evening, still found mistakes. Read it and added needed lines that would explain or expand a scene or character better on Sunday morning, checked it again Sunday evening ad found more mistakes. I've checked it reading top to bottom, bottom up and middle up and down over the last two days. And still find mistakes. Will these ever be perfect? Nope, hopefully they will be entertaining.
Why not get an editor? I'm a new unknown writer, or a guy who puts words on a page. People gravitate to the well known. Another issue is I write all the time and quickly. I said I was going to write a story a week but I usually write 2 or 3. Yesterday I said I wasn't going to write a story and I wrote a story. This story alone has given me idea's for another stand alone story and possible series of stories. I have nothing else to do with my life except watch TV and write. So I would need 2 or 3 people editing my poorly written stories or publish one or two a month. And worse, I am inpatient. I felt I had to post all the time. Waiting for someone who would edit a story for free on their own time, which was appreciated, was hard to deal with. Maybe I have ADHD or something. They didn't test for that back in the 70's when I was in school.
Another important thing I learned is that you can't make everyone happy. Some want a happy ending and others want the wife murdered in a very violent manner. So I go with where the story takes me.
So with this story and going forward I will attempt to provide entertaining, fully finished stories.
I hope you like the story
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Bob was wiping the bar top with his white towel that seemed to be connected to his hand when he wasn't serving a drink. Cleaning more out of habit and anything else to do than for any other reason. The bar top was clean as it always was. Bob wouldn't have it any other way. The same 4 mooks have been in here for the last two hours.
Drinking their typical one beer an hour. This is the slow time of day. Between 2pm to around 5pm and it usually picks up when people start getting out of work. Husbands who don't want to be around their wives, Fathers taking a short break between work and kids and alcoholics who can't make it more than 8 hours between drinks. Until then its the same group of guys who come in during the day. Earl is holding court as usual. Espousing his wisdom that nobody wants to hear. He's one of the smartest guys Bob as ever met. Earl is fluent in many subjects and always speak with knowledge when he talks to someone without talking down to them. Some people underestimate him, being an elderly Black man. Earl never seems offended by that. He usually smiles and schools the unknowing offender. He doesn't know what Earl did for a living but whatever it is it gives him time and money to live a good life from what he sees.
About 3 pm a middle age white guy comes into the bar. He's definitely not the usual customer and doesn't seem to be from around here. The Esquire used to be a hopping spot back in the day. Now the area is full of old half abandoned industrial buildings and businesses. It makes enough money to pay the bills. He looks to be about 39 or early 40's. Wearing a very nice suit and shoes. He most definitely makes good money.
The stranger sits at the bar, "What ya have?" Bob ask.
"A Blanton's neat."
Bob looks at the guy, "We have Evan Williams, Jim Beam or Wild Turkey if you want Bourbon. Ain't got Blantons. We don't get much request for the fancy stuff." He had a feeling from the look of the guy he could have given him Jim Beam and he would have drank it without complaint or question. He had the look of a man with troubles in his life.
"Shit, figures the way my life is going, Give me whatever is closet and keep my glass filled." The stranger says in defeat.
Reaching back for the Wild Turkey Bob says, "You sound like you got troubles. This time of day its either the job or the wife." a question without being a question. Bob has been doing this for a long time.
Taking a big gulp of the offered glass of bourbon he looks at Bob, "I guess its not hard to figure out huh? My fucking wife, well at least she's fucking someone because it hasn't been me for a month!" He hands Bob the now empty glass for a refill.
"Do you know she's cheating or think she's cheating. Being a bitch doesn't make her a cheater. Maybe she's going through the change or something."
"Yeah she's changing alright. Changing into a bitch." They both laugh at his unintended humor.
This is something Bob is used to dealing with. You're not only a bartender but a priest people confess to, a therapist they get advice from. Sometimes someone who just listens. He's found people need to talk about things they can't talk to a friend, relative or coworker. But a bartender, they tell everything. Bob has heard everything in his 30 plus years of bartending. From murder to theft. Once how a guy was in love with his sister. Given enough emotional pain and alcohol people will talk.
"How has she changed that's made you think she's cheating?" It was slow so he had time to devote to the stranger.
"She used to be so nice and sweet. We would talk all the time about anything. Spend time together. Now, she comes home late. Doesn't talk to me except to complain about something. We haven't been out together in weeks. She always has some lame excuse. She's even missed family events and my birthday. Not even a fucking card! Even the kids have noticed"
"Maybe she's dealing with something at work." Trying to give the guy some hope.
"That's when this shit started. She got a new job three months ago running the office for a roofing company. How hard can that be. They put roofs on houses for Christ sake. It's her and two other girls there. Everything was good for the first month or so. I heard about this guy or that guy. Funny things that would happen in the office. Problems they had with customers. Then she stopped talking about the job and two weeks later she started to change. She started working late. Then the attitude changed. She started complaining about everything. The house was to small, I didn't respect her. I didn't clean up or do my share with the kids. Hell, I was the one running them to soccer and baseball during the week and attending games. Cutting the grass and taking care of the yard on the weekends."
"How old are the kids?" Bob asks trying to get him to calm down a little.
"11 and 12 years old. Boy and Girl. Gerald Jr 11 and Lizzie 12. He plays soccer and she plays baseball of all things. They are both good kids. They get good grades in school. Have lots of friends which keeps them active. Lizzie is the first girl to play Little League in the city."
"I think I read something about that in the paper, that was her?"
"Yep,' the man now known as Gerald says with pride. 'She didn't want to pay softball. She plays third base, the hot corner. Even has a 280 batting average." Gerald says with well earned pride. "Only bad thing is they have started to notice that their mother hasn't been as present as she used to be. She stopped going to games 3 weeks ago. Always has something else to do."
"So far it sounds like she's just become a bitch, that doesn't mean she's cheating. You need some kind of proof."
"Who do I look like Inspector Clouseau? I work 50 hours a week to put a roof over my families head. Jesus, do you know how much a private detective cost? I'll tell you, a lot of fucking money."
