Dribbles of alcohol sit at the bottom of the glasses decorating the bar. For every drink I serve, three freshly drained ones appeared. I happened upon this bartending gig, shortly after Brodi went missing. It was a good thing too, because I had just been let go from the resort and Star Mart wasn’t paying me enough. I also was looking to fill my schedule to the brim.
It didn’t help, though. I still think about him almost every day. The police weren’t interested in helping a distressed girlfriend with a missing person’s case. “Did you consider that maybe he just took off?” They would ask me. No…! Maybe? Would he?
Graduated nearly two years ago, I never thought I’d still be here… pouring drinks instead of completing my passion projects, which mostly remained unfinished in the deepest parts of my bedroom closet.
Music reverberates through the bar; I know it’s unnecessarily loud because my rib cage rattles with the bass. I love music. It somehow manages to extinguish any concerns or present frustrations. Listening to music nonstop has catalogued songs within an unintentional memory folder. Without much effort, I can sing along with almost any song. Besides country music, because I was never able to get into a song about a pickup truck, or an ex running off with their dog. The heavy rhythm doesn’t allow any room for feelings, let alone thinking. And, if I’m lucky, I may get a short reprieve from my tinnitus.
Tinnitus is when people experience perpetual buzzing or ringing in their ears. Some people may even get a static sound. Mine is a high-pitched bell, which ironically likes to get louder during stressful or quiet times. Like when I’m trying to sleep. Sometimes, the ear-splitting sound goes silent. It doesn’t last very long, but it’s a sort of heaven on earth feeling when it happens. During those few moments of bliss, I hold my breath, wishing the silence would stay. Doctors think the cause is dueto a temporary muscle spasm in the ear. The only thing that seems to last in my life is hearing impairment. Oh… and anxiety with a side of depression. That is, according to the countless therapists I’ve seen over the years. Really… it would be so nice for something useful to come into my life and stick around. Something that’s good for me.
Hands on the bar top, I can feel a tremor moving through the counter. I look up to find a customer, slamming his hands on the surface to grab my attention. His features are intense and paired with an edgy buzzed in slit within one eyebrow and a too tight purple V-necked shirt. He looks like a Jersey boy who got separated from his bros on the way to the shore. I watch as his mouth moves, transfixed on how his thin lips are able to maneuver despite his taut, Botox filled face.
“Hey! Bangs!” he repeats.
The tortuous roaring of bells plays even louder. Why can’t people just use the tablet to order?! Standing before the impatient man, I ask what I can get started for him. “Hey, what can I?—”
He slams his hands down on the bar top again. “Lemme… An ol fash—” he slurs, barely understandable.
Reaching deep to retrieve mybest customer service skills, I say, “I’m sorry… Could you repeat your drink, please?”
His wayward mouth made it impossible to read his lips. “Ol’-d! F-asshh-oo-n-d!” He enunciates, like I’m nothing more than a piece of machinery that has teased the ends of his patience.
Arming my lungs with air, hoping to limit how hot I feel my face becoming, I make my way to a clean stack of glasses. First, I overfill the cup with ice, add too many bitters, too little liquor, and not a grain of sugar, then sparsely garnish the drink before handing it to the insufferable patron. “That’ll be nineteen. Would you like to open a tab?”
The inebriated man slams a crumbed twenty on the counter. “Keep the change. Dumb?—”
He spins around only to be met by a thick arm jutting out from the crowd. It appears as if a mystery man hasold-fashionedby the jaw, causing his words to cease and his body to be fixed in place. The enigma of a man, dips his two large fingers into the glass, retrieving the miniscule cherry, then slowly opens his perfect pouty lips to pop the sugared trimming into his mouth. The bigger man’s smile turns feline as he hums.
“I think you owe her an apology.” His voice is deep, resonating, and somehow sexy.
The stunned, inebriated man now has a vein bulging from his temple. Either from embarrassment or anger, I’m not sure which. He attempts to move his jaw to form words around the grip of the other man. “I… I didn’t think… I did anythin?—”
My eyes bounce between each person, unsure if I needed to grab help, or maybe my manager to intervene.Old-fashionedis lifted a little higher off the ground.
“Try again,” the mystery man all but growls.
“I sor—ma’. I’m sorr—I’m sorry, ma’am!” the boorish man finally manages to get out.
The vigilante releases the stuttering man, nearly tossing him to his buddies located nearby. As if they knew what to do, they escorted the crude customer out of view, most likely into the street. Good.
The very good looking, cherry thief makes his way toward me. “Here.” He places a crisp fifty-dollar bill on the bar before giving me a seductive grin from his perfectly chiseled face. He has the kind of looks that should only belong to those marbled statues in museums. The custom designer suit tells me he comes from money. No one should look like that.
“Thanks, but I don’t need someone to swoop in and rescue me. I also don’t need your charity.” I think I decided at thatmoment that a pretty face usually comes with a catch. Crossing my arms over my chest, I find that I’m finally able to do something with my body, other than gawk at this man’s gall.
He runs a palm down each side of his head, as if to fix the already perfectly groomed buzzed sides and short sandy comb back. Leaning onto the counter between us, his eyes skate over every inch of my body, making me feel exposed. Seen. “A Scotch, please… Neat.” His emerald eyes make me feel like I’ve finally reached the city to meet the wizard. The one who can help me get home. I’m mesmerized by the way his cheekbones perfectly accentuate his stupidly beautiful face.
I reach for the scotch; our eyes still locked, as if I’ve entered some sort of unofficial staring contest. Placing the drink between us temporarily ceases whatever moment we just had. He watches me as he places the glass on his full lips. He sips the golden liquid, tightening muscles creating dimples on his cheeks, before it finally works its way down his throat. I’m enamored by his Adam's apple as it bobs on a swallow. God… Oh shit, am I drooling?
“It’s cute,” he states, shaking me from my trance, then pushing the fifty closer to me.
“The drink?” I inquired, confused how a beverage could be cute.
“The bangs,” he states plainly.
Heat washes over me, starting at my neck and working downward toward my core. Am I having trouble accepting a compliment or is it because a breath-taking stranger is giving it?
He drains the rest of the amber colored liquid. Stands and turns to leave, without so much as a goodbye. He’s gone just as quickly as he came. Joined by the two guys from earlier, who most likely threw the impossible patron out of the bar. One of the men who flanked his side seemed content to be there. Chewing on a toothpick, as his gaze seems to catch on any prettyface that happens by. While the other guy looks disinterested. He was bigger in size than his accomplice, and I swear, I catch his steely eyes lingering on me right before they leave.
The sea of people seems to part as the three dapper men make their way out of my line of sight. It's been a while since someone of the opposite sex complimented me. I find myself biting the inside of my mouth, just to fight back a ridiculous girlish smile.
