by Natalie Ward
“Okay,” he says, shrugging. “She’s all yours. You ordering food?” he asks, already distracted.
“Yeah,” I nod. “You want something?”
Tony grabs the menu even though he’ll order the same thing he always does. I’m already on the phone when he hands the menu back, telling me, “Burger, fries, onion rings.”
I nod, waiting for the next part.
“You know this would be a hell of a lot easier if we just opened the kitchen back up.”
I shake my head even as he looks as me with that frustrated why not, you know she’d want you to look on his face he always has when we have this discussion. I know he’s right; things would be easier if we re-opened the kitchen. Business would probably be better too; drinks and food are generally a winning combination. But re-opening the kitchen is something I’ve never been able to do. Not now, especially since that was always her part of the dream.
Still, I also know that me ordering food for this customer is going to create problems. People are going to start wanting their own meals, at least something more than the basic shit we’ve been reduced to serving now that I no longer have a chef.
I glance up at her, this customer that already has me breaking the rules. She’s standing beside her chair, and I can see from the look on her face that she’s about two seconds from walking out of my bar. I step towards her, even with the phone pressed to my ear, ready to say anything to get her to stay, but in that second, something changes. Something in her face shifts, and instead of leaving, she peels off her coat, revealing a strapless black dress. She looks incredibly self-conscious as she sits back down, crossing her arms in front of her body as though she’s trying to hide.
My heart thuds in my chest and I want to tell her she looks beautiful, that she shouldn’t hide. But when she glances up at me, her eyes locking with mine, I can’t move, my body freezing as I try to work out how, after just a short amount of time, she’s able to cause this kind of reaction in me.
“Hello?”
It’s said in a way that tells me it’s not the first time it’s been said and I realise I’ve been standing here, staring at this girl while someone on the other end of the line waits for me to place my order. Shaking my head, trying to clear whatever the fuck is going on with me, I turn away, quickly reeling off our orders before hanging up and going back to looking after my other customers.
By the time our food shows up, the girl has finished both of her drinks. I grab her another beer, opening it as I take her food down to her.
“Here,” I say, smiling as I place it all in front of her. She looks up, surprised as though she’d forgotten she ordered something or that she was even in my bar at all.
“Thanks,” she says, reaching for her bag. “How much do I owe you?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
She looks up at me. “I can’t not pay,” she says.
“Why not?” I ask, wiping my hands on the towel in my back pocket before reaching for my own beer. I twist off the cap, throwing it towards the bucket at the back of the bar that collects all the bottle tops.
“Because,” she starts, pausing as though she isn’t sure of the reasons either. “You’ll lose your job if you keep giving me free drinks.”
I laugh at this, shaking my head as I tell her. “Don’t worry, it’s all good.”
The girl shakes her head again. “No, really. I can’t.” She pulls out her wallet, removing two twenties and sliding them across the bar towards me. It’s not quite enough, but then I’m not expecting anything from her.
I put my hand down, stopping her. “It’s good, really.” She shakes her head again, a determined look on her face. It does something, that look, something I can’t explain but which must be the reason for what I say next.
“Alright, I’ll tell you what,” I say, lifting my hand. “I’ll let you pay, if you tell me your name?”
The look on her face changes now, shifting to surprise and then maybe embarrassment. The lighting in the bar is low, but I swear her cheeks blush a little. Just when I think she’s about to cave and let me buy her dinner and drinks, she swallows hard and says, “Emma. My name is Emma.”
I grin, lifting up my beer as I clink it against hers. “Nice to meet you, Emma,” I say. “I’m Nick.”
Emma nods, lifting her beer up and taking a long pull. I watch as her head tilts back, the movement of her throat as she swallows. My body reacts, instantly and in a way that I can’t explain. Suddenly the room feels like it’s a hundred degrees and I have to force myself to look away, take a long drink of the cold beer before I ask her something even more fucking stupid than I already have.
We eat our meal in silence, me occasionally walking off to serve a customer or take care of something. It’s late now, but it’s still a steady night. Not too busy that I can’t stop and eat with the hope that she actually starts talking to me. When it becomes apparent she’s not going to, I wrack my brains with something I can ask her. I’m usually pretty good at the small talk stuff; it’s kind of a necessity for working in a bar.
With her though, I have no idea what to say. Of course there are a million things I want to ask her, most of which relate to the phone call she made outside, the reaction she had when I first offered her a drink or why she’s here tonight, alone.
But I don’t, mostly because of the closed off vibe she’s giving me, her arms wrapped around her body when she isn’t eating or having a drink, that say, don’t approach and don’t pry too hard. I wonder what’s made her feel this way and whether it’s just tonight, if it’s just with me, or if she’s like this all the time.
I also wonder why she’s alone. How a woman who’s dressed like that and who looks like her, could possibly be sitting alone in a bar on a Saturday night.
But I don’t ask her any of this and she doesn’t volunteer anything in return. Instead she sits and I stand, both of us eating in silence and seemingly trying our hardest to avoid looking at each other. I steal occasional glances though, looking for an in, a way to get her to open up, even though it’s the last thing I should be doing.
When she’s finished her burger, she wraps the paper into a ball, scrunching it tight before she takes aim at the rubbish bin halfway down the bar. I watch as she launches it through the air, landing it squarely in the bin in an almost effortless move.
“Impressive,” I say, smiling.
She gives me a half smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, before she picks up her beer and finishes it. There’s something about the movement that suggests finality, as though now she’s finished her dinner and drinks, she’s paid her dues and it’s time to go. For reasons I can’t even begin to explain or understand, I realise I actually don’t want her to leave.
“Are you meeting someone?” I ask, the question the first thing to pop into my head.
She freezes, as she’s reaching for her jacket. “No,” she answers.
“Waiting for someone then?” I ask, wondering how it’s possible that I can keep coming up with such ridiculous questions.
She shakes her head. “I’ve already missed them,” she says, standing.
I stare at her, urge her to sit back down and stay. But she moves to put on her coat, moves to cover up the curves of her body that are barely hidden beneath the short black dress she wears.
And that’s when it hits me.
“You were supposed to be here for the wedding thing?” I ask.
Emma stops, her head falling before she forces herself to take a deep breath. “Yes,” she says quietly. “But I was late, and they left without me.”
“They couldn’t wait for you?” I ask, shocked.
She looks up at me, exhausted sadness on her face as she says, “I’m always late. They get tired of waiting for me.”
Fuck, that’s a pretty shit thing to do. I mean, I have no idea why she was late, but I’m sure she has a good excuse. Something’s clearly happened to her today that’s hurt her, made her sad in a way that very few people ever fee
l. It sends a pang of sympathy through me, knowing what that sadness feels like, knowing how little other people get it.
“So what are you going to do?” I ask. “Will you go and meet them?”
Emma shakes her head, pulling her coat tighter. “I think I’m just going to go home,” she says. “Call it a night.”
I’m shaking my head at her, unwilling to let her leave, for some reason, unable to say goodbye. “Don’t,” I say, the word out before I can stop it.
She stares at me as though confused and I don’t blame her. “What?”
“Don’t go,” I say, pulling the towel from my back pocket as I wipe down invisible spots on the bar. “Stay, have another drink.”
She picks up her bag and I can feel the inevitable drawing closer. “I can’t do that,” she says.
“Yeah you can,” I tell her. “All you have to do is take off your coat and sit back down.” I’m already reaching for another bottle of beer, enticing her to stay when I have no fucking right to.
“And sit here alone?” she asks, her words filled with loneliness.
I smile now, twisting the cap off the bottle. “You wouldn’t be all alone,” I say, placing it in front of her. She glances around the room as though wondering exactly who it is she’d be here with. Everyone else in the bar is with someone else. Couples, groups of friends, all here together. The room is filled with laughter and chatter and everything that Emma is not.
“Who would I talk to?” she asks and I can sense the hesitation, the tiny spark that suggests she might just be open to changing her mind if I can somehow come up with an answer.
I clear away her empty bottles, gesturing for her to sit again as I slide the fresh beer closer and say, “You can talk to me.”
~ Emma
Nick stares at me as I try to decide what to do. Try and decipher what his words mean.
You can talk to me.
What would we even talk about? I’m not much of a talker and besides, he’s busy running the bar and serving customers. Why would he possibly want the distraction of a lonely, exhausted girl that he feels compelled to talk to?
Just as I’m about to thank him and go, he turns so he’s fully facing me. I watch as he puts his hands on the bar, leans forward and looks me square in the eye.
“Will sitting at home alone make this any better?” he asks, his words so quiet, I barely hear them.
I swallow, knowing he’s both right and wrong. I wouldn’t be alone, not entirely. Owen’s there and even though I’m sure his boyfriend Will was coming over, I know they’d let me hang out with them if that’s what I wanted. But at the same time, I would still be alone, because it would be them and me. Always the third wheel, always alone. And for some reason, tonight I don’t want that. Not after everything that’s happened.
So I nod, trying not to think about what this means as I remove my coat and sit back down, finally lifting my eyes as I reach for the new beer he’s put in front of me. When I do, I catch Nick staring at me, staring at my bare shoulder, captivated by whatever it is he thinks he sees there. It’s unnerving; the way he’s looking at me, and it’s only the sound of smashing glass that brings him out of his trance. Turning, he glances down the bar to the group of guys at the end, the broken glass that now litters the top of the bar.
“I’ll be back,” he says, glancing quickly back at me before he walks away.
I want to tell him it’s fine, take his time; he doesn’t need to stay and babysit me. But he’s gone before I even get a chance.
I watch him though. Watch the way he interacts with the customers, waving off the apologies from the guys as he cleans up the mess. He’s just the right mix of friendly and laid back and exactly what a bartender should be. Not that I’d know of course, but watching him, it’s clear he’s good at his job. It’s clear he has the respect of the people he works with too. There’s only the two of them behind the bar, Nick and the guy he talked with when he offered to get me something to eat. From what I can tell, Nick seems like he’s in charge. There’s a couple of others, wandering around the room; taking orders, delivering drinks and clearing up empty glasses. The bar is busy, but not too crowded, the kind of business that would make any owner happy.
“Hey, can I buy you another drink?”
I turn, just as the stranger offering to buy me another drink slides into the stool next to mine. He’s smiling at me, his arm already resting on the back of my chair as he leans in close. I can smell his cologne, overpowering and almost masking the alcohol that’s on his breath.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”
“You sure are,” he says, leaning closer. “You here alone?”
I shake my head, leaning away as I hope this guy gets the message and leaves. I’m not in the mood for this shit but I’m so out of practice with getting hit on at a bar that I have no idea what to do to let him know that.
“You look like you’re alone,” he says, wedging his knee against my leg, crowding me in.
A feeling of claustrophobia washes over me. I feel trapped in my corner of the bar, pinned against wood and stone with the heavy presence of this half drunk guy leaning over me. I want to scream at him to get away from me, push him off me and run out into the street.
“Come on,” he says, his breath hot on my skin. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“Hey,” comes the voice. “She said she wasn’t interested.”
I look up, surprised. Nick is standing beside us now, a look on his face that suggests he might rip this guy’s arms off if he doesn’t do as he says.
“Mind your own business,” the guy says, his eyes still on me.
I see the hand as it grabs the back of this guy’s collar, hear the gruff voice that says, “This is my business, mate. So you can just fuck off and get out of here.”
“Hey, what the fuck?” this guy says as he’s yanked from his chair.
“You’re out,” Nick says, anger on his face as looks right at this guy. He squirms in his grip, trying to get free, but he can’t. I can see the white knuckles of Nick’s hand as he holds him by the collar. He’s probably an inch or two taller than this guy, broader too and I can see the cords of muscle in his arm, the contractions beneath his skin as he maintains his grip on this customer.
“What the fuck did I do?” the guy asks and he’s either too drunk or too stupid to understand.
Nick shoots me a quick look that’s half apologetic, half concerned before he turns this guy around and marches him towards the door. I don’t hear what he says to him, just watch as Nick opens the door and pushes him out onto the street. A couple of guys by the door laugh, pointing at this guy through the front windows. I see what must be his friends, run out to find out what happened. Watch as the customer who’s been kicked out spits at the glass, giving Nick the bird before storming off down the street.
Nick returns to the bar, grabs a cloth from the sink and heads outside, wiping down the glass until the evidence of this guy’s anger is gone. When he comes back in, he throws the cloth in the sink and looks at me. The other bartender shoves a shot of something in front of Nick, but he shakes his head, his eyes still on mine. He doesn’t move and for a second, neither of us looks away. Eventually Nick mouths a question.
Are you okay?
I nod, lifting my drink to my mouth, only to discover it’s empty.
He nods once, running a hand through his hair before turning back to the other guy and saying something to him. I watch as the other bartender moves towards me, smiling carefully as he says, “Sorry about that. Can I get you another drink?”
I glance behind him, trying to catch Nick’s eye. It strikes me that he’s more pissed off about this whole thing than I am. Which is not to say that I enjoyed any part of that guy hitting on me, but with Nick, it seemed different, almost personal.
“Is he okay?” I ask, still watching him. He’s avoiding me now, focusing instead on the customers standing on the other side of the bar.
“Yeah,” the other
bartender says. “He’s fine. He just hates dickheads like that in his place.”
My eyes flick to this new bartender. “This is Nick’s place?” I ask.
The guy grins at me, nodding as he says, “Yep, it is. Which is why I can offer you a drink on the house as an apology.”
I shake my head. “He’s already bought me some drinks,” I say, looking back at Nick.
“Yeah, I noticed,” this other guy murmurs. “But still, what can I get you?”
I glance at my empty beer, trying to remember how many I’ve had. It’s not that I don’t drink; I just don’t do it that often. Mainly because there is no way I can do my job hungover. But I have the next two days off. Two days to somehow adjust my body clock from working days to working nights. It’s never enough time and I know I’ll spend the first few days of night shift trying to stay awake and on a new time zone. By the time I finally do, I’ll be back on days again and my whole system will be so far out of whack I won’t know what time or day it is.
“Something fruity, maybe,” he suggests.
I scrunch up my nose in distaste, shaking my head as I say, “I’ll just have another beer.”
The bartender nods, before reaching down to grab one for me. As he sets it down in front of me, he says, “Just give him a minute, he’ll be okay,” before wandering off and leaving me to wonder why what just happened got Nick so riled up.
~ Nick
I have no idea why I reacted like that. Overreacted, more like it. It just hit me, some weird primal protection thing that I can only assume stems from before when I should have been protecting her; even though she always told me she never needed my protection.
But this is different, because I barely know Emma and really, I have no idea whether she would have cared about this guy trying to hit on her. Maybe she was interested, although if I had to put money on it, I’d say she wasn’t.
She didn’t just look like she wasn’t interested; she looked overwhelmed, as though she had no idea how to deal with it. Which surprises me, given how attractive she is. I’m sure she gets hit on all the time.