“Score!” a loud yell of Irish men accompanied my entrance. They were all watching soccer on the television and not looking at me. I wormed my way through the group of mostly men up to the bar. I ordered a cranberry and vodka, and the bar matron gave me a look that practically screamedAmerican!
“Hey there, sexy,” a deep Irish voice said next to my ear.
“Hey there, back,” I said, spinning around to find Lachtna decked out in a light blue soccer jersey and holding a glass of beer in his hand.
“Glad you found the place,” Lachtna said.
“It’s right in Times Square. We’re practically at TKTS. I’m amazed I haven’t been in here before.”
“Yeah. Even though it’s in the city’s heart, it caters to an exclusive Irish clientele.”
“Boy,” the bar matron yelled. “Is this lass yours?”
“Nah, Saoirse. We work together,” Lachtna responded as he threw down money on the bar for my drink without asking.
“Well, tell her next time to buy herself a drink for a grownup.” The old woman let out a cackle as she placed my drink on the bar and turned away.
“What did you order?” Lachtna asked.
“Cranberry and vodka.”
He burst out laughing, and I stood there, stupefied. I must have made some big Irish faux pas. “She’s giving ya a hard time. To her, it’s either whiskey or beer. Anything else is toilet bowl water.”
“Well, that’s a pleasant thought,” I grumbled as I drank my delicious toilet bowl water.
“Come on over. We got a table and saved ya a seat. Katherine’s already there.”
Lachtna pushed his way through the crowd of men who were pretty much all wearing the same jersey as he did. On the far wall were a couple of high-tops pushed together. Katherine sat at one and was in deep conversation with a Puerto Rican guy who worked on the show. I recognized him but didn’t know him at all. Lachtna pulled out a stool for me, and I sat down and was glad my seat was next to him.
“Don’t worry, the game’s almost over. Then things will quiet down a bit,” Lachtna yelled into my ear over the roar of another goal.
“So, who’s playing?” I asked, trying to pretend that I cared.
“It’s Dublin versus Monaghan. It’s the All-Ireland Senior Football Championship semifinals. This determines who plays against Wexford next week in the finals.”
“What are they called?”
“In Gaelic, they’re theÁth Cliath. But most call them The Dubs, as them being from Dublin and all.”
“And I take it the guys in the light blue,” I said, looking at one of the television monitors showing the game, “are The Dubs.”
“That they are,” he said with more pride in his voice than I expected. I smiled.
“Oh, come on! What the f—“ the booing in the surrounding crowd drowned out a guy’s voice.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Ref should have called a penalty, but he’s apparently blind as a bat,” Lachtna said, his attention diverted back to the game and away from me.
Well, this is going well. I turned my attention back to the screen and watched. I may not have known what was going on in the game, but I knew enough to know the game was coming to a climax by the way the rowdiness in the bar grew.
“Score!” The room erupted, and from the chest-bumping around the room, I put it together that Dublin had won. Inside I let out a weak, “yippee,” but I kept it to myself and plastered on a smile.
“Need another drink, luv?” Lachtna asked.
His pint was already empty, and I had barely sipped mine. “Nah, I’m still fine,” I said, holding up the mostly full glass as proof. Over the next half hour, the pub thinned out. It was still loud and rowdy, but it wasn’t wall-to-wall men in jerseys.
“So, tell me about yourself, Erika,” Lachtna said. He was already on another pint.
