The Cocktail Bar

by Isabella May

  “It’s hard for me, you know,” she said with her back to him as he stepped outside the hut. She continued staring off into the mountainous hinterland and he slowly joined her, two strangers they may have been, yet he was already beginning to feel as if he’d somehow known her a lifetime – perhaps just a very different lifetime. “I never asked to be entrusted with this. But that’s what my family signed up for all those centuries ago. We have our supply, we pass it down the generations, and when the time is right, we set the intention; we call in a Messenger and off goes a bottle to another part of the world. Today it’s you. Tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, it’s another. It’s just the design. Slowly but surely,” she turned now to face him, her face pure and somehow loving, “when humanity has reached a certain level of understanding, evil will be wiped out, non-existent, leaving only good. Until then, a few people here, a few people there will have the ability to scatter non-stop joy.”

  “And what’s in all of this for me, if I’m not one of the three?”

  “You will return to find the missing pieces to your own puzzle.”

  “But nothing’s missing from my life,” he said, kicking lightly at the dusty ground. “I’ve already decided to take a new direction with the bar… the one bar… I’m not sure why you’re referring to it as ‘my first’ as if I’m the Donald bloody Trump of the brewery industry.” He waved his hands like that might help reassure her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to use the expletive there, but don’t presume to know more about me than I do about myself.”

  “Take the bottle… and this,” she clung to her convictions, handing him a pale brown envelope which he hadn’t previously noticed folded into her apron strings, “but don’t open it until you are much closer to your home and you’ve made your final decision.” She held her arms out wide to embrace him firmly. “Felix, my nephew, is waiting. He will take you back to the city now.”

  She pointed to a pickup truck which looked suspiciously like the same one that had so ungracefully deposited River in the middle of nowhere.

  “Goodbye, River and good luck… que sera, sera,” she said with the trace of a laugh. And with that she turned, walked back to the entrance of the shack, gave him one final wave and disappeared inside.

  He was glued to the spot for several seconds, until a loud horn from the highway made its intentions clear and River found himself with little option but to head over to it. Halfway to the fence he was certain that if he turned to look at the little blue hut, it would evaporate into a hot mist, a mirage in the desert, fuzzing at the edges until it was but a dot on the horizon. But there it stood, real as could be. The truck sounded its horn again, and River pivoted, then marched quickly, careful not to shake the contents of the bottle as Felix and his giant cigar became clearer and clearer. Felix nodded at him as he rounded the bonnet of the vehicle to climb into the passenger side, and didn’t stop nodding until River lodged his backpack in-between his feet, hugging the bottle to his chest.

  “Cual es tu hotel, hombre?”

  “The new five star place in the centro, El Paraiso,” said River, thinking that surely Felix should intuitively know.

  He started to ponder the so-called piece of his life puzzle that was ‘missing’ as his chauffeur drove silently, puffing great rings of smoke out of the window and into the sultry air, the bi-polar and chilled out opposite of his previous bout of impatience, until Felix flicked on the stereo and hummed along lightly to the mariachi music which soon filled the cabin, lulling River into a light but much needed sleep.

  Forty-two minutes later and the city’s traffic jerked him awake with a start. Felix switched off the stereo and pulled over to the side of the road.

  “El hotel esta al fin del calle,” he said.

  River had never seen the street of his hotel from this perspective before, but took Felix’s word for it that he’d reached his final destination. He thanked his driver, a little more gratefully this time, jumped down from the top step of the cabin, and held his hand aloft for a brief and silent farewell, as he knew was now the norm. But then Felix took him by surprise.

  “Una cosa más,” he said, before adding his sudden grasp of the English language, “just one more thing…”

  “Yes?” said River. “What is it?”

  “Belief is everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But Felix’s foot was already on the throttle. River could only watch, fascinated, as he did a masterful three point turn – for which the stream of traffic obediently, biblically, parted – and returned to wherever it was that he’d first come from, knowing full well that just like Mercedes, he would never see him again.

  ***

  “Where the heck have you been? You missed this afternoon’s interview with the local press and the others have had to go on and film that drinks commercial I was telling you about without you.”

  Lennie was waiting for River as he entered reception, shades strapped to his brooding face, New York Yankees cap concealing his dusting of a Mr Whippy hairdo as he paced manically with his mobile attached to his ear. “You can forget all about your cut, was a tidy little number you’d have pocketed for it, too.”

  “Sorry, it won’t happen again.” River made for the elevator, avoiding eye contact with his manager, swinging his backpack around to his chest as if he were protecting a baby in a sling, double checking he really had placed the bottle and envelope inside, impressed with himself for his short but sweet and un-scripted double entendre.

  “Make sure you’re back down here by eight sharp. We’ve got a taxi booked and a reservation for dinner at Taberna Frederico with no less than the stars of one of Mexico’s most famous sitcoms. And for god’s sake take a shower and blitz yourself with aftershave… got more dust on you than the Sahara… you never know who you might get to bring back for dessert if you play your cards right,” Lennie yelled after him.

  With the lift to himself, River wasted no time in pressing the button to his floor, but then, taking in the poster of the hotel cocktail bar and the promise of a half-decent Martini, he thought better of playing his boss’s game and opted for floor twenty-two instead.

  ***

  River stared down at the wonder of the city sprawling out before him, seated at the thin glass bar with its panoramic view that seemed to extend to the very heart of Tequila itself. Pushing the influence of Heather’s eccentricities aside, and his childhood upbringing on the ley lines of a mystical town, as bizarre as the afternoon had been, somehow it had also made perfect sense. And he was even more reassured when he acknowledged the fact that he was still physically standing, feeling absolutely fine, that the liquid must have been all that Mercedes promised it was and more.

  The Martini mellowed him into blissful oblivion as to the evening’s pre-requisite and pre-scripted ‘it goes with the territory’ duties. Lennie could swivel quite frankly, the others too – even Alice. He was done with the industry and its schmoozing.

  Lack of food sent the alcohol straight to his head but he ordered a fresh Martini anyway, whittling away an hour, or two, who knew, who cared? Lennie’s agenda just didn’t bother him anymore. They’d filmed the stupid thumbs-up-to-aspartame soft drinks ad without him earlier that afternoon, and they could carry on producing records without him too. Christ, they’d hardly be the first band to change its line-up, some with more success than others admittedly, but the remainder of Avalonia were definitely no Atomic Kitten.

  The punch of his first sip sent him into a world of his own once again, following the zigzags, curves and bends of the city’s streets, scanning the skyscrapers, grand colonial buildings illuminated in all their glory, as well as the leafy green parks. He let his two favourite V’s do their liquid thing, warming the hunger pangs of his stomach, as he nibbled away at the small bowl of peanuts for added effect. Once he was sure the others had left for dinner, he’d take himself out there and get lost in Guadalajara’s legendary street markets, feasting on the equally legendary Tortas Ahogadas as
he bumbled along the wide boulevards with nothing but his thoughts about this exciting new fork in his own road for company. Yes, a ‘drowned sandwich’ full of fire and salsa would be a fitting tribute to the end of his music career.

  He knocked back the last of his drink, rustled around in his wallet for some pesos, counting them out and adding a few extra coins for a tip, looked up to catch the eye of the waiter, but found himself catching the belligerent eye of Lennie instead, hands upon hips, trademark baseball cap pulled down, but shades removed, undoubtedly his nod at etiquette, since he was being mindful of his surroundings. River’s pulse quickened and his eyes quickly scoured the room for a second exit point.

  Phew, his luck was in.

  Just to the left side of the toilets, at the opposite end of the room to where Lennie was imitating the statue of a dictator, he could either make a very sharp escape, his flagship shot at official independence… or toe Lennie’s managerial line, lapping up the evening’s formalities one last time. Another exotic woman whose face would fade into a distant memory the moment room service banged on his door with coffee and croissants… and she fled before her naked size eight frame gave in to yet more temptation.

  He signalled to the waiter to take his money as Lennie paced forward, swung his backpack onto his shoulder, and ran faster than he’d ever done in his life.

  Chapter Five

  RIVER

  River peeped through the spyhole, an unnecessary action given that Heather’s description of ‘man in a black cap with an N and a Y on it, bulbous nose, searching emerald eyes and naff gold medallion, accompanied by an aura… or on second thoughts, perhaps it’s just a huddle of bodies behind him’ painted the picture of band manager and entire line-up.

  “You’re wasting your time, guys,” he shouted at the door and its peeling claret paint, heart thudding so loudly he was sure they could all hear its drum beat outside. “There’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind. It’s over. You’ll easily find a replacement for me. Just switch on The Voice and pilfer one of the rejects. They’re all pretty good these days.”

  “River: Open up and stop being childish, you owe me an explanation,” Lennie echoed back. “You can’t play hide and seek for ever. If you don’t talk to me soon, it’ll only be the paps that end up cornering you… your choice, but I know what I’d prefer in your shoes.”

  “Yeah,” chimed in a band member whose voice he couldn’t put a face to through the wood, though it definitely wasn’t Alice.

  “Let them in, love,” said Heather, placing a heavily bejewelled hand on her son’s shoulder. “You were going to have to face the music… oops, ‘scuse the pun,” she paused and closed her eyes at her careless remark, “at some point. I’ll brew up some catnip tea. It’ll help calm you all down so you can come to some sort of arrangement and move on.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss, Mum.” River uncurled her fingers and shook himself free. “My mind was made up a long time ago, you know that. There’s more to life than getting out of our heads on the road, no idea of where we are, who we’ve slept with or what day of the week it is.”

  “Look, son,” Lennie said in that manner of his that River was more than accustomed to. He imagined him squaring his jaw against the door, just like he had all those times when Bear and Alex had refused to open their hotel door for a rehearsal, and River and Lennie had paced the corridor, facepalming foreheads as to how the evening’s gig could even happen.

  “Look, son,” he said it again as River let out a deep breath and scratched at the shoddy paintwork. “You’re under contract and all.”

  “I think you’re forgetting the slightly important fact that we didn’t actually renew the contract last—”

  “Horses for courses…yada yada yada… you can’t just walk away mid tour, or mid anything. This is business. Have you any idea how much money, not to mention credibility, you’re costing me… I mean us?”

  “Wanker.”

  That was definitely Alex. A fitting reply too. Well, too bad, rules were there to be broken.

  “I told all of you to pipe down, leave this to me,” Lennie’s words trailed behind him. “This is delicate business,” he added in a stern whisper, oblivious to the fact that River and Heather could hear everything.

  “Would you like me to pass you a tray of catnip through the kitchen window?” Heather said to the door. “I’ve got some freshly baked root ginger biscuits too, perfect for grounding the body.”

  “You what?” said Lennie.

  “Catnip tea,” said Heather. “It’s a soother, and if I can get River to drink a little too, well, who knows, maybe you can come to some sort of agreement.”

  “Mother, Heather, just stay out of this please.”

  “Sounds delectable,” said Lennie, and even through the shield of the front door, River knew he was embarking on his Condescending Charade.

  “Tell you what, you bring it round to the kitchen window, sweetheart, and I’ll meet you there for a sip or two. Don’t fret, these hangers-on will be firmly root gingered here, to the spot,” he could be heard to shout the latter behind himself.

  “You’re a fool if you trust a word that comes out of his mouth,” said River. “Once the window’s up, he can easily force his way in.”

  Lennie’s hot and recent, but frankly quite pointless (owing to the size of his paunch) pursuit popped into his head. River saw himself sliding down the banister once again, all the way to the ground floor of their Mexican hotel and the haven of the busy streets, in a bid to beat his manager who’d no doubt have opted for the lift, which at that time of night would have stopped at just about every floor, carrying diners to the first floor restaurant for all things à la carte.

  The guy was an avarice stopping at nothing if he thought he was in danger of losing money.

  “And here was me thinking I’d brought you up to see the positives in people.” Heather shook her head in her hallmark what-are-we-going-to-do-with-you way.

  River shrugged as if he didn’t know the answer himself, and retreated to his old bedroom, not that Heather had ever really done anything with it since his exodus from the West Country anyway. It was clear she’d always expected the rock bubble to burst; for him to come running back to his roots. You can take the boy out of Somerset but you can’t take Somerset out of the boy.

  Jim Morrison was the first to challenge his loyalty as he flopped onto his bed. Their eyes met above the headboard in a moment which seemed to scream now or never. Funny, River had never noticed The Doors’ lead singer look at him like that before. He sat up, crawled over to his pillow and smiled pitifully at him.

  “Yeah? Look what all of this did to you, mate.”

  Jim was ripped briskly from the wall and River proceeded to do the same to Bowie, Gary Stringer from the local band Reef, (who the media loved to portray as their pedestal rival), The White Stripes, and finally the members of Muse, whose curious Mona Lisa-esque gazes all seemed to follow him wherever he placed himself in the tiny room. The bare walls strangely soothed; a cathartic symbol of a fresh beginning. River drew in his breath through his nose, enlarging his navel, bringing his shoulders up high as he’d seen Heather do before meditation and yoga, and exhaled slowly through his mouth, letting out the burden and baggage of twelve years of musical institution.

  He dimmed the light and crept to the window, peeling back the mock velvet curtains and their mouldy linings which Heather never seemed to get round to washing, to reveal two shifty looking former band mates – and the angelic Alice – crunching gravel on the front path below. They reminded him of the trick-or-treaters who used to gather in their garden for pranks. Although Heather never opened the door at Halloween given her Pagan roots, she and River would snoop on the hullaballoo below from his bedroom window, praying there wouldn’t be a re-enactment this year of the gate being wrenched from its brackets and flung into the hedge – or too many eggs and bags of flour pelted at the kitchen window.

  Alice, Bear and Alex, they may
have been furious now, but in all honesty, Alice was evidently more enamoured with all things L.A., hot-blooded, swanky and size zero, and Bear and Alex had been getting lazier by the day. At the very least, the trio beneath him needed time out themselves. By which time they’d either recognise that one of them could easily take over on the lyrics front, making the spanner River had thrown into the works even easier to resolve, hiring a new guitarist or drummer; a piece of musical cake. Alice, yes, their paths were sure to cross again when she came back to visit her parents, but as for the other two London lads, what had they ever really had in common with River besides a chance meeting at a festival anyway?

  Naff all.

  But it was no use trying to distract himself, he just had to listen in on the downstairs proceedings. He opened the door to his room so it was just ajar, and instantly heard the unmistakable sound of the lower kitchen window’s eerie creak along with an accompanying tray of clinking china.

  “Thanks, darling, appreciate it,” he could hear Lennie saying to his mum.

  “It’s the least I can do,” she replied. “So where are you all staying? There’s not a lot of accommodation in town at the moment, what with the festival in full swing.”

  “Don’t you go worrying about that; we’ve got an RV with all the mod cons parked down the end of the road. It’s just a quick visit anyways.”

  River could no longer contain his curiosity and tiptoed down the stairs to spy on their dialogue behind the kitchen door, where the narrow crack in the hinges revealed Lennie’s brown-nosing mug talking to Heather.

  “I know you from somewhere, doll. I’m sure of it. Your face is ever so familiar,” he said unexpectedly, looking at Heather in earnest, offering her a distasteful but light flutter of his translucent eyelashes as she strained leaves into her small green hand-painted teacup.

  “I really don’t think so.” Heather furrowed her brow. “Here, take some tea,” she added without looking at him. “Perhaps I can coax him down in a minute.”