Speakeasy

by Bowen, Sarina

  “You asked me to.”

  “I know. Keep going.”

  She props herself up on an elbow. “This is why you like me, right? Admit it—you’re just perving on my lesbian sex life.”

  “Is that so wrong?”

  May gives me an evil grin. “So… We’re kissing, and I’m touching her breasts with soft hands. She likes to kiss with a lot of tongue…”

  I close my eyes, the image killing me.

  “And then…I stop.”

  “What?” My eyes fly open.

  “I give her one last kiss on the cheek, and then leave her wanting more. I hug her and tell her not to be afraid of experimentation. And then I tuck her into bed. Alone.” I wait as May’s grin gets wider.

  “Really?” I protest. “You’re gonna end this thing on a cliffhanger?”

  “Okay—fine. It ends like this instead. I make her some homemade hot chocolate in the mug I gave her for Christmas. Because we’re friends first, no matter how turned on I am by her.”

  “That is not a finale!” I groan. “A cup of hot chocolate? I’m all boned up and that’s all I get?”

  “Well, there are marshmallows in the chocolate.” She smirks.

  “Gawd, I hate you.”

  May leans down and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m going now. Unless you want some hot chocolate.”

  “Next time.” We smile at each other like a couple of idiots. “Give me your phone one more time.”

  “Why?” She hands it over.

  “I’m changing my name to Selena.” We both laugh, and then I get up and walk her to the door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Selena: Hi babe. I love the braids you put in my hair. Can we do it again sometime?

  May: Only if you’ll let me paint our toenails, too.

  Selena: You are hilarious. But I had so much fun Sunday night that I’d probably let you. Although, have you seen these toenails?

  May: Good point. Pillow fight, then?

  Selena: Anytime, anywhere. I’ll bring the feathers and the hot chocolate.

  May: Laying it on a little thick there, Selena.

  Selena: A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta DO. You know what? I never told you my mushroom joke. But it only works in person.

  May: A perfect excuse to see you again soon.

  Selena: That’s what I like to hear.

  May: Night, Selena.

  Selena: Night, May.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alec

  The next time I see May, though, it’s not in my bed. It’s in my bar. On a Tuesday night I look up from making a margarita and she’s seated three feet in front of me on a barstool, her brown eyes smiling.

  “Well, hello,” I say immediately, my voice going rough. I’m already picturing another night in my hot tub. Lucky me.

  “Hello to you, too.” Her brother’s grumpy voice instantly kills my buzz. I didn’t see my least favorite Shipley there, one barstool over. Abort mission! Good thing I didn’t go in for the kiss.

  “Griff Shipley! Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world, you just happen to walk into mine. What can I get you?”

  “I’d love a Goldenpour.”

  “Everybody does.” I grab a pint glass and hold it under the tap. “And for you, pretty girl? Should I shake up a mocktail?”

  “You make your own tonic, right?”

  “Yes I do, Miss Shipley.”

  Her smile says, You’re laying it on a little thick there, buddy. “Tonic and lime. That’s what I’m in the mood for.”

  “You got it.” I pass over their drinks and then make a few more for Becky. “What brings you guys in tonight?” I ask once I can catch my breath.

  “We were at a meeting,” Griff says.

  At first I don’t understand, but then May turns pink. “An AA meeting?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Nothing like walking out of there and then straight into a bar. But we’re meeting Audrey for a movie in a half hour so we stopped in here.”

  “Cool. Hey—I also have a non-alcoholic beer. Do you drink those? It’s Corker’s.”

  Griff chuckles. “I brought home a six-pack once. She said she missed having a beer with a burger. But then we drank some.” He makes a face. “It was a different brand, but it put us off of NA beers.”

  “That bad, huh?” This is alarming, because I don’t want to serve any crappy beer at the Gin Mill. I reach into my cooler and pull out a bottle. “Try this and tell me if it’s terrible?” I put it on the counter in front of May and remove the cap.

  When you serve a NA beer, you always do so in the bottle, so that the customer knows for sure they’re getting a non-alcoholic beverage. It has to be less than a half percent alcohol by volume. I know the basics of NA beer and how to serve it. It’s just that I’ve never drunk one.

  She picks up the bottle and tries a sip.

  “Well?”

  “You want a taste?” she asks. Her smile is a challenge.

  And then I remember what happened the last time she volunteered a taste of her drink. I’d taken my sample from her lips, and then we’d ended up having wild, clawing-at-each-other sex in my truck.

  Gawd, that memory. I want it again. Right fucking now.

  May offers me the bottle with a naughty gleam in her eye. I take it, remembering the taste of her kisses. I tip the bottle to my lips.

  She smiles at me and…

  “It’s terrible.” I say the second after swallowing. “Like beer-flavored…water. Jesus.”

  May just laughs.

  I take another sip, just to experience it again. It’s too effervescent for beer and so it has a soda-like mouthfeel. There’s a quick hit of beer-like flavor but it dies on the palate after a fractional moment. And then nothing. Just a flavor void.

  “Pretty bad, right?” Griffin chuckles.

  “Disappointing,” I say, handing the bottle back to May. “I’ll need to source a better product.”

  “You can try,” Griff says. “This one has a lot of the market share.”

  “Why is that?” I think of all the wonderful beers in Vermont. “Nobody can scare up a good alcohol-free version?” With the soda gun, I pour myself a Coke just to get the awful taste out of my mouth.

  Griff nods his big mountain-man head. “NA beer is kinda complicated.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, yeah,” Griff says, rubbing his beard. “First they brew a normal beer and ferment it. But then they extract the alcohol by boiling it off.”

  “Oh.” That can’t be good for the taste.

  “All those delicate organic flavors and compounds become unstable at the higher temperature. The odor gets cooked off and the flavor turns bitter.”

  Ah. “Makes sense.”

  Whereas I have a degree in partying, Griff has a degree in chemistry. I should have guessed he’d know every freaking thing about it. On the other hand, it’s interesting to me.

  “So they have to start with a really bland brew in the first place. And the boiling kills off the natural carbonation, too, so they have to recarbonate in the bottle, or keg it.”

  “I get it.” I make a mental note to search for a better NA beer for my bar. Maybe Chelsea knows one I could carry. I don’t want to serve any shitty beer at the Gin Mill if I can help it.

  Well, except for a couple of national crap beers that I have to stock in bottles. Because there’s no accounting for taste.

  Griffin goes on. “There are a couple of ways to fix the problem. You can use a vacuum chamber to reduce the air pressure. Then the alcohol will boil off—”

  “—at a lower temperature,” I finish. “It’s like trying to make pasta in the High Sierras.”

  “Exactly.” He grins. “There’s a couple other methods to try. You could start with a strain of yeast that produces very little alcohol, leaving you with less to remove later.”

  “Or both,” I say slowly. But it must not be easy, or else Corker’s wouldn’t be for sale at a fine Vermont brewhouse.

>   I make ten more drinks while Griff continues the lecture, wherein he uses words like “vacuum distillation” and “arrested fermentation.” And now I think I know more about brewing non-alcoholic beer than ninety-nine percent of the population.

  May gives me an apologetic smile, but Griff isn’t annoying me. Not today, anyway. I wish they’d come in here every night so I could see her pretty face. The length of her hair trails down over one shoulder and I have the world’s briefest fantasy about wrapping it around my hand while we’re shaking my headboard.

  Goals.

  “So, do you guys want to hear a joke?” I ask them. I’m about to follow up Griffin’s chemistry sermon with a bar joke. But we all have our special skills.

  “Of course,” May says.

  “Okay. A mushroom walked into a bar…”

  “Hey, Alec,” Becky interrupts, hefting the full tray of drinks I’ve just loaded for her. “I picked this song just for you.”

  Then I hear “Black Velvet” by Alannah Myles coming through the speakers.

  “Oh man,” Smitty says, shaking his head. “Here we go.”

  “Black Velvet” is a little game I have with Becky. She about peed herself the first time I lip-synched to this song. Now she puts it on whenever a customer has been rude to her, and she needs a pick-me-up.

  And, hey, I can’t disappoint my favorite waitress. “Sorry, kids. The joke will have to wait.” I pick up an empty beer bottle for a microphone, and I begin to sashay down the bar to the slow, sexy beat. I hear May’s giggle, but I can’t look at her because I’ll laugh and ruin it. I know the lyrics by heart. I sing the first line into the bottle with all I’ve got.

  Or I pretend to, anyway. Why own a bar if you can’t have a little fun at work?

  As the song crescendos, I wail “Black Velvet” into an empty bottle. Lots of my patrons are watching, especially the women. And half a room away, Becky is doubled over, but not before the tray of drinks makes it safely onto a table.

  A man has to keep up employee morale.

  Griffin looks vaguely nauseated by my little performance, and somehow that makes it more fun. “Another one?” I ask him after the fadeout.

  “No thanks, man,” he says. “I’ll finish this one and go meet my girl.”

  “Suit yourself.” Lorde’s “Royals” is the next song to come through the speakers. Becky’s in a take-no-prisoners mood tonight.

  I wander into the stock room for a second and pull out my phone. I fire off a text to May. Come home with me later.

  After I swap out the Guinness keg, there’s already a response. Don’t know if I can sneak away after the movie.

  What? Separate cars, right? Tell ‘em you need to stop for gas or at the 24 hour drugstore. Boom. Done. As in—you’re done by me.

  I stuff the phone in my pocket and walk back to the taps. May is bent over her phone, and Griffin gives her an impatient nudge. “What are you doing? Let me guess…Selena again.”

  May looks up, her expression guilty. “Sorry.”

  “When are we going to meet this girl, anyway?”

  “Never,” May says, tucking her phone back into her bag.

  “Why not?” Griffin drains his beer.

  “Because you’re too curious. I don’t want you judging me.”

  “I wouldn’t,” he says, pulling out his wallet. “I’d be judging her.”

  This hits me right in the funnies, and I can’t help but laugh. Loudly. At least he knows he’s an arrogant prick.

  May can’t even look at me. I know she’s conflicted about lying to her family. But that wasn’t my idea, so I don’t feel obligated to stress over it.

  Griff offers me his credit card, and I wave it off. “No charge.”

  “Nah, man, it’s cool,” Griff says, setting the card on the bar. Both Shipleys are looking up at me like maybe I’ve taken leave of my senses.

  “I don’t see you guys often enough,” I insist. “And now I know all about the challenges of non-alcoholic beer manufacture.” I slide the card back toward him. “Have fun tonight.”

  They disappear a minute later.

  I tend bar on autopilot, wondering how May is doing this week. I’ve been texting her dumb jokes and pictures of me holding various suggestive objects. Hey girl. How do you like my banana? The photo was of an actual banana. Then I made Benito take one of me holding an eggplant in front of my crotch at the grocery store.

  Nobody ever mistook me for a serious guy. But May seems to appreciate my inner goofball. She tells me that her family is still treating her like a terminal case.

  I sling beer and smile and dance to whatever Becky puts on the sound system. But I also sneak glances at my phone, hoping to see one from May. But she hasn’t said a word about whether we’re on for tonight.

  “Alec!” I look up to find Chelsea in front of me.

  “Hey there, hot stuff.” Doh! “Hang on a sec, okay?”

  “Sure.” She gives me a big grin and sits down on the only open bar stool to wait.

  Shit.

  I move down the bar and capture Smitty by the shoulder. “Man, I need a little help from you.”

  “Want me to close?” He seems happy enough to volunteer.

  “Maybe, but first I need you to say you can’t.”

  “Weird. But fine,” he mutters.

  I grab a jar of cherries from right in front of him and go back to Chelsea. “What’s shaking?” I open the jar and restock the cherries, even though they don’t need restocking.

  “You free later?” she asks.

  “Nah, I’m sorry. Gotta close tonight, and I’m kind of wiped.” I feel like a huge dick for lying right now. But hopefully I’m busy tonight.

  And even if I’m not, a hookup with Chelsea doesn’t really appeal. There’s a first time for everything, I guess.

  “Hey, Smitty!” she yells. “Want to close for Alec?”

  “Can’t,” he says. It’s one word, delivered over his shoulder. Not for the first time I realize Smitty is an excellent liar. We cover for each other once in a while.

  Chelsea pouts, making herself look even younger than her twenty-two years. She’s too young for you, my subconscious offers up.

  My subconscious is apparently a cock-blocker.

  “I never see you anymore,” Chelsea complains. “And after next week I’m out of town the next ten days.”

  “Oh—where?” And why am I suddenly relieved?

  “A BBC! In Florida.”

  “Damn. Sounds like a really good time.” BBC is Chelsea-speak for Big Beer Convention. Her dad goes to most of them without her, but now I remember her telling me that he was sending her to one on her own. “Ten days? That’s a lot of partying.”

  “The con is only four days, but I’m taking a little vacation. The girls and I are going clubbing in Miami Beach.”

  “Ah. Sounds like a blast.” Actually, waiting in line and paying steep covers sounds like something that would have been a blast when I was twenty-two. Now it just sounds like a lot of hassle.

  It’s not Chelsea, I guess. It’s me.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m dying to check it, but I can’t. Instead I buy Chelsea a drink and chat her up until she gets bored with me.

  The second she leaves, I check May’s text. Movie is done, she says. I’ll be a half an hour.

  “Smits?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wanna close for me?”

  “Sure. Let me just cancel my plans.” He pulls out his phone.

  “You don’t have to,” I say. Although I hope he will.

  He gives me a smirk as he unlocks his phone. “You’ll close tomorrow, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Fine. But be careful, okay? You don’t want Chelsea pissed off at you.”

  “I know.” Shit. But she’s not what I need right now.

  What I need is on her way over right now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  May

  A week later, I ease my car around the side of the
Gin Mill at ten p.m. and pull in close to the brick wall. Again. This spot behind the dumpster has become my regular parking place for trysts with Alec, aka “Selena from the law school.”

  Lately, Alec and I have been like crazy teenagers, sneaking away whenever we can to be together. On the one hand, I’m not enjoying the deception. On the other hand, anticipation for our nights together has been very good for my daytime attitude.

  My smile is far less plastic these days, even if my family doesn’t know exactly why.

  Before I get out of the car, I check my phone. There’s a text from “Selena.” 1. The new code for the door is 6969. 2. Be naked when I get up upstairs. 3. Don’t be alarmed to spot a cat in my apartment. His name is Bukowski. He is an asshole but mostly harmless.

  A cat? I didn’t take Alec for a cat person. But that man is full of surprises.

  Grabbing my duffel out of the back, I leave my car and use the new code to let myself into the private entrance. I climb the two flights of stairs slowly. The mill has high ceilings, so the flights are long. Also, the late nights are starting to tire me out.

  But that’s a good thing. I no longer lie awake at home wondering where I went wrong. Even when I’m not with Alec, I fall asleep more easily now.

  It’s not a myth that a healthy sex life is intensely relaxing.

  Before I’ve climbed the whole way, I hear the door open and shut below me. And then footsteps begin a rapid ascent of the stairs. I tread quietly, listening. I reach the third floor as those footsteps continue to jog upward.

  It’s Alec, I think. And he’s in a hurry.

  I pull out the key he gave me, but then hesitate, listening to him close the distance behind me.

  And there he is, face flushed, expression determined. He sees me standing in front of his apartment, and he doesn’t say a word. He just steps in close, pushes me up against the door, and takes my mouth in a hungry kiss.

  Well, hello to you, too. I give it back to him just as eagerly. Earlier today the texts started: This is what I do when you’re not around. There was a photo of his abs lightly covered with the bed sheet, one strong arm reaching beneath.

  We’ve moved beyond the fruits and vegetables stage of our sexting.