Ianna
works as a bartender while she goes to college, as an art major. She
hasn't got a very high opinion of herself, but meeting as special
guy, helps her gain the confidence she needs.
The
music played a syncopated, staccato rhythm, a little loud, but it was
a song I liked. It was Sunday night, so the bar was slow, just a
dribble of regulars. Maybe Mitch would close up early and I could go
home. I was dead tired and my feet hurt. Not that I minded tending
bar on Mindy's night off, but my tips were better waiting tables than
they were at the bar.
"Last
call, folks!" Mitch read my mind and was closing up.
There
were groans and complaints, but it was getting on towards midnight,
everyone was ready to leave anyway. The door opened and a man walked
quickly in. It was pouring outside, he was drenched, his long, dark
hair sticking to him in damp tendrils.
"Sorry,
buddy, I'm about to close." Mitch said politely.
The
young man straightened up and looked surprised. "My car broke
down. I just need a phone, maybe a cup of coffee?"
Mitch
nodded at me and I got the bar phone, setting it on the counter.
"How
do you take your coffee?" I asked him, pot and mug in hand.
He
looked startled, then hesitated before responding. "I take it
light, extra sweet."
His
grin lit his face, but his eyes held something I couldn't read. I saw
myself reflected there and thought I looked like the wrath of God.
How must I appear to him? Short, plump, frizzy, light brown hair and
blue eyes. I have freckles scattered over my nose, and my skin is a
little too pale since I spend so much time inside.
I
fixed the coffee and set it in front of him while he made his call.
He put his hand over the receiver. "Thank you," he said
quietly. "I hate voice mail. What's your name?"
I
chuckled and pointed to my name tag. He squinted at my chest and
laughed. "For real?" I nodded. "Wow, I thought maybe
you just made it up to dissuade assholes like me."
"I
get that sort of thing a lot," I replied. "Having a name
like mine...." I began shyly.
But
he was talking on the phone. It must have been a friend, not Triple A
because he used too familiar a tone. He hung up and handed me the
phone, a disgusted look on his face.
"Got
a number for a cab?"
"Yes,
we used Barbosa's most of the time if someone is too drunk to drive
home." I dialed the number for him.
He
talked to the dispatcher and hung up again, handing me a five dollar
bill. I went to give him change, coffee's only seventy-five cents,
but he waved it away.
"Thanks,
I really appreciate it."
He
glanced around taking in the rest of the room. The bar isn't very
big, full of the typical neon beer signs and motorcycle memorabilia,
photos of famous people who have stopped in, that sort of thing. The
basic motif is supposed to be like an old English pub, but the place
has changed owners so many times that it's taken on this sort of lost
child look. Everything from fishing nets and fake crabs on one wall,
facing a lighthouse mural on the opposite wall.
Behind
the bar is a large mirror and lots of fancy wooden scroll work. The
wall across from it, which I have to look at the entire time I'm back
there, is a larger than life nude painting of a woman with
unnaturally large boobs. It's really disgusting subject matter,
although I can appreciate the skill with which it was done. My
college major is art with an emphasis in drawing and photography.
This bar job was my main source of income since my dad got divorced
for the third time and can't afford to pay for my school anymore.
I
got busy cleaning up behind the bar and the regulars were starting to
say their goodbyes, drifting out the door in pairs, chatting happily.
Soon it was only me, Mitch and the young man. He looked at his watch.
"If
I'm keeping you from closing, I'll wait outside for my cab. The guy
said it would be ten minutes."
"The
weather has slowed 'em down," Mitch said. "You stay inside
this weather ain't fit to be out in. Me and Anna don't mind. It's not
like it's that late."
I
noticed Mitch did not leave me alone with the guy and he didn't take
out the till to start his nightly count either. In fact, he was
eyeing him rather dubiously. I had never seen him look at anyone like
that before.
"So,
you got a name?" he asked the young man.
"Yeah,
I do." He cracked a sarcastic grin at Mitch.
The
comment was wasted on my boss, he's too literal minded and hasn't got
much of a sense of humor if the punch line to a joke isn't sexual or
sports oriented.
"Reed,"
he said when it became apparent Mitch wanted an answer. "Reed
Owens."
"You
from around here?" Mitch never was like this with a customer, I
was beginning to worry a little bit.
"Used
to be awhile back."
"You
look kinda familiar."
Reed
glanced away, gazing out the window. He was starting to look
uncomfortable, a little line of red rising from his collar.
"I
have that kind of a face."
Which
wasn't true. He was really attractive, ruggedly handsome, skin tanned
to a rich red bronze. His dark hair was drier now and came to his
shoulders, sleek and straight, pushed back from his forehead. He had
a very pronounced widow's peak and his dark eyes and sharp features
gave him almost a hawk like aspect to his face. He was easily the
best looking man I've ever seen.
©
2019 Dellani Oakes
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