“Tossing bottles constitutes a show?” Paul frowned quizzically.
“You bet.” Devin grinned. “It’s called flair bartending, and there are even competitions for it. I’m notthatgood, but I can definitely put on a performance.”
“Okay, well, that I have to see.” Paul had thought about moving on from the bar, but he had two weeks to make the rounds of the entire ship, and he was curious about the show.
“Sounds good.” Devin pointed to a row of deck chairs. “The best view is right over there.”
Paul headed over to the chairs, which faced the bar. Most of them were already occupied, but he left an empty chair between himself and the nearest passenger.
Jill nodded to Mark, who was standing off to one side, and Mark picked up a microphone and began an introduction.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you are all enjoying this beautiful day, and having fun on board the pride of the Triton Line!” He then introduced Devin and Jill to the assembled passengers and explained a little bit about flair bartending. While Mark talked, Devin and Jill placed a row of empty beer bottles along the bar, which were apparently the first props they would work with.
After Mark’s introduction, music started to play—an old Herb Alpert tune called “Tequila.” Devin picked up two of the beer bottles, and Jill did the same, and together, in a synchrony that had to have taken them hours of practice, they began to juggle them, first singly, then passing the four bottles back and forth between them in spinning tosses.
The audience applauded, but Devin and his partner were only getting started. After a couple of minutes of four bottles, Devin grabbed another, so there were five bottles now flashing through the air between the two of them. They made several passes before Jill added a sixth to the mix. The audience reacted with oohs and aahs and a smattering of applause. Then Devin counted—“one… two… three!”—and they ended the trick, both of them spinning in place as they each caught three of the bottles and took a bow.
Paul applauded as hard as everyone else, impressed by their dexterity. He’d once been pretty quick on his feet himself, but he doubted his hand-eye coordination would have been good enough to let him pull off a juggling feat like that even before the accident. Devin dropped Paul a quick wink and a smile, then took a martini shaker Jill handed him. She had an identical one, and they tossed the two back and forth, empty, before taking up vodka bottles and adding the liquor to the shakers. A dash of vermouth went in as well, and then the lids were placed on the shakers.
“Tequila” ended, flowing into an excerpt from “Zorba the Greek,” which started out slow but increased in tempo. Devin and Jill worked with the shakers, flipping them in the air while turning in place, then working in brief dance steps as they threw the shakers higher and higher with each repetition. As the music reached a crescendo, Devin and Jill tossed the shakers even higher. The shakers sailed up and out of sight, arching over the railing of the deck above, but Devin and Jill continued to look up, as though expecting the shakers to come back. For a few seconds, the crowd was still and quiet, not understanding, and then they laughed at Devin and his partner’s artfully dismayed expressions. There was a pause in the music, and the two shakers came back down. Devin caught his shaker, grabbed a martini glass, then opened the shaker and poured the contents into it. A quick garnish with an olive, and he held the glass up as the music ended.
“Shaken, not stirred!” he and Jill called out at the same time, then passed the martinis to the closest observers.
That ended the show, and there were laughs and applause as Devin and Jill took their bows. A woman in the audience called out, “Marry me, Devin!”
And without missing a beat, Devin shouted a response. “Thank you, ma’am, but your brother already asked me!”
There was more laughter, and Devin smiled as passengers surged toward the bar, apparently eager to order more drinks. Paul sat patiently, not wanting to bother Devin while the bar was so busy. Once the crowd had dispersed—passengers returning to their lounge chairs with drinks in hand—Paul returned to the bar and sat down again.
“I have to ask,” Paul said, pushing his empty mimosa glass across the bar. He’d nursed it as long as he could—long enough not to feel any effects from the alcohol. “How did you do the trick with the disappearing and reappearing shakers?”
Devin tried for an innocent expression, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. Leaning across the bar, he beckoned Paul to come closer. “Two other bartenders were standing on the upper level, behind some of the decorations. We threw the shakers up and back so they could catch them, and they tossed us different ones with fresh martinis in them. What we’d juggled was too abused to serve.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Paul said, chuckling.
Devin’s answering grin was evil. “That’s good, because otherwise I’d have to dump you overboard. Can’t have you telling all my secrets so my tips dry up.”
Paul didn’t know whether teasing was part of Devin’s nature in general or if Devin enjoyed poking him specifically. Either way, Paul wasn’t quite sure how to respond. For one thing, he didn’t want to be too informal with employees, and for another, his own temperament had always been more serious.
“I’ll be sure not to get too close to any rails while you’re around,” he said at last, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to respond in kind this once. Maybe the mimosa had affected him more than he realized.
Devin seemed delighted that Paul had returned his teasing. “That’s better. I was beginning to think Triton must surgically remove all executives’ senses of humor. I was thinking it was an argument for never going into management.”
“No, it’s just me.” Paul shrugged and glanced away, feeling awkward. “My sense of humor has always been lacking.”
Devin cocked his head to one side. “Maybe you just need more reasons to smile,” he replied, his voice soft. “I like it when you smile.”
Paul sat up straight and leaned back, his face growing hot. Letting himself enjoy Devin’s attention and compliments would be veering way too far into dangerous territory, especially considering how attractive he found Devin.
“Well, when I have reason to, maybe I will,” he said.
“I’m going to do my best to find those reasons,” Devin replied lightly. “Otherwise people will think you don’t like working for Triton.”
“Which is definitely not the case,” Paul said, relaxing a little now that they were moving back to safer topics. “I plan to stay with Triton until I retire.” Which was the absolute truth.
“Good.” Devin glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a break now. What do you think about going down to the main kitchen and meeting the staff there? I’ve probably monopolized enough of your time, and I know you need to learn the rest of the ship.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Paul said as he slid off his stool. Almost as soon as he moved away from it, a woman with silver-streaked brown hair claimed it and ordered a daiquiri from Jill.
