"A Negroni on the rocks, please," I said with a smile.
"You got it, Jake," Ronnie replied, as he wiped the bar in front of me in preparation for the delivery of my drink.
I loved coming to a bar where the bartender knew my name and I felt comfortable. The Stream wasn't exactly a bar. It was more of a restaurant with a nice sit-down bar, but I kind of liked that aspect of its nature. There was more of a hustle and bustle associated with food service; waiters and waitresses hustling to and fro as the evening wore on. I never tired of the energy and loved hunkering down at the bar for a few hours, just taking it all in. Sometimes I ate there. But more often than not I just enjoyed sitting at the bar. The Stream was a little more upscale than my budget should really allow. But I'd milk two Negronis for an hour or two and that fed my habit for alcohol and people pretty nicely.
Billy, the owner, seemed to have a constant infusion of young wait staff working in his establishment. The nearby state university certainly fed into his employee pool as most of the kids seemed to be in their early twenties. While the good pours and funky ambiance were certainly draws that kept me coming back every few nights, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that the flow of young female talent strutting in and out of the kitchen was a prime motivator for my loyal patronage. My regular perch at the end of the bar allowed for a great view of the young waitresses as they hurried intently from the kitchen to the dining space beyond. There was a method to my madness.
Staff turnover was high in a college area bar and restaurant, so while I got to occasionally know a few of the waiters and waitresses, they were often gone before I ever learned their names. I just enjoyed the constant flow of youthful bodies - men and women - and it was a room I felt comfortable in, even at the advanced age of 60.
I am an artist, a teacher, and a widower. My art has allowed for a decent living in these trying times, but there is no doubt that my teaching has ultimately supported my art. But I have no complaints. I love teaching as much as, if not more than, creating art. They are, in a strange way, one and the same in my twisted mind.
Losing my wife, however, had not been part of the plan. She had always been my most ardent supporter and the scenario of my later life had always included her by my side. But fate is fickle and her illness was, fortunately, a short one. It had taken me two years to extract myself from my house and my misery, but the past six months had allowed me to find a new routine and new hope. The Stream had become a staple of my weekly routine and a welcome one.
My eye, on this particular cold January night, had been caught by a new young lady that was working the dining room. She had a presence that was impossible to ignore, yet was quite normal in most ways.
I couldn't keep my eyes off of her as she strode back and forth from the kitchen with purpose. She appeared of medium height, but the lift in her funky shoes may have given her another two inches in the height department. Her long black wavy hair was being controlled in a bushy pony tail by a single hair clip of some sort. There was no doubt that it was a wild array of shocking curls when unfurled.
She was wearing the standard waitress fare of denim jeans and a very light gray denim shirt. She had one of those rounded bodies with accentuated curves. She wasn't overweight by any means; but she wasn't a slender flower either. She was curvy and her denim attire did little to hide her lovely attributes. While her untucked shirt had several breast pockets, there was still a very clean line to her generous bust and, I have to admit, I was intoxicated by her shape.
Her breasts appeared to border on what one might call "large", but others might disagree. I just thought she'd be one of those women who would look much larger when disrobed than when strutting about in denim working attire. I think it was the subtle upward slope of her breasts and almost imperceptible bounce as she walked by that I found so intoxicating, however. She surely was wearing a bra, but not a thick padded bra that enhanced and lifted. She was wearing something minimal and thin and her natural shape was undeniable. I tried to scope out the profile of her breasts each time she marched by, which was frequently. There was no question in my mind - none - that this young lady would look amazing when naked.
Her untucked shirt hid her bottom to some extent, but I could tell there was a tightness to her posterior that came from some serious form of exercise. Her eyes were dark and piercing and she wore large tortoise shell glasses that gave her a look of sexy intelligence. Her skin was a shade toward dark and looked like it would be exceedingly smooth to the touch.
I did not usually become so instantly enamored of the young ladies working at my "hangout", but I couldn't take my eyes off of this particular young lady. I did my best to keep my ogling unnoticed. But our eyes connected more than once and I felt like she knew that I was watching her - that she could feel my gaze upon her as she walked by - even when she was facing away from me. My dreamy state was suddenly interrupted.
"Here you go, boss," claimed Ronnie as he slid my dark red concoction across the shiny lacquered bar. I leaned in conspiratorially, taking a sip of the gin, Campari and vermouth concoction. It always made me feel like I was sitting on the coast of Italy, even in the middle of winter.
"Some great new talent here," I suggested. He smiled knowingly as he dried his hands with a bar towel.
"You're tellin' me. It's why I love my job," he said with a wink and went off to serve another customer. I had been hoping I might make a query on the new girl. But, in a sense, they were all new girls. The revolving door of talent made for a constantly changing landscape. Maybe Ronnie couldn't keep up with the names and faces either.
I stayed a little later than most nights, partially hoping that I might get the opportunity to strike up a conversation with this new bright light in my world. But it was a busy Friday evening and the place was hopping a little later than a normal weeknight. Plus, from the signs of people walking through the door and stomping snow off their boots, it had been snowing for the past few hours. Nobody was in a hurry to leave.
I ended up eating and having a salad as the evening wore on and, eventually, the restaurant cleared out and I was thinking I should head out myself. My new waitress had not been out on the floor for a good fifteen minutes or so and I figured she had signed out and headed home herself. I was just about to do the same when Billy came wandering over to my perch.
"Hey, Jake. Great to see you, man. Thanks for stopping by," he said brightly as he shook my hand vigorously.
"No problem, Billy. You've got a great little gig going here. Keep it up and I'll keep coming back."
He laughed in reply and said, "Well, that's the plan, Jake. We love having regulars like you, that's for sure."
I suddenly got the sense that there was more to this conversation as he hesitated before continuing.
"Listen, Jake," he added, finally. "I have a small favor to ask of you. You still live up in Turners. Right?"
"Yes, I do," I replied, wondering where this was going.
"Well, listen. I have an employee who lives up that way and she is having a bit of a transportation issue. Her car is in the shop and a friend dropped her off at work. But her ride home fell through and she lives up your way. You're the only one I know heading north and, while I could take her, well, I was just wondering..." he said, as his voice tailed off.
"She needs a ride home?" I stated, trying to clarify what he was asking.
"Well, yeah," he said. He followed up quickly. "But only if you can do it, man. You'd be saving my ass - and hers. I just thought I'd ask."
Of course the thought had crossed my mind that he might be referring to the lovely young lady I'd been ogling. Part of me was now embarrassed that it might be her and she'd turn me down because I'd been eyeing her all night long. But another part of me realized that this might be the chance of a lifetime. I decided I might as well take a chance. So I did. And, truthfully, if it was her ass that needed to be saved, I'd certainly jump at that chance.
"Sure, no problem, Billy. I'm ready when she is," I responded, standing up and making motions to go.
"Cool. Let me go let her know." Billy scooted off into the kitchen and emerged in a minute with the young lady in tow. I smiled to myself as my eyes locked in on the waitress I'd been admiring all night as Billy introduced her.
