“Well shit,” I say, grabbing my jacket. “We’ll meet you there.”
Jaylen smiles, and then his eyes bounce between us for a moment. There’s something in his expression, but a second later it’s gone and he heads out.
“That was too close,” Harper says after he is out of earshot. My brain is still on the absinthe bit though.
“Grab your things,” I tell her, and Harper just looks at me. “What? You’re coming too, obviously.”
“To the new speakeasy?” she asks.
“Of course. You’re a part of Levine St. James now. As my personal assistant, I am going to need you by my side, especially with new endeavors,” I say with a wink. Harper smiles, and we head out.
The Gatsby Underground is tucked away beneath the streets of central Denver. It’s right smack dab in the busiest bar district, but invisible to the naked eye. That’s the M.O. for speakeasies. During Prohibition, while alcohol was banned, bars were still running below the police-patrolled streets, with jazz music, dancing, and of course, booze. Lots and lots of bathtub-brewed booze.
Ours is no different except alcohol is no longer illegal. The concept has stayed the same for most speakeasies around the country. Many of them are located underground or in a hidden room off to the side of another business. Some use payphones where you have to call a number to get inside. Others have slatted doors where a concierge will open the door only if you give him the secret password. We went the password route, but with a little more flair.
“An ice cream shop?” Harper asks as we step inside a cute little street-level creamery called Cherry On Top. Then she looks at the business hours printed on the door. “That’s open till 2:00 am.”
“Hey boss,” the kid behind the counter says. It’s a small shop with only a handful of tables. It’s got the charm of a typical ice cream shop with the checkered floors, colorful tables and chairs, and the scent of waffle cones wafting through the air. On the far wall is a giant silver door that appears to be for a commercial refrigerator.
“Hey Xander. This is Harper. She’s Jaylen’s sister. I’m showing her the ropes,” I say. He smiles, stepping up to the ice cream case.
Harper turns to me, and I pull out my phone. “So on the social media page for Cherry On Top, every day you will find a post about the flavor of the day. A sample of that flavor will get you through that door,” I point.
“The fridge door?” she asks, and I smile. Xander laughs. Harper looks at me again, but I just wait. She looks down at the post, then up at Xander.
“Alright. Well, can I get a sample of your butter rum, please?” she asks.
“Sure thing,” he says. He grabs a small wooden spoon, dips it into the ice cream, and then walks out from behind the counter. “Now if you’ll follow me…” he says as he opens the “fridge” door and parts a set of velvet curtains.
“So the flavor of the day is the password,” she notes. “Clever. Tasty, too.”
We walk through, and the flooring changes from checkered black and white to red. The walls are a mix of black and dark green. The countertops are slick, dark marble, and the bar is dimly lit, casting shadows through the bottles lining the wall. All the seating is leather and mid-century modern, giving the entire room a modern yet vintage vibe.
“This is beautiful,” she says, watching as people move around the room. Servers are busy learning the menus, and two bartenders are mixing drinks. A small stage is being set up in the corner.
“There will be live jazz music most nights, and a rotating line-up of local bands,” I say. “The drinks are bartender-intuitive. Basically, the guests come in, describe their mood or favorite flavors, and the bartenders make something to match. The menu is all fancy appetizers made for sharing.”
I turn and look at Harpers whose eyes are sparkling as they sweep over the room. “So,” I ask her. “What do you think?”
“I love it,” she says. “It’s perfect. So high concept.”
“Is it a place you could see yourself working?” I ask, and she lets out a small, bubbly laugh.
“I would die to be a bartender at a place like this. Are you kidding?”
I smile, opening my mouth to say something, but before I can, Jaylen walks up.
“So the rep for Everest left two bottles,” he says. Jaylen handles a lot of our vendor communications. Despite his free-wheeling nature, he has one of the more complex palates I’ve ever encountered, and that goes for food and drinks alike. In short, I trust him. “They said to see what we can whip up on the libations menu, but I’m pretty sure we have it in the bag.”
“So basically we make them taste good, and it makes them look good,” I say.
“Which makes us money,” he says.
“Absinthe is a fun one,” Harper says, grabbing one of the new bottles off the bar top and looking it over. “You can make some really unique drinks with this.”
“So have at it,” I say and she stops and looks at me.
“You mean…you want…”
