Beneath Her Depth

“Is she still not here?” a man asked impatiently, glancing around the lounge. “It’s Saturday night; she’ll be here soon,” his companion reassured him, reflecting their shared anticipation. The bartender, a well-built man in a button-down shirt and sleek black vest, overheard them. He glanced at his watch—11:55 PM—and muttered to himself, “Any minute now,” as he prepared a drink with precision. The lounge fell silent as the sliding doors opened with a soft whoosh. The sharp click of heels drew everyone’s focus, heads turning to follow the rhythmic sound of a woman who commanded presence without uttering a word. The bartender glanced around with a small smile, murmuring, “Here it is.” His thoughts soon drifted back to that first night, like tonight—a Saturday when she had walked in for the first time, exuding confidence and leaving a lasting impression with every step. Flashback It was the second-to-last Saturday of September, the season shifting from warm to cold. People craved warmth, seeking solace in the drinks he served. A customer once told him that many regulars came alone, finding comfort in a glass. He’d watched the same faces week after week, their moods following familiar patterns—until that night when the doors opened. The sharp click of her heels cut through the lounge's low murmur, capturing everyone’s, including his’ sight. She was in her late twenties, around five feet tall, with five-inch heels adding to her height. Long, raven-black hair fell in soft curls down to her waist, framing a small face with delicate features. Her black cocktail dress hugged her slender figure, and as she removed her trench coat with a smooth motion, she revealed pale skin, her pale neck where a gold necklace lies on it that accentuated her collarbone on both sides of it—a striking sight. As she approached, her features became clearer, stopping right in front of him. He quickly shifted his concentration back to his work, trying to keep whatever it was within him that wanted to do the same as everyone else, but he did not want to make her uncomfortable. Everyone else was already pinning their eyes on her, but at this distance, it felt somehow personal, he figured. With her round brown eyes emphasized by her perfectly lined eyebrows, she eyed the chair in front of her—the middle seat at the bar— her eyes fall on the chair shifting with him. Feeling them on him, compels him to meet hers. He gave a slight shake of his head, wearing a blank expression, indicating it was free if that was what she was trying to ask. He let out a low sigh of relief when she started settling in, leaving her to her comfort. He gave heed to moved between her and the other patrons, remaining attentive to their needs. He waited for her to call him over, but she remained silent. After a while, deciding to approach her, he asked in a faint voice, “What can I make for you?” as she glanced around the lounge, as if unfamiliar with the place. She must be new, he thought. After a moment, her gaze settled on him. “Sorry, Jack and Coke,” she replied simply with her perfect pouty lips in shade of light pink lipstick or the natural colour of it; uncertainly with her voice as subtle as the faint smile accompanying it—a small but noticeable smile that was quite a sight up close. The guy looked at her with a puzzled mind but blank face for a minute before he asked her again, "How would you like it?" referring to the taste that would come out from the mix. "I'll leave it up to you. Just make it smooth," she replied with the same smile, seeing him nod and go to make her drink, as he had always done. But this time his nerves couldn’t help but palpitate as nervousness hit him. Aside from her gazing on him, this woman had gone against his initial thought: a cocktail drink for her. Because aside from everything, there was still something sassy in the way she was dressed that made him initially think she would ask for one instead of what she had requested. The thought of making another mistake was what rocked his nerves. As soon as he landed the glass in front of her on ice, he noticed how meticulous she was. She took the drink, studying the colour and scent briefly. She took her time examining the drink until she gulped it down, paused, and said, "Perfect. Thanks." He gave a small nod, his expression remaining neutral but satisfaction bubbling within as he murmured to himself, “Glad to hear that.” He paused for a moment before saying, “If you need anything else, just say so,” in response to her, before he walked away to deal with his other duties. The woman then turned her attention back to the bar, her demeanour relaxed as she began to unwind and got lost in her own world. He glanced at her from time to time without noticing until her solemn expression towards the melting ice, suggested deep thoughts. When she finished, she lifted the glass with a subtle smile, beckoning him over. “Sorry, I didn’t notice,” he said, taking her glass. She shook her head, her smile growing wider. “Nah… I’m glad you didn’t. I want you to make it in the same glass.” She handed it back to him. Her smile was infectious that he couldn’t help but smiled in return. Embarrassment washed him over as he realized he’d been watching her instead of focusing on what he should be doing. With a deep sigh, he began preparing her drink again. As time passed and the scene continued, she reached her fourth drink, still indulged in her own world that seemed inaccessible to anyone else. He made sure of it when suddenly a man wearing an expensive tuxedo stood beside her. He could tell that he was there to make a move on her; he was familiar, as he had seen quite a lot of the same scene in this very place. He kept his sight on them, observing the interaction the other man initiated, but it didn’t last longer than a minute as the man walked away with nothing but four words from her. “Thanks, but I’m good,” she said with a smile, clearly indicating to him what the man was feeling as he stepped back. Soon, she pulled out a binder and a pen from her bag, returning to her own world that had been interrupted for a breath. He couldn’t help but notice her giggling while scribbling something down. It was a delightful view—the low sound of her giggles, both lively and restrained. He felt an urge to walk over and ask what she was writing or simply peek. With every passing moment, this urge grew stronger, and he fought against himself, afraid he would do something he had never done before. He kept watching from the corner of his eye until she finished her fourth drink, blissfully unaware. It was cute how she lifted the glass to sip, only to find it empty, just melted ice remaining without realizing it. Losing herself in writing, she was completely engrossed. He couldn’t help but smile, amazed at how well she handled her liquor. Despite her fourth drink, she still seemed eager for another round. “Just what were you indulging yourself into?” he mumbled to himself, smiling as he took a couple of steps towards her, thinking she would love another. “But do I really need to ask her or am I just making excuses?” he wondered, feeling uncertain about his motives, which was unusual for him. He had to stop for a moment; there was no need for him to approach her—she could just call for him, which was the usual case. But thinking she wouldn’t, just like before he approached her, asking became an inevitable thing for him to do.