Page 36 of Wish I Were Here
“He won’t like you interrupting his card game, you know.”
“I know. But it’s important. Can you let me in?”
Lou pauses, and for a moment I think he’s about to turn us away. I can’t say I’d becompletelydisappointed if he did. But then he shrugs. “For you, Luca, I’ll make an exception. Go ahead.”
We continue on into the bar. The place is packed and smoky, but through the crowd and haze, I spot a long bar taking up one side of the room with stained-glass Tiffany lamps hanging overhead and a bartender shaking cocktails on the opposite side. Straight ahead, past a smattering of small, round tables, sits a stage where four musicians play a slow, sad jazz melody. The crowd is older, the men dressed up in sports coats and the women in short, tight dresses and heels.
I push myself up on my tiptoes so Luca can hear me over the din of trumpet tones and ice clinking in glasses. “I thought it was illegal to smoke in bars.”
He just laughs and takes my hand, turning to weave through the crowd to the bar. A couple is leaving as we approach, and we grab their seats.
The bartender, a middle-aged white woman with a blond ponytail and deeply lined face—probably from decades of smoke in this place—comes over to take our drink order. When she recognizes Luca, her face lights up. “Hey, kid. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Luca hitches his chin in my direction. “This is my friend Catherine. Catherine, this is Barbara. She mixes the best drinks in Bloomfield.”
I fully expect Barbara to roll her eyes, but instead she smiles and puts a cocktail napkin in front of each of us. “Just for that, your first drink is on the house. What can I get you?”
Luca’s gaze slides over me, and then he turns to Barbara. “Two shots. Whatever you got.”
“Be right back.”
Barbara heads to the other side of the bar to grab a pair of glasses. Onstage, the woman with the trumpet steps forward for her solo.
I lean in so Luca can hear me. “Is Barbara a Morelli, too?”
“Honorary.” Luca bends closer. “She’s been working here since I was a kid. Poured me my first shot of whiskey when I was thirteen.” His facial stubble brushes my cheek, and a shiver runs down my spine.
I wish Barbara would hurry up with that drink.
“Is that what we’re having tonight? Whiskey?”
“I know it’s probably not your thing.” He shrugs. “But I thought maybe you could use it tonight.”
“What do you thinkismy thing? White wine? Spritzer, maybe?” I lean back so I can see his eyes.
He gives me a wry smile. “Something along those lines.”
Barbara sets two glasses of amber liquid in front of us. I pick mine up, knock it back, and set the glass back on the bar with a little bit of extra flair.
Luca’s eyebrows shoot up. “I stand corrected.”
To be honest, he’s not wrong. I’m not much of a drinker. I don’t like anything that makes me feel out of control, and working full-time while going to school hasn’t exactly been conducive for nights out at the bar. But it doesn’t mean I’m ordering spritzers. “My dad’s friend Ginger Ale poured me my first shot of whiskey when I was thirteen, too.”
Luca’s mouth drops open. “Ginger Ale?”
I shrug. “She’s a redhead.”
“Is that her real name?”
“Of course not, Elbow. She’s a burlesque dancer. It’s a stage name.”
He’s staring at me like he’s never been more fascinated by anything in his life. “So, you and…Ms. Ale… used to do shots?”
“It was a celebration when I got my first period.”
He nods slowly like he’s processing this information. “When Ginny got her first period, my mom just took her to the corner drugstore to buy pads.”
“My childhood was unconventional.”
