As I arrived at work, a few minutes late and slipping my tie on as I came through the door, Mike and a few regulars, Joey and Louie, were deep in conversation at the end of the bar.
Joey was an old cab driver who’s been kicked out of most of the local bars, primarily because he’d get tanked up and engage in loud verbal arguments on a variety of subjects, but usually concerning the way liberals were driving the country to hell. He’d managed to offend pretty much everyone at one time or another, even those who might agree with him, and while he expected others to be tolerant of his opinions, he’d become a shouting tyrant at some point in the evening. The most successful ploy in controlling him was to wait until he was at his finest, then make some statement about Nixon being a crook, at which point he’d challenge me to a fight. I’d agree, and we’d step outside, where I’d sidestep his wild first punch (always a right hook, by the way) and he’d sprawl on the ground. I’d then help him up and send him on his way. No harm, no foul, and he’d return the next day with no memory of the events of the night before. He was a regular customer, and Mike needed the business.
Louie, on the other hand, worked for a moving company, packing and hauling people’s belongings across the country, and showing up irregularly for a week or two at a time, only to disappear again, leaving one to wonder if he’d been sick, injured, or simply out of town on a job or a binge. He was classically educated and could carry on conversations about almost any topic, a brilliant man who’d traveled the country and the world, but had found his love for the liquor his only constant.
Louie was always a little rough on arrival, unless he’d stopped somewhere else first, but between about the third and twelfth drinks he was both a great conversationalist and an expert pool player. I know only because I’d seen him once at another bar, won about $100 as his partner from drinks four through eleven, and, with the stakes raised, lost it all during that thirteenth drink. At his best, he could make the cue ball curve completely around the ball in front of it to sink his target ball. At his worst, he played like I usually do. He, too, would become belligerent at some point in the night, though he’d usually just hurl invectives and stomp out at some point.
“I can’t believe she’d do that, and besides,” said Mike, “He’s too young for her by a long shot.” I hated coming into the middle of conversations, especially between these guys, because asking for an explanation usually led to a much longer story than could hold anyone’s interest, which would digress further into arguments about the details and relationships and events, the speakers themselves losing the thread of the original story. So I moved behind the bar and Mike grabbed a stool, and while I took inventory and checked the register, I listened in discreetly.
“I’m telling ya,” bellowed Joey, “She took him in the back and did something to him! She walked back out, it musta been five minutes later, with her wig askew and her lipstick smeared. When he came out, carrying a couple cases of beer, he had a smile on his face, not unlike the grin that Tony came in with.” I was unaware that my presence had been even noticed, much less that my smile had been observed. I’d just been introduced to the pleasures of a woman that afternoon, and had little doubt that Joey had been inaccurate in his description of me, but now they all turned and I blushed.
“What have YOU been up to?” Mike asked, a sly smile on his face. Louie looked at me and laughed.
Joey said “I know a smile like that, boy, you got laid, didn’t you!”
“A gentleman would not talk about such things,” I protested, turning redder still.
“Ah, I KNEW it!” said Joey. “See, I told you something was going on in the back room and that’s the same look Tommy had on his face when he came out.”
Tommy was another regular who served as interim bartender when neither Mike nor I were available. He was a quiet, nice guy with a pleasant manner, not much personality, but from what I was catching of the story, he’d committed a mortal sin in the bartending business. No, not having sex in the back room, but leaving the bar unattended.
“Marsha wouldn’t do such a thing,” proffered Mike, “And Tommy… well, I’ll have to talk to him about it tomorrow.” Mike finished his drink and turned to me. “All in order?” he asked, pointing toward the till.
“Perfect as always, boss,” I said. “Do you think you’ll be in later?” I was hoping that he’d want to close tonight, as I had a promise of dinner and more awaiting me next door to my apartment. On top of that, my legs felt sore and weak from my afternoon’s activities, and I didn’t relish the thought of standing behind the bar all night.
“I dunno, you seem to be doing a pretty good job,” said Mike. “I think I’ll let you close again.” Mike got off his barstool and walked a little unsteadily toward the door. He must have been drinking with Joey and Louie for some time. “Good night and make sure you lock up tight when you leave.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him and get him trained up right,” called Joey as Mike left. Damn. This meant I’d have these guys teasing me and arguing for a couple more hours. All I wanted to do was rush back to those beautiful arms and willing body that had given me so much pleasure. That, it seemed, was on hold, however.
The evening progressed, a few new customers trickling in and out, Joey and Louie arguing as usual, and we kept the banter light-hearted. I was in a generous mood and even bought them a few drinks, and they seemed to appreciate it, leaving together for a place down the street where they could shoot pool and stumble home.
I was alone in the bar when she came in about midnight, and I was shocked to see her.
“Marie!” I said, stunned. When I’d left her that afternoon, she’d been sleepy and disheveled, her gray hair long on her shoulders and her expression content.
Now she was dressed to the nines, a short black dress that seemed to enhance her beauty and accentuate her cleavage. Her hair was up, and her blue eyes were piercing as she smiled at me, posing for a moment and moving her legs in such a way that I could see a bit of thigh and the garter belt which held up her dark nylons.
“I missed you,” she said, smiling. “I was going to relive our afternoon, and I did a bit, but after the real thing it just wasn’t as good,” she said naughtily. My cock was as happy to see her as the rest of me, suddenly tenting my pants as my mouth grew dry.
“I’m glad to see you too!” I said, though I was suddenly nervous. This was just the kind of thing that got one in trouble, what might cost Tommy his job tomorrow, and I needed no gossip or rumors complicating my work and reputation. While there was nobody in the place besides the two of us, anyone could walk in at any time, and anything untoward would be reported to Mike, probably before I could show up for the morning shift. Okay, this job wasn’t a partnership in a law firm but it was the only one I had, and I’d just made it through the necessary initiation by regular customers giving me a hard time, I didn’t need any more trouble.
“Why don’t you come down here and let me make you a drink?” I said, motioning Marie toward the far end of the bar, where we had a hinged section that lifted to allow the bartenders to pass in and out. If she sat there, I alone could steal a look at her legs while I worked, and they were indeed a thing of beauty, especially with those dark nylons.
“How about a kiss to help me decide what else I want to drink?” she said, seductively. This was going to be a long three hours, I thought. She walked to the place I’d suggested, took my hands and leaned across the bar to kiss me. As my mouth met hers she pulled my hands to her breasts and I was about to lose myself in her as I heard the front door open. Startled, I stood up, again blushing, as a few college students, evidently on a “Death March” – a tour of the street from a bit west all the way to the lake – stumbled in, laughing and slurring and calling to their friends outside, began to pile into the bar.
With an authorized (by the fire department) capacity of twenty-five, the Small Bar was pretty quickly filled by the twenty or so students who filed in. “Some pitchers of beer!” they said, and I started filling pitchers and distributing glasses and counting customers, setting the beer on the bar to be passed around. The students were mostly guys, somewhat past sobriety but not quite beyond tolerable limits, some rushing to the bathroom and a couple others looking at our antique jukebox. They plugged in a few quarters and I cranked up the box from behind the bar, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band filling the air with “Born To Run”. I collected for the beer and returned to Marie, suddenly realizing that I’d not given her a drink.
“I’m sorry, what can I get you?” I asked.
“I was thinking of something milky, what do you recommend?” she teased. My cock leapt again, remembering how her sodden love petals had dripped with my milk just a few hours before. I knew we had some heavy cream in the cooler, and I made her a White Russian. I slipped in a little more vodka and Kahlua than usual, wanting her both relaxed and awake at closing time, when I’d give her a little payback for teasing me so badly while I was busy.
The kids called for another round, and one of the two girls with them called for shots. “I want an Orgasm!” called one, and another “I want Sex on the Beach!” I lined up the shot glasses and tried to buy some time.
“Does anybody know how to make those?” I asked. They looked at each other – they’d evidently had those downtown, but I hadn’t a clue. I paged through the Angostura Bitters drink guide. Nope, neither drink there, but we did have a few liquors on the back bar. They were grumbling and I heard overheard some comment about bad bartenders.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll pour you a shot of a new drink – Tony’s Demise – and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay.” The promise of a few drink seemed to assuage their displeasure, and I reached back for some Midori Melon Liquor. Sweet and colorful seemed the thing for most kids, and though I was pretty much the same age, a lot of years of work and a few living on my own had leant some maturity. Since I had the Kaluha out anyway, I poured a bit into each glass, dark and chocolate colored, then added a touch of Midori. Hmmm. It looked like sludge. I poured a little vodka on top of that, creating an oddly layered parfait of alcohol, then put just a drop of the heavy cream on top of that. I’d forgotten that cream seemed to curdle when added to alcohol, but it was an inventive and interesting solution to my dilemma and the students seemed entranced.
“Don’t I get one?” asked Marie.
“Sure, lady, have one with us!” one of the boys said. I poured two more, and so armed, we all toasted and drank in one motion.
“That’s really good!” one of the boys yelled. Marie and I exchanged a glance. I wouldn’t have used the word ‘good’ – it was not unpleasant but I don’t think I’d ever order it on purpose.
