episode 2 – discerning reactionsA bartender befriends someone who shows an interest. Prior connections now lead them down paths that one of them may not be ready for.
Making Progress
A bartender befriends someone who shows an interest. Prior connections now lead them down paths that one of them may not be ready for.
The next morning, in a jovial mood, Everett whistles and sways with a vacuum machine as a dance partner to the melody of jazz music. He replays his opening line to Sandy in his head, agreeing that it was clever.
She didn’t shut him down, keeping open the possibility of something developing. While waiting for the bar to open, the hours move much more slowly than the alcohol punch in Sandy’s drink.
When it approaches 11 o’clock, he hurries to the barstool, catching his breath while bopping to the background Reggae music. On the other end of the bar, he sees Sandy conversing with a burly man.
Although the conversation is indiscernible, she pulls some cash from her bosom, snapping what may be the same dollar bill Everett left as a large tip for her. The guy snatches it, staring in disbelief, while they appear to be making gestures toward Everett.
When the guy leaves, Sandy places a napkin square before Everett, asking, “Would you like your usual?”
“No. I’ll have the Blue Curaçao—the lighter-alcohol version—with loaded potato skins.”
“Excellent choice. Coming right up.”
After pouring the drink into a glass, she sets it on top of the napkin. He asks, “Do I count as a regular customer yet?”
“You mean, can we go out? Let me see.” Looking at the clock on the wall above the seated burly man, she continues. “I take my lunch break in three more hours. We can go anywhere but here.”
“Really? You’ll go out with me?”
“That’s the goal. Everyone has their blues. Sometimes you do what you have to—no matter what.”
“I’m not sure what dark place your mind just went, but pick the place. It’ll be my treat, even if I’m not hungry. Just let me finish this drink, and I’ll meet you back here.”
Uncomfortable Dating
When they get to her preferred restaurant with blue decor, Sandy orders spicy chicken wings and fries with a milkshake. Then the waitress turns to ask what Everett wants.
Sandy speaks for him, “He won’t be having anything but water.”
He closes the menu, agreeing, “That’s right.” Turning to Sandy, he says, “It’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner. You have a different schedule.”
Everett looks around uncomfortably, wondering if the few people he knows might have questions about who he’s with. While sitting across from her, he finds it difficult to divert his eyes from her low neckline.
She breaks the tense silence with an abrupt question, “What’s your story?”
“My story? What do you mean?” he responds, seeking clarity.
“Yes. Your story. You come to a bar alone, wearing a wedding ring, and go out with the bartender. We already established you aren’t a serial killer because you live nearby. You’re just watching me eat. What’s your story?”
“Oh. I didn’t realize I was still wearing this wedding band. My wife passed away several weeks ago. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with my time.”
In a compassionate tone, Sandy responds, “I’m sorry for your loss. What was her name?”
“She was my lovely Aria.”
“Wait a minute. You’re Everett? Did you and your wife have any children?”
“Unfortunately not. But we had some play nieces named Sandra…”
“And Debra—my sister. I didn’t recognize you with the beard and gray hair.”
“This can’t be happening. You’ve changed so much. Now you must think your uncle is a creepy old man.”
“I remember Auntie Aria more than you. But don’t call yourself old. You’re mature, like a sweet bottle of wine.”
“Thanks. So when… what… how did you become a bartender?”
“I like good music and sweet things. Being in a bar seemed like a perfect fit.”
“That sounds nice.” Feeling more awkward on a quasi-date with the daughter of his late wife’s best friend, Everett tries to speed up the encounter. “Finish your meal before people begin wondering about the creepy bottle of wine sitting with the strong blue drink.”
“Hey, I listen to what’s in many people’s heads. They will think what they do, regardless of how innocent a situation is. You say you live alone nearby?”
“Yes. Just a few blocks away, on Ash Park.”
Sandy’s eyes brighten. “That’s a nice area!”
“True. Everyone keeps to themselves there. Hey, was that guy at the bar harassing you?”
She abruptly shuts down the inquiry, averting her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Adroitly shifting the conversation, she asks, “Do you want to talk about Auntie Aria’s passing?”
“She was not only a friend. She was my partner. And now I have no one.”
“I’ve talked to other guys who’ve lost their wives—and have been through some tragedies myself. My advice is to cherish the pleasant memories in a bottle while finding new ones to enjoy. That’s the goal to strive for.”
Everett responds to the winsome words with appreciation, “Thanks. I could get used to this kind of bartender advice.”
Intrusive Imposition
“Now that we can skip past figuring out each other’s intentions, I live way on the other side of town and use rideshare to and from work. After long shifts, I could use a place to crash, if it’s not too much of an imposition.”
“You mean… You want to sleep at my house?”
“Perhaps you’re still mourning the loss of your wife. I’m sorry if my suggestion is insensitive. I thought since we had a history…. Forget I asked.”
“Well. No. Um, I have extra room, and would love some company.”
“Great. My shift ends at 3 o’clock in the morning, and I don’t feel safe stepping into a stranger’s car, even if they call it a rideshare.”
“For the creator of the Sandy, I’ll make it a point to bring a chariot to your bar and drive you to either my place or yours.”
“Thanks. I have a day off tomorrow, so after crashing at your place, we can catch up on some things when I wake up.”
“That sounds perfect.”
He drives her back to work and heads home until it’s time to pick her up again. An inebriated customer causes problems at her job. When Sandy cuts off his drinks, he refuses to pay his bill and gets handsy. The burly man intervenes, snapping the customer’s wrist. He then removes cash from the man’s wallet and hurls him outside, whimpering and writhing in pain.
In the early morning hours, when Everett drives Sandy home, she steps into his front door, praising the decor. “Some people are dying to have a nice place like this. A girl could settle down real comfortably here.”
“Thanks. We can save the grand tour till tomorrow. But the essentials are the kitchen to your right, and down this hallway is a bathroom and spare bedroom.”
The Bohemian-themed colorful decor surrounding a large bed covered with many pillows is impressive. Sandy hugs him tightly, expressing appreciation. “This room is a big upgrade from where I’m from. This room is a big upgrade from where I’m from. Thanks for having me over. Just double-checking. You do want me here? I mean, I’m not imposing. Right?”
Her excitement and physical contact melt his lingering apprehension regarding their history. “It’s my pleasure to have you visit sometimes, Sandy.”
“Good. If you can overlook my quirks, you’ll discover I have much to offer. For now, give me some alone time. Let’s talk more tomorrow when I’m not so tired.”
When Everett shuts her door, a sense of accomplishment overwhelms Sandy. She’s managed to claw herself from the streets into a home that outshines the squalor of her humble beginnings. It also instills confidence in her ability to pull off a big con.
Meanwhile, Everett continues down the hallway to his bedroom, focusing on her warm embrace. Before dozing off with a grin, he realizes that there has only ever been one other woman to spend the night in his home.
In the morning, he prepares a heartier breakfast than usual. Stacks of pancakes accompany sausage links, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and coffee. The aroma should awaken Sandy, if not the clanking of pots and pans, but she doesn’t emerge from her room.
To keep the meal from getting cold, he lightly taps on her door without a response. So he gently twists the knob to peek. His eyes full of terror and uncertainty, see what looks like someone under the cover with her.
“Could it be the guy she was talking to in the bar?” he wonders. Everett shuts the door in a state of confusion. “Is this woman setting me up for some sort of scam?”
Not knowing her well, it’s just by circumstantial relationships with other people that they ever pretended to be related. So he eats breakfast alone, covering the remaining food, and heads back to his room to ponder what turmoil he has unleashed.
Continued…
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