Martinis and Memories

by A. L. Michael

  ‘Sweetheart, she’s made a mistake. She’s a volatile woman who gives her opinion. Doesn’t mean she’s not vulnerable. The same way behind all that bullshit you put up, you’ve got your own little bleeding heart back there. So just… take a minute, okay?’

  I coughed, trying to hide my embarrassment. Being told off by Sam was what I imagined disappointing a normal parent felt like. You wanted them to think well of you. I’d never really had that with Mum; it was clear I wouldn’t get her approval years ago, so I’d stopped bothering. But Sam, well, I wanted him to be proud of me.

  ‘Okay. I’ll deal with my shit. But what do I do?’

  ‘You get that fight back in your bones and you make it work, however you can.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s the however you can part that I kind of wanted more detail on.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘What do I know about the restaurant business? All I know is that man did that to scare you, to show you how much power he’s got. So don’t let him have it. The longer he waits, the more money you’re costing him.’

  I nodded again, but was still no closer to an actual solution.

  ‘You need to regroup, kid. Focus on what you’re good at. Take a step back from the club and critique it like a stranger. What needs to be fixed, and how much you can do.’

  At the very least, I had wanted to put the critic out of my mind. I could be convinced he was simply wrong, that he’d been paid off by a nasty little man to lower my customers and number my days. But perhaps there were elements of truth in there. The food hadn’t been exciting for a while, now. I never really ate at the club, so I hadn’t noticed.

  We hadn’t changed the decor at all, not even replacements. I had it exactly how I’d wanted it when I first designed the club. In my eyes, why would I want to change it? And yet, you had to stay relevant, say stylish, give people a reason to choose you. Not a gimmick exactly, but a message.

  ‘That looks like a very busy brain right there,’ Sam said, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘You got some time this evening?’

  ‘Depends if you’re going to invite me to a pow-wow with my mother where you play referee?’

  ‘Kid, do I look like I wanna die young?’ Sam snorted with laughter, ‘No, there’s this musician on the circuit, I heard him a few months back and I think he’s got something special. I want to see what you think.’

  ‘Planning on starting a record label, Sam?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said with a smile. ‘Maybe I just like feeling like I’ve discovered a little bit of magic.’

  ‘And perhaps, when this musician hears your name, he’ll fall over himself to hear wisdom from the great and wild wizard of rock?’

  Sam’s smile grew wry and he snorted quietly. ‘Hey, everyone needs an ego boost. But I’ve got some contacts and if the kid is good, I can put him in touch with the right people.’

  ‘What kind of music is it?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘The kind that made the hair stand up on the back of my arms.’

  ‘Is… that a good thing?’

  He nodded. ‘A rare thing. So, you wanna come along tonight? None of your fancy-pants outfits, it’s low-key.’

  I paused, not wanting to ask, feeling so desperate for asking. ‘Just us?’

  Sam’s smile was warm and knowing. ‘Yeah, I need your opinion. And I’ve missed you chattering away about the people at the club and what’s happening each night. It’s not the same.’

  I’d missed it too, my quiet evening ritual so easily disturbed by Mum and life and everything else.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good,’ Sam said, picking up his jacket. ‘So do you need to go save your club and the world right now, or can an old fella take you out for an early-bird dinner?’

  I paused, knowing I should be panicking, and worrying and pacing about trying to figure it out. But Jacques was the only person I trusted with my club, and he had it under control. And the small child in me couldn’t resist a meal out alone with the person I considered family.

  ‘Dinner would be great.’

  * * *

  Sam loved comfort food. He’d lived in the UK for about twenty years and said he’d spent most of that time trying to find decent mac and cheese. Thankfully, London had decided to heed his call, and American food seemed to be everywhere. We sat in a booth at a Route 66-themed bar in Covent Garden. Huge neon signs hung from the ceiling and Elvis rang out from a jukebox.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, the food is good.’ Sam ordered us two beers and we sat silently whilst he scoured the menu, before ordering the biggest heart attack of a burger with extra bacon and a side of mac and cheese. I ordered a barbecue chicken burger with salad, and Sam wrinkled his nose at me.

  ‘You’re terrible at enjoying things, you know?’

  ‘That is not true!’ I said automatically, but actually, it sounded pretty spot-on. ‘I enjoyed the first time I ate pancakes and bacon.’

  Sam grinned, rubbing the grey speckle of stubble on his chin. ‘Ah, my speciality. Life without American pancakes is not life at all. Now if I could just find decent Mexican food in this country…’

  ‘Hey, we’ve got Mexican food,’ I started, knowing exactly where this conversation was going.

  He held up a hand. ‘Don’t start with me, kid. Until you’ve had tamales in a dive bar at midnight from a lady selling them from her cart, you haven’t had Mexican food. The Brits don’t do flavour like that.’

  ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry.’ I stuck out my tongue before sipping at my beer. ‘Maybe you should go back to your beloved home country, then?’

  ‘Hah, no thank you, ma’am. This has been home for a long time…’ He pressed his lips together, as if wondering whether he should share something. I knew that look well. Sam enjoyed being my confidante, but he wasn’t always comfortable letting me take on that role. He did this thing where he’d swirl his silver signet ring around three times, then cough. It was so weirdly distinctive, and sort of loveable.

  I waited, sipping at my beer. One twist. Two twists… yep.

  ‘So… I had an interesting email a couple of days ago.’ He paused, scratching at the label on his beer bottle.

  ‘Right… who from?’

  ‘My… my daughter, apparently.’ Sam looked at me, the hint of a smile. ‘You’re not going to get jealous there are ya, kid?’

  ‘I think I’ll live. So, who is she, how old is she? Where does she live?’

  He seemed more happy to talk now that I hadn’t had a big reaction. I mean, of course, it was huge, but Sam was a rock star in his youth. It wasn’t unheard of. How was the mother meant to get in touch – write fan mail and hope it made it to his manager?

  ‘Her name is Penny. She’s a college professor, if you can believe it. She just had her first kid, a little boy named Max.’ Sam cleared his throat. ‘She sent me some pictures.’

  ‘This was a first email?’ I could feel myself frowning. ‘I mean, if she’s so sure you’re her dad, why didn’t she reach out before?’

  ‘She didn’t need to.’ Sam tried to hide a flash of what looked like pain. ‘Her mom got married to this guy when she was about two – she’s always had a dad. But she had her little boy, and I guess it got her to thinking about genetics and family and what ifs.’

  ‘Woah,’ I said, leaning back as the waitress put the food down, briefly smiling at her before returning my attention to Sam, who was staring at his burger intently.

  ‘So… how you doing with all of this?’ It was easier to focus on our food. Sam didn’t like what he called that ‘wacko quacko mumbo jumbo’ – for an American, he was incredibly resistant to anything that even resembled therapy. Sometimes, even asking how he was seemed to feel a bit intrusive. But here he was, opening up.

  ‘I’m okay, I guess. A little sad, to miss out on something like that, being a dad. But then I think, well, she got that from someone else, so she was okay. I’ve had my life here, and don’t regret it, so… yeah.’

  He nodded, almost to himself, and
started eating with a determination that spoke of denial.

  ‘So do you think you’ll meet her?’

  ‘Meet her?’ He choked on his onion ring. ‘I haven’t even replied to her email yet!’

  ‘Why not? She must be killing herself wondering what you’re going to say, and if you’re going to answer. Did you…’ I paused, trying not to be indelicate. ‘Do you remember her mother?’

  Sam’s smile was huge, suddenly blooming. ‘Hell yes, Madison Carter. I had loved that woman since I was a teenager. But she was way too smart for me, and her daddy didn’t want her anywhere near that boy with the rock ’n’ roll band. Quite right too.’

  ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘Nothing much, ever, really.’ Sam shrugged. ‘We spoke on the phone, I used to send her letters from the road, but there was never any expectation. It wasn’t like a lightning bolt, or this realization that I’d marry her or anything. I just… she was the sweetest, cleverest girl I knew. She went off to college, and I carried on making music. I sent her postcards, and years sort of went by.’

  ‘This isn’t quite the overwhelming love story I was expecting, darling.’ I snorted, pretending to be disappointed.

  ‘Well exactly, it wasn’t a love story, not really. It was two people who cared about each other, but weren’t right for each other. We were friends, I guess. Most of all. A few years after the band started really getting somewhere, she came out to see me.’

  ‘And…’

  Sam’s eyes were glazed with a nostalgia I hadn’t seen before. Even talking about ‘the good old days’ of the band didn’t evoke much emotion, beyond that night when the sound was really great, or Dave did something stupid. There was nothing like this.

  ‘We were playing in… God, where was it? California, I think? Venice maybe? She flew out with her girlfriends and she came to see me. I just saw her out there in the crowd and it was like this magnet drew my eyes to her. Hundreds of people and there she was, like an angel.’

  It was hard to pry with Sam; he was so delicate in unravelling his stories.

  ‘So did you never consider staying with her?’

  He shook his head. ‘It was just one night. One perfect night. But I had my life, I was doing my thing, and she had hers. She wouldn’t have left home, she wanted to build something for herself. We said goodbye as friends, but then the band got huge, and there weren’t really any more phone calls. I tried to send postcards when I could…’

  ‘And this Penny, she’s definitely Madison’s?’ I hated to be that person, but this must have happened to Sam before. Surely every ageing musician had a story like that?

  ‘Oh yes, she looks just like her. This softness around the eyes.’ He gestured with his fingertips. ‘Plus, her mom was in the photo with her.’

  He exhaled and pushed his food away. ‘There’s just so many questions – does Madison know she got in touch? Did she hate me? Did she try to tell me? Would I have been any good as a dad? Should I be upset at what I missed out on? I tell ya, kid, I haven’t had this many emotions in about a decade.’

  ‘Wow.’ I didn’t really know what to say. ‘So are you going to reply?’

  ‘I am, I’m just… finding the words.’

  ‘Maybe you should write a song,’ I teased him. ‘Isn’t that how musicians work?’

  Sam gave me a piercing look, then leaned in. ‘So I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve been talking to your mom about all this.’

  I felt my face change in shock, and something that was a little tinged with betrayal. She got to share parts of Sam’s life? The big important things? The ones I had to tentatively step about and tease out little bits of?

  ‘Before you say anything, I needed to talk to someone my age about this. A parent. Someone who’s experienced certain things. So don’t go getting all cranky pants about it.’ He raised an eyebrow and waited for me to sass.

  ‘Was…’ I sighed. ‘Was she at least nice? Did she listen and actually help?’

  He nodded. ‘She was… she talked a lot about you, the things she regrets, the ways she’s let you down. How she’s sabotaged a chance at a relationship with you. How she’s lonely. There’s a lot going on there, kid. Not just some crazy broad with bright clothes and a loud mouth.’

  I snorted, and lifted my beer bottle to cheers with his. ‘Well, here’s to life still being full of surprises.’

  ‘Hell yes,’ Sam said, and drank.

  * * *

  I found myself relieved that not only had I connected with my friend (and perhaps softened just the teensiest bit towards my mother) but I’d called Jacques and he was confidently working on a plan. He didn’t even ask me where I was, he just asked me to trust him. He was working with the staff, and when I came in tomorrow, we’d have a plan of attack.

  ‘Rest up and get ready to command your army, darling, because tomorrow is going to be a doozy.’

  I tried to get myself energized and excited, ready to go to war, but I just kept thinking of Derek, his horrid little smirk as he used details of my life against me. I shook the thought away. Everyone wants the underdog to win, right? That was me, I got to win.

  I fell into step with Sam as we walked across Covent Garden square, not stopping as tourists wandered through, or Londoners wove back and forth to cut through the crowds.

  He led the way through a few backstreets, gesturing for me to go first down an unmarked set of stairs leading to a basement bar. The only clue was the blackboard sign outside with a picture of a pint drawn on in chalk.

  Beneath, the sounds of London traffic faded away, replaced with bluesy riffs on electric guitars. Blue and green bottles hung from the ceiling above the bar, and on the wall were leather jackets worn by some famous person or other. The bartender was head-to-toe tattoos, and the clientele seemed to be a mixture of old rockers and young hipsters.

  We grabbed two bar stools at the back after buying another couple of beers. I quite liked how un-Bel this all was of me. Two nights now of beer and lack of pretence. I started to feel nostalgic for my old self. The way Sam had spoken about his teenage love, there was something of that for me. The ‘what ifs’ that clouded my mind every few months or so, the scent of a certain cologne or the sound of a certain song evoking a longing for something long past.

  ‘Whatcha thinking there, kid?’ Sam nudged me gently with his elbow.

  ‘Just that this is nice.’ I smiled back at him. ‘I’m terrible with music, though, I’ve got no taste.’

  ‘Well that’s just a downright lie right there,’ Sam said, rolling his eyes. ‘Don’t pretend to be modest, it doesn’t suit you.’

  That was true enough.

  ‘When’s this guy on?’

  Sam shrugged, didn’t bother looking at his watch. ‘Soon.’

  ‘This reminds me of a place I used to go with a friend of mine, when we were teenagers. He did open mics in the basement of this coffee shop in town. It was all very exciting then, the idea that we could go and watch music and pretend to be grown-ups.’

  ‘This wasn’t the ex-husband, was it? Way I heard it the man would have kept better rhythm on those drums if he used his head instead of sticks.’

  I fought a laugh and failed, cupping my hands over my mouth.

  ‘Yeah, Euan wasn’t great. Tried hard though. He played in the same band as my friend. That was how we met.’

  ‘And what happened to this friend?’

  I shrugged, trying for nonchalance, trying not to remember that last time I saw him. The burning embarrassment and sadness. ‘He left to deal with family stuff. It’s funny, memories have been chasing me about a bit recently. I must be getting older.’

  ‘Oh yeah, you’re a regular dinosaur.’ Sam laughed. ‘Have some tact, would you? My youth was so long ago my memories are gathering dust.’

  He blinked then grabbed his pen and notebook out of his back pocket.

  ‘I like that. But aren’t we here chasing your nostalgia?’

  ‘No,’ Sam said, gesturing with his beer bot
tle to the stage. ‘We’re here because I have a gut feeling about someone, and the last time I had that, I ended up with a feisty twenty-something becoming my tenant. It’s important to listen to your gut.’

  I nudged him affectionately and smiled. It was good to know Sam was there when I needed him. I felt sorry for the daughter who had missed out on his gentle lessons and words of kindness after a hard day. What she’d missed out on, I’d benefited from, and that made me feel guilty.

  ‘Do you ever feel like your past just keeps chasing you down until it finds you?’ I asked, unable to shake that image of a boy I’d once loved from my brain. Those green eyes like sea glass, and that brown hair curling out from under a beanie. ‘Like my mum and Euan, and for you it’s been Penny… it’s like the universe is trying to tell us something.’

  Sam thought about it. ‘What do you think it’s trying to tell you?’

  I snorted, sipping my beer. ‘That I didn’t run far enough, or hide well enough.’

  Sam rolled his eyes, gesturing to the bartender for two more beers. ‘Sweetheart, I don’t think the universe would waste its time on a crappy message like that.’

  ‘So what do you think it’s saying?’

  ‘I think it’s probably telling us to be grateful for what we had, and what we have.’

  I couldn’t help myself. ‘You mean that nice quiet life I had before my mother started living with me and my ex-husband decided to keep visiting my failing place of work?’

  Sam sighed. ‘You are moany these days. You’ve done it before, fixed your life – you’ll do it again.’

  It seemed to me that life worked in waves, and mine split into three stages. The first wave was running away to London with Euan, the second was leaving him and the third was the beginning of the end of this club of mine. But the sea was wide, and the tide was coming in, dragging every decision I’d made back to this moment.

  Everything I’d left behind was suddenly on my doorstep. It was hard not to feel like there was something mystical going on. Except it wasn’t necessarily wonderful and magical. It was… retribution. A debt owed for my lovely lifestyle and carefree living these last few years. I thought I’d paid my debt in loneliness, but apparently not.