Member-only story
Why Not Me?
It was a Friday night, I was working in the bar.
I was working the bar the first time I saw her, what a typical London guy would call a knockout. But that’s not me, nor my intention to describe her physical assets, just not my way. Let it be enough for you to know that such a woman awakens many torments in a man: to scream, sob, laugh, or sigh.
It was a Friday night, late, busy, serious drinkers and the late-night crew.
She wore the cliche short leather lace, slipped onto a barstool, keeping a certain dignity and ordered a Bloody Mary.
The secret to good bartending is to be invisible until needed, reading people and responding to what they want. That means more than serving a drink. I retreated to the corner, cleaned glasses, but kept a curious look on her.
I think that’s when she tore me apart. I had to dream, share her joys, and let my fear dominate me. I want to wake her up and stop her shouting… I love you!
She finished her drink and signalled for another.
By the time I made that, one of the regulars had slipped onto the stool beside her. She smiled, but there was something implicitly cold behind those eyes. Good luck, I remember thinking.
