WineBar: The Complete Story

by Alexis Angel

  “I miss WineBar,” I murmur to myself, sort of hoping Lana will hear. How the fuck did I get to this point?

  “Don’t even think about it anymore,” Lana utters out loud. I want to wallow in my misery, but she has no patience for it right now.

  The black polo shirt, spiky-haired dude sitting at the table Lana’s pulling me to must be Derek. I see some other guy walking away quickly out of the corner of my eye.

  Lana eagerly plants herself in an empty chair at the table. I take another chair reluctantly.

  “Derek! You weren’t fuckin’ lying! Pacific Heights!”

  I want to tell Lana that it’s okay to fucking calm down a little, but for whatever reason, I decide to play it cool instead.

  Maybe it’s that Derek is actually pretty cute, and some part of me doesn’t want to scare him off yet.

  “Pacific Heights, baby! You knew I’d be here!”

  Derek’s yelling too, and he’s grinning kind of dumbly. But when he sees me, it seems to stop him in his tracks for a moment.

  “I’m Emily,” I announce. Why did I do that? I catch Lana looking at me and nodding.

  “Yeah, this is Emily. I told you about her. I just realized that I have to close out my tab over there.”

  Lana departs on that excuse, leaving me with Derek and his polo shirt.

  “You live around here?” I feel lame, unmotivated. Before Derek answers, our server, Susan, appears out of nowhere to hover over the table. I forgot about her.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” Susan’s ready to take a drink order. Thank fuck.

  “Pitcher of sangria.” I’m not ready to change horses midstream.

  I want to ask about Kirk, but I know now is not the time.

  “Okay, we’ll go with that,” she says with a smile.

  Susan leaves, and Derek turns his focus on me.

  “I’m over by Lafayette Park,” he informs me, his eyes slightly sparkling.

  “Oh, my place is closer than that.” I’m not sure why I’m volunteering this information. Even Derek looks confused.

  “I’m not that close, but I still like walking here. As you can tell, I get a lot of exercise.”

  “I can tell,” I state robotically. I’ll just go on auto-flirt mode, I guess. Because I can’t find enough fucks to give to put in a real effort.

  “Pitcher of sangria.” Susan appears out of nowhere again and plunks the pitcher full of red liquid with orange slices and cherries down on the table, followed by my empty glass from the bar. I think I love her.

  “Just put it on my tab.” Derek’s eyes are on me while he talks to Susan, and she leaves wordlessly.

  I look back at Derek, still in auto-flirt mode, while pouring myself a fresh drink.

  “You do that very skillfully. You weren’t even watching.”

  “Do you think I don’t know how to use my hands by now?”

  Derek looks at the pitcher and makes the silent decision not to pour a sangria for himself.

  “Most people need to see what they’re doing.”

  I take a small sip of my drink, not knowing how long I’ll have to be here. Where the fuck did Lana go?

  “My hands are capable enough on their own,” I add.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, I just said it.”

  He grins.“I’d like to think I’m pretty coordinated myself.”

  Something inside me is compelling me to keep going with this.

  “I see no proof of that.”

  Derek smiles and pours a sangria for himself.

  I stay on auto-flirt mode as we finish our drinks, barely thinking about my responses to anything but still managing to make Derek laugh several times.

  After both our glasses are empty, I look at my wristwatch.

  “How close do you live?”

  I know Derek wants to invite himself over to my place. I take one last look at his face and his polo shirt.

  “Why? You planning to get some exercise right now?”

  “I could use some.”

  I don’t even know why I’m here. I should have left the minute I saw fucking Miranda. But now I’m well on my way to drunk, and all I want is some kind of distraction from the hollow feeling in my chest that her announcement left behind.

  “Okay...fine,” I say. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

  Chapter 57

  Kirk

  With the ever-evolving bar world of San Francisco, it’s never a bad idea to check out the competition. However, I don’t know if a Mission District dive bar that allows dogs and has a metal and punk rock–crammed jukebox qualifies as competition—it’s just where Tad insists on going sometimes.

  I watch Tad take the first sip of his Saison. This place has a million fucking beers on tap. I’m waiting for him to give me his opinion of it, but instead he just shakes his head.

  “Some fuckin’ life, huh?”

  Tad’s getting philosophical, so I take a taste of my porter. It’s too dark and rich, but I don’t know what the hell else I feel like drinking tonight.

  “Why don’t you expound on that?” I ask into my pint glass.

  “Dude, you—more than anyone I know—can have any woman you want.”

  “I get it, Tad.”

  “But you’re ready to decide now, to commit yourself to someone, stress the fuck out over her, and then get into fights with your family over it?”

  “Yeah, that’s fucking right. Anything else you’d like to say about it?”

  The walls are lined with all kinds of crap —hockey jerseys, old photos, T-shirts, decals, posters—and it’s starting to grow on me. This is the type of thing certain big chain restaurants go for but end up failing fucking miserably since they lack authenticity. It would also never work at one of my bars, nor should it.

  Tad holds his hands up. “Not a damn thing, man. I just think it’s awesome. That’s the endgame for all of us, isn’t it?”

  Well, if nothing comes out of this shitstorm of uncertainty, at least I know Tad is an uncommonly good friend. I won’t tell him that, though, because he sure as fuck doesn’t need to hear it.

  “I hope she calls soon, otherwise this really is the endgame.”

  “There’ll be others too.”

  Tad’s not even trying to be believable, but it might be time to face reality.

  “Miranda’s still coming on to me.” I try taking another swig of the porter. It’s already getting warm.

  Tad claps his hands down on the bar and swivels back and forth for some reason.

  “You don’t say. How’s that been going?”

  “The usual these days. Not great for either of us.”

  Not great for her, sure. For me, I have no idea. I’m not used to just sitting back and accepting things as they happen. I’m a man of action. But right now, waiting things out may just be my best strategy.

  “I hope that porter’s working out for you.” Tad’s barely finished speaking when he starts attacking his own beer again.

  “I can’t say it’s working out at all...”

  My phone starts going off in my pocket, and something about the room’s acoustics make it much too loud.

  “Answer your phone, Kirk,” Tad hisses, jokingly angry.

  I take out my phone and see that it’s Miranda calling. Jesus Christ. But I don’t have it in me to even get that annoyed, so I pick up.

  “What is it, Miranda?”

  “Kirk, it’s good to hear your voice!” Miranda’s own voice sounds syrupy and cloying. She’s really hamming it up. I roll my eyes.

  “What do you want?”

  “Hey...Kirk, uh, actually, I need to make this quick. Time is of the essence. First of all, I’m sorry about earlier, about being a bitch and everything.”

  “Miranda, that’s not what—”

  “No, no, I totally was. I need to make it up to you.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Listen! I just saw Emily.”

  I automatically stand up—like get right the fuc
k up out of my chair, knocking it over behind me in the process.

  “Where?” I demand.

  “At the wine bar. I know that she’s heading home right now. If you’re still looking for her, she should be there, at least for a little while.”

  “Really. Okay, thanks. Yeah. Okay. I’ve gotta go.”

  “Yeah, no problem. I would hurry, though, if I were you.”

  Miranda hangs up first, which is a first.

  I pat Tad on the back.

  “Hey, Emily’s heading home from the bar now. I might be able catch her.”

  I make a beeline for the door, hearing Tad’s pep speech on the way out.

  “Oh, dude, you better run. That’s a long way.”

  As I leap out onto Van Ness, I swear I hear Tad shouting “good luck” or something like that, but my mind is on getting a taxi.

  I see one...shit, that one’s taken, but the one behind it has its light on.

  I find myself waving both arms over my head like a goddamn maniac, and the cab mercifully pulls over.

  I swing into the back seat and interrupt the driver trying to say hello by shouting Em’s address. He gets the message and we’re off—down to 20th, turning right—okay, no, goddammit, don’t go north on Capp, you fool!

  “19th back to Van Ness!”

  The driver gives me a wave of acknowledgment and takes my instructions. We speed back to Van Ness and rocket north toward Emily’s neighborhood. Good, making all the lights.

  Fuck, now there’s traffic from the Bay Bridge off ramp. Jesus Christ, come on already. Fucking move it!

  “No worries,” the cabbie lilts, sounding so peaceful but not helping.

  I feel like I’m about to crawl out of my skin. I’m so anxious to just fucking get there already.

  What does help is him lurching the taxi across several lanes and finding a pocket of faster-moving vehicles.

  Fucking finally. Now we’re moving again, zooming north and picking up speed until the cabbie makes a sudden left turn toward Pacific Heights.

  I’m pretty sure the entire right half of the vehicle is off the ground, but the taxi levels itself, and I almost hit the ceiling—then the cabbie has to slam on the breaks for a red light. I hear light classical music playing quietly on the radio.

  “So is it a pretty busy night tonight? A lot of fares?”

  “Yeah, pretty busy, but I can go home after one or two more.”

  “Nice.”

  I don’t even know how I’m making small talk right now.

  The light turns green, and we burn rubber, not relenting until we get to Emily’s block. The taxi starts slowing down, and...wait, that’s her! Emily!

  But wait…she’s not alone. My stomach drops.

  Fuck, what am I doing?

  The taxi comes to a stop just behind her and, yep, sure as fuck, that’s a guy.

  “Just wait for me a minute. I have something to figure out,” I instruct.

  “Meter’s running, boss,” the driver advises me as I step out, my eyes glued to Emily and whoever that fucker is as they walk toward the entrance of her building.

  I don’t know whether to even bother. She’s on a fucking date, and it’s not like she’s calling me all the time—or at all.

  Like, what the fuck am I doing?

  I’m pining after Emily, telling my family to fuck off because she’s the one I want to be with. And here she is with another guy? Going into her apartment no less.

  Time to get back in the taxi...but I did come all the way up here, and maybe that’s a platonic friend or something. That could be possible...but no, that’s ridiculous.

  I need to get the fuck out of here and rethink my whole fucking life at this point.

  I spin around and yank open the door of the taxi. The sound causes Emily to stop and look over her shoulder. At me.

  It’s hard to read her expression from where I am, but she does look at me for a long moment...and then looks nervously at the guy she’s with.

  Fuck. I shouldn’t be here. But I also can’t make myself walk away.

  Chapter 58

  Emily

  My heart is pounding like crazy, and not just at the surprise of seeing the last fucking thing I would expect to see right now.

  WineBar is staring at us, almost an entire block away. Shit, why does this have to happen during the two minutes that I’m walking home with some guy?

  Why me? I want to rage at the universe. FML.

  I don’t want to look at Derek, but I nervously glance over for a split second. I look back at Kirk, and now he’s staring at the ground.

  Is this for real? Because I’d be more than happy to find out this was all taking place in some alternate universe.

  With the barbecue, Kirk never answering my calls, and with the rekindling of his thing with Miranda, I’d assumed the next time I’d see WineBar, it’d be at the fucking wine bar. He would be busy, and he would just brush me off or ignore me totally—that’s how I pictured it, anyway.

  But now he’s here, maybe for his bar or something. But from where I’m standing, he looks dejected.

  There’s a taxi idling in the street next to him. I have to find out what’s going on.

  “Kirk, wait! What are you doing?” I’m screaming loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, along with several surrounding neighborhoods. I don’t care. I just want WineBar to hear me.

  He does hear and halts himself, with his hand on the taxi door. He looks back at me and shrugs. He’s too far away for me to get any kind of read on his expression. He starts getting into the taxi again.

  “Nooooooo!” My yelling is super melodramatic, like something from a bad movie, but as I dash down the block toward Kirk, it just springs out of me. It’s like a stress dream where you just can’t get where you’re going, even when it’s right fucking there in front of you.

  I’m running so fast that everything’s a blur. I hope that he stays, that he doesn’t just show up for a brief moment before vanishing from my life again.

  If only I could talk to WineBar, to find out the truth, to hear it from his own lips, to explain myself...I want all these things, and I’m so close, but I can almost feel it slipping through my fingers.

  Like at any minute he’s going to get in the cab and disappear again.

  But then I stop, and there’s Kirk, still in the same spot. I want him to say something, to just give some acknowledgment to me, to the present moment. With the party and everything, I need for him to tell me how he feels.

  “Hey, Emily.”

  That’s a start.

  “Hey. What are you doing here? Wait, I mean, I’m happy to see you.”

  “I’m...”

  Kirk looks down at the ground again. I probably don’t need to tell you that this is not like him. Like at all.

  Something’s up, and it’s not good. My hopes of maybe shedding some light on the WineBar situation are evaporating—it’s only getting more elusive.

  “I’m just checking in,” Kirk finally continues. “I want to make sure that you’re okay. You know, after the barbecue and that whole situation. It looks like you’re doing okay, though.”

  I can’t take it anymore. I want to embrace WineBar tightly, I want to cry, and most importantly, I want to ask him what the fuck is going on.

  What’s happening? Why are you checking on me now? This isn’t the next morning!

  Why are you suddenly here after not taking my calls?

  I also want to say that whatever it is, I forgive you. Please, don’t leave. I want you in my life.

  I take a deep breath. While he’s here, I might as well ask him everything and tell him everything. I don’t know when I’ll get this chance again.

  Time to put it all out there.

  Then I hear Derek’s cross-trainers jogging up behind me.

  “Hey, is everything okay?” I can’t fault Derek for asking this, but I wish he would see that this is a private fucking moment.

  Kirk takes a brief yet hard look behind my
shoulder at Derek.

  “No, everything’s fine.”

  WineBar looks at me with what feels like maybe one final time, his eyes connecting with mine in a brief, healing moment that makes everything that’s happened disappear, makes everything feel okay—but then it’s not.

  Just as quickly, WineBar looks away, at the taxi door, ready to get in.

  The moment is over. Lost. Maybe forever.

  I can’t get myself to speak or try to stop Kirk in any way. I try to find the words, something to say, to yell out to express what I’m feeling, to change his mind.

  “Kirk. Please.” The words sound soft and broken. I don’t know if he even hears them as he shuts the taxi door.

  The vehicle pulls away into the empty street. I listen to it leave, the engine accelerating, the sound getting farther away until it’s indistinguishable from the ambient nothingness of this horrible night.

  “Whoa. What was that all about?”

  I slowly pivot around, trying to collect myself. I look straight at Derek. I try to make eye contact, to gauge what he’s thinking. All I see is a dumbly confused, irritated expression.

  “It’s complicated.” That’s a start. Maybe he’ll want to hear about the whole thing. It might help for me to talk about it.

  “Yeah, I’ll say. Good luck.”

  Then again, maybe not. Derek hightails it down the block, walking fast around the next corner and disappearing.

  The street is strangely quiet. It’s a warm night in the middle of a trendy neighborhood, yet there’s not another soul in sight. There’s just the low hum of traffic in the distance, and the sight of a plane far up in the sky, on its way to who knows where.

  I feel paralyzed. Alone. I don’t know where to go—I don’t even know what to feel.

  I don’t want to keep standing on this stupid street, and I certainly don’t want to go back to the wine bar...that fucking wine bar. Why does it even have to be there?

  If it were anywhere else than right by my fucking apartment, my whole life would be much different right now. I could be having fun somewhere, blissfully ignorant of WineBar’s entire existence and everything else that’s happened because of it.

  I start walking home again because it seems like the only option I have right now.