Page 10 of Lessons in Love
“When this drink is made right it’s delicate on the palate.” I take my fingers and suck the tips into my mouth. Her eyes are glued on my mouth, her lips parted, and her breath picks up when I pull my fingers slowly back out. “The grapefruit with the club soda balances the liquor. It’s sophisticated, but refreshing, like you.”
“Thank you,” she replies.
“You’re welcome.” A lady with a strong east coast accent calls my name. I recognize it instantly. I’ve never slept with her, but that’s not due to her lack of trying. Before I go, I add, “By the way, your hair looks beautiful down. You should wear it like that more often.”
“Maybe I will.” Her smile is wide and relaxed. She takes a sip of her drink.
I wink and walk to serve the other lady, but keep my eye on Constance. That’s when it happens. Giant hairy mitts for hands hide her eyes when someone comes up behind her. When she turns, her eyes go wide, obviously recognizing this douche. She’s okay, so I help Mitzi, from the Upper East Side. If her friends only knew how she trolled Brooklyn for hookups she might not be so easily accepted on the social scene of Manhattan.
While blending Mitzi’s favorite drink, a banana daiquiri, I glance down Constance’s way. She steals a glimpse of me before the asshole snaps his fingers to bring her attention back to him.
Asshole.
Ohhhh.Is that the asshole that stood her up tonight?
I serve Mitzi and another woman vying for my attention, then check on Constance. Standing right in front of her, I rest my hands on the bar. “Everything okay down here?”
The asshole flashes a fifty, and replies, “I need a hoppy IPA, and the lady needs another.”
Figures. IPA’s are generally bitter, similar to the taste he’s left in my mouth. I look to her and sadness has crept up on her, a lot like this guy. She pushes her empty glass away, and mouths, “I’m sorry,” but says, “I’m good, Hardy. Thanks.”
Asshole says, “Hardy, be a good barkeep and run along and get me that beer. Seems I’m drinking alone.”
Ignoring him, I stay focused on Constance. “Hey?”
“Yeah?” she replies quietly.
“I can throw him out if you want.”
That makes her laugh and it was worth being belittled by him to hear that effervescent sound. “I’m good.”
“Well, just let me know. I know a guy.”
“The boss.”
“Yep. The boss.” I leave her to go get that bitter beer for the asshole. When I set it down, as much as I want to spend time with her, I don’t waste time and hang around with him there. My bar is packed and three people deep down the length of it. I get to mixing.
I find time to drop off a fresh drink for her and then another. I start to think I might have to cut her off soon. The asshole is taking her laughter and smile as an open invitation and crowding her. She’s nice enough not to complain, but it pisses me the fuck off.
It’s getting close to midnight and she looks tired. I know I am, but I have another hour before I get off work. When the asshole snaps his fingers at me three times, I go begrudgingly. “Close my tab.”
A please would be nice, but what the fuck ever with him. It has started to feel like Constance is avoiding eye contact with me, so my mood has soured.
Rule number one: Don’t get too close.
Fucked that one right up. Now I’m left with the remnants to clean up. At least rule number two is safe. I hand him his change and just as I’m about to tell Constance that it was a pleasure to not just meet her, but spend time with her, she turns to the woman next to her, and says, “The Gimlets are amazing. You should order one from Hardy, in particular.” She’s nodding and though I can tell she’s definitely tipsy, she didn’t seem drunk until now. “He loves serving Gimlets. Don’t you, Hardy?”
Confused to where she’s going with this, I eye her, and whisper, “What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“Helping how exactly?”
“Helping you find your next one.” Staring at her, I watch her nod, signaling to her barstool neighbor. “You know, a Gimlet girl.”
“Don’t,” I reply, flatly. “Don’t help. I’m not a gigolo.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that.”
