The Bartender

2

I didn’t get to ask that bartender how he knew my name.

Before I could, I threw water in his face. Women can’t exactly control their emotions when they’re dealing with a rude male stranger. Last night’s events went something like this: A soaking, sexy bartender glaring daggers, a couple of drunken stares, a few chuckles and ‘oohs’ from the women, a flustered architect scrambling with her Balenciaga, no, sprinting right out of the bar. Her sprints were replaced by a happy prance back to her 5 bedroom apartment resembling a Shetland pony once she realized she bested the mean stranger in his face, literally. 

That was how a stranger cured my Monday blues but Tuesday came all too quickly before I could properly process how a stranger can be so mean and rude, a person who got on my nerves in less than 10 minutes on our first meeting.

It was 6 in the morning and I was itching for a run to lose whatever water weight I had from the night before so I could fit into those faux leather pants I bought. 

Just imagine that pants Ross wore in the 11th episode of the 5th season of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.; he’s my greatest inspiration for a rocking outfit on a dreary Tuesday morning. Dreary how? Before I even had time to stretch my arms this morning, my boss had sent over at least 3 emails reminding me of the SAME thing as if I had the memory of a chickpea, there were blueprints I had to go over with a deadline at 12pm with a client I imagined strangling just by speaking through the phone oh and I had to pick my niece from ballet class because my sister is too busy being high…up in the air. 

She was an air stewardess and her husband—the man who captains the plane aka the perfect duo. This also meant they left their 3 year old daughter in the care of the aunt whose idea of a fun Monday was picking a fight with a bartender.  

I know what you’re going to say. Given the fact that I had so much money in the bank, why do I still complain? My answer was plain simple—I was only human, and like every other human being ever, we are still susceptible to humanely emotions that reflect through the way we think, act and speak. So yes, rich people do have bad days too.

Fucking Tuesdays. 

The bar I frequented came into my peripheral vision after a while of jogging in circles. I swear I meant to use a different route. A very grouchy, but handsome looking man with a cute butt stood outside the bar I ran out from last night. His hand was on the handlebar of the trolley filled with boxes stacked on top each other. 

Did I mention I was running down some sort of slope? Yeah, so I was basically Sonic the Hedgehog without breaks.

“Get out of the way!”  I said loudly over the loudness of the music blasting in my ears, goddamn, even I can’t hear myself.

But Bartender guy didn’t hear me. Like myself, he had a pair of headphones over his ears. “Hey!” I called again, at this rate my arms were flailing like a hen getting ready for a flight that’ll never happen. 

Slowly but surely his head turned. Brow barely lifted with a bored look on his face and a mouth that slowly formed into an ‘O’. I think he said something like “i***t alert” but all I could hear was Jessie J’s ‘Bang Bang’ blasting in my ears. Thanks Jessie for predicting what I was about to do.

You know how in those stupid, unrealistic romantic movies where the guy always catches the girl mid-fall, her s**t flies into the air, the guy catches her effortlessly by her waist, spinning her around and they stare at each other’s eyes for a good minute.

Yeah, that didn’t happen to me. Bartender guy side-stepped like he was avoiding the plague and I went head on into the pile of boxes.

Pigeons flew, a car’s alarm went off at a distance and someone shouted ‘Turn that s**t off!’ when I collided with a bunch of boxes. “Wow, Beyonce would be jealous of the less than graceful entrance you just made.” Bartender guy observed the scene from above at my fallen body as he removed his headphones, looking at me in disapproval. From the view down below, he looked mighty tall with leg muscles I’d caress slowly and… 

As I was saying…

I wasn’t hurt, but my pride was. I was even embarrassed when a kid pointed at me to his mother telling her to look at me and said “Mommy look, that sweaty old lady fell into a bunch of boxes.”

“Most guys would ask me if I fell from heaven.” I cast him a sarcastic grin.

“More like God was in the middle of doing some spring cleaning from heaven.” He mused. “Great, the last person I’d want to meet in the early ass c***k of dawn was standing right in front of me.” I groaned, pushing the strewn boxes away from me out of frustration and rubbed my scratched, raw palms. 

Great, just great.

I let out a silent groan of frustration, “Who opens a bar at 7 and blocks up the middle of the damn street at 7 a.m. in the morning?”

“Yet you’re still visiting.” He pondered thoughtfully and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

“Oh ha ha. Contrary to what you think, I don’t take alcohol in the morning, I just happen to be in the area running and coincidentally ran into you.” I countered.

He looked at me and my slightly bruised palm and sighed as he unlocked the door. “Can you get up yourself?” he remarked. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine.” I retorted.

“Great, cause you’re holding up the walkway.” 

I hauled myself up almost immediately, rubbing my palms against my tights.

He nudged his chin towards the door left ajar. “Do you want a cup of water before you leave?” he offered. I wanted to laugh but I thought the better of it. A minute ago he was being a jerk and now he was offering me a glass of water? 

And they say women change their minds faster than they swipe their platinum credit cards. 

“Yes please.” I said, removing the wireless headphones from my neck and pulled out my phone to check the time—I had a couple of minutes to spare before I headed back. 

This was the first time the bar’s ever been silent—it didn’t have an eerie glow like I thought it would with all the small lights still lit on the walls; the chairs were overturned on each end of the tables, so were the stools on the bar counter.

The lights in the liquor glass cabinet lit up like an exhibit case, each bottle sat proudly on the polished shelf waiting to be savored. I got distracted by the clanging sound of a jug against a steel dish and a cup slid over the bar top. “Here, drink up.” He ordered.

He had his back turned while he rummaged through the drawers for something in the semi-darkness.

“I had wanted to ask.” I said after taking a long gulp. “How did you know my name?” 

“And here I thought you dropped by with the intentions of apologizing for last night.” He said in a casual voice. When he turned back around only did I pay attention to what he was wearing—navy blue sweater paired with grey sweats (that really showed his cute butt) and a white pair of Converse. 

“An apology from me to nurse your bruised ego or…?” I trailed, finishing the last sip and dropping my hand to the counter, returning the crystal glass to him as he exchanged it with a couple of band-aids. “Put this on, I don’t want you smearing blood on my counter.” He said, clearly paying no heed to my cheeky comment.

“So, my name?” I reminded him of my question. 

“You work in that large black colored building just down this street, no?” he questioned but he sounded like he already knew the answer.

I nodded slowly, “How’d you…I mean, wait, how is this related to what I had just asked?” I frowned in confusion, scoffing as I did but somewhere at the back of my mind, I knew he was about to say something absolutely obnoxious again. Damn it, I should have kept some water in that glass I just returned.

“Who isn’t familiar with the renowned architect who helped design and build that giant concrete box to our already congested ecosystem, Veronica Kidman?”

My tongue licked my lips mindlessly. I can’t decide that little gesture was because I was getting ready with a snarky comment or I was plainly turned on. A small voice at the back of my mind told me it was the latter. 

“I can only assume you read or heard about me somewhere then?” I smirked, feeling slightly proud that people actually knew my name and what I did. 

“Only briefly.” He shrugged nonchalantly, unafraid to admit it. “When I used that particular news page to pick up some of my pup’s turd yesterday evening.” 

Alright, I take back what I said 4 seconds ago.

My smirk morphed into a scowl and I could feel frown lines forming between my brows. “You really are quite the expert with the ways on how to piss a woman off, don’t you? But lucky for you, I don’t get triggered by thoughtless words easily.”

“Great, because I find no joy in being able to coax out any sort of feeling or emotion from anyone I don’t care about.” He cast me a deadpanned look, dumping my used glass into the sink. Was this man incapable of showing any sort of emotions?

“Oh but you do care.” I raised a brow theatrically.

“Do enlighten me Ronnie.” He pondered with an intrigued head tilt, leaning on his elbows on the counter that I was seated on the other end of.

“You invited me in, gave me a glass of water and…” I shook the Band-Aids in his face. “You gave me something for my boo-boos.”

“Come again, your what now?” his face was unreadable, expressionless and I squared my shoulders, feelings pleased with the point I had just made. “I only did all that because a mother and her son saw a sweaty old lady fell right in front of my bar, of course I had to play my part of being a kind stranger in helping the clumsy woman who fell whilst doing funky chicken.”

“You sure do put in a lot of effort in your little skit for a sweaty old lady, don’t you?” 

“You sure do have your way of seeing things, but I think I have you to thank for this morning.” A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips but disappeared before I could take a good look.

“Wow, I am inexplicably honored. It’s only day 2 of our meeting and I got you thinking maybe it isn’t such a bad thing being kind for once.”

“Oh no, don’t flatter yourself. It’s none of that.” He shook his head, looking smug as he grabbed a piece of paper and pen and had his back turned around so all I could see were his broad shoulders. “I have you to thank for because of the sick drink idea you just gave me—the sweaty old lady.”

My jaw loosened, going south feeling my jaw ticked. 

“Feeling all honored and tongue-tied are we?” he said, pulling the alcohol bottles by their neck and glanced at their labels before setting them in place. “You can’t possibly name a drink after what some little ignorant kid called me!” I said, feeling my tone raising a pitch. 

“You can’t shut down inspirations and ideas from children—the best ideas are the wildest ones. They don’t always come very often, but when they do…”he grabbed two bottles from the shelf , turned around to show me with labels I didn’t exactly look at because I was busy glaring daggers at him. “You grab them by the neck.”

“You’re insufferable. No one is going to drink that, especially not with a name that sounds so inappropriate.” I remarked, feeling nettled by each passing second as my fingernails dug into the oakwood bar top. 

And she said she wasn’t triggered easily…

“Yet people enjoy the Bloody Mary very much, forgive me Father.” He said to no one in particular and at this point, I had my ass lifted up from the bar stool I was seated on and I was standing eye to chest with him (damn that height difference). He did not look the slightest bit intimidated but rather amused.

Flattening my palms and I tip-toed on my running shoes, “You go ahead and do that, because when you actually earn profit from that one drink that was inspired by me, I’ll forever be known to you as that stranger woman who contributed to your income.  Then, maybe, just maybe, you’ll actually drop to your knees begging for more ideas that you can never come up on your own.”

“Well that’s a given. Credit where credit’s due, you won’t be disappointed and I’m a man of my word Ronnie.” 

“It’s Veronica to you, mister.”

“Ronnie.” He insisted. “Aren’t you already running late for your demanding corporate job?”

“I was just leaving, can’t stand another minute being in this proximity with an arrogant t**t very much like yourself.”

“That’s alright; you pretty much flew in here.”

“Have a great day, Mr. Bartender.” I said in the most sarcastic tone I could muster as I strode towards the front door.

“Happy Tuesday to you too.”