Authors: Willow Madison
True Nature
"Can I get a Knob Creek neat?" trying to keep my voice from breaking after being at the club for awhile, too much dancing and yelling to be heard over the thumping music and people.
The bartender leans in over the drink-soaked bar like he didn't hear me, "That's a big order for such a little girl." Before I can respond, I don't think the dumb open-mouthed look is sufficient, he's turned away.
Good. At least he got my order then. I like bourbon, it warms a spot that needs warming. My drink of choice when it's Saturday and I have no plans the next day. And I think it makes me sound sophisticated and mysterious...usually the finance and computer geeks in these clubs are impressed anyway. Damn right it's a big girl drink, so there Mr. Hot Bartender! I need to stop talking to myself like this, I just laughed out loud for fuck sake.
He returns with a drink that is definitely not bourbon – it's pink. "On me," he says with a wink. Who winks anymore?!
"Hey, wait a sec…I ordered bourbon. This isn't mine," as I push the drink towards him, really getting a good look at his hands and arms for the first time....olive skin, lean muscles and surprisingly manicured nails.
"I know what you ordered. This one's on me though...vodka cran," his voice is deep, no accent, must be from here, born and bred Midwesterner.
I give the same dumb look. Say something already! "I'd like the drink I ordered…please." His crinkly-eyed smile is almost a laugh, probably because my voice squeaked at that last bit. Hard to sound demanding with a high voice, but I'm trying for a strong look to go with it.
"Sorry, watered-down vodka's all you're going to get." His smile goes up a little on the left and he leans in again. I can smell a hint of his cologne; like his hands, a surprising mix, musky spices and clean linens. It distracts me, disarms me in the middle of this pulsing people-pushing place to have his scent fill my nose like that. I quietly say, "Thanks," and turn around.
Looks like tonight is going downhill fast. I came out tonight with my friends, Tracy and Laura, who are now trying to dance with what looks like brothers, really drunk brothers. Tracy is pushed against the opposite wall and staying out of the way of Brother #1's gyrating arms; Laura is laughing more than dancing, holding her sides while sidestepping Brother #2's feet.
I pass them to the steps just to the side of the dance floor. Laura and Tracy quickly join me, sharing the blow-by-blow I missed during my trip to the bar. Seems the drunk brothers are VIP's and have a table behind the roped-off section behind us. They offered to let us sit at their table and buy us drinks and be groped while dancing. Yippee for us. Yep, tonight sucks.
I usually enjoy nights out like this...freedom to let loose, drink a little too much, maybe meet a guy or two, and dance with my friends like it's an Olympic event. But tonight feels off. Maybe it’s the stress of work lately. Maybe the stress of my folks visiting next week. Maybe the stress of feeling lonely in a crowded room…again.
Nope…I won't allow myself to wallow in this feeling. Won't let this night go without a fight! "Come on. Let's dance…and
not
with the dynamic duo!" Putting my oh-so-pink drink down on a ledge, I push both Tracy and Laura back onto the floor.
I'm not a great dancer...a little too free with the jumping up and down to really get a groove thing going. At 5 feet, I still manage to take up a lot of dance floor though and soon we're screaming along with every other girl to "I will survive," a remix, but still a good mood changer. Feeling better already.
Tracy is a great dancer, no self-consciousness, just pure movement. Guys can’t help but watch her. Laura tries hard to match Tracy’s moves, but her own slightly heavier body makes her want to hide more than stand out. I end up grabbing Laura's hands and twirling her around, giving her something else to concentrate on.
Tracy has already turned down two guys trying to push their way in between us. Laura and I exchange looks. We hope we don't have a repeat of last week. A guy had put his hand on Tracy's ass, so she turned around and hit him in the stomach. We ended up leaving early to avoid more trouble.
With a few turns, I get a view of the bar again. The same crooked grin and laughing eyes are on me each time. Maybe tonight isn’t so bad…I may just have to get another drink before last call.
A slow song. Laura and I start dancing cheek-to-cheek. Tracy leaves for the bathroom to quickly avoid the guy to her left. He's a whole head shorter than her and has tried to dance with her whenever we're at Club French. Poor guy must live here waiting for his chance at the tall redhead.
A glance at the bar shows the hottie bartender talking to three girls. At least he's not smiling at them.
"If we dance any longer like this, I will never get a guy to ask me," Laura pushes me off. She and Tracy have been my best friends for the last two years, since we started at the same company. We met in orientation and have stuck together ever since. She is always looking for a guy to ask her for something...a date, a dance, anything.
"But, baby, I was just going to dip you," I laugh with a fake pout.
"No way...you dropped me last time! And I have to pee." Laura leads the way to the bathrooms. We pass in front of the bar. When the bartender looks up, he winks at me again. What is with the winking?! Is this a new/old thing guys are doing now?! Do I wink back?! Instead, I opt for raising eyebrows and smiling halfway. Lame-o. I look back and see him smiling at me still, making my neck ticklish and warm.
Tracy is in line ahead of us, but moves back to wait with us. "I'm gonna get a drink instead. You guys want anything?" I take their orders and head back to the bar.
Even though a group of girls are trying to get his attention, he comes right over to me. "Let me guess. Knob Creek, right?" His eyes are a mix of green and gold or maybe it's just the bar lights making them appear cat-like.
"Yes…please," I falter. I didn't expect him to remember...the club is packed with drunk girls. "Oh, and two Greyhounds too...please," my voice squeaking again over the music. Why is he making me want to be extra polite, like I need a bartender to like me in order to serve me a drink?
He returns with two Greyhounds and one pink drink. No smile. "Is it just me or are you a bad bartender to everyone?" I try to make it sound like a joke.
Still no smile. "Just you. Bourbon isn't a girl's drink."
"Is that in the Bartender's Handbook?" I'm still trying to get a smile...wanna see if his eyes are the same color when they crinkle up.
"Nope, Just my handbook." A small smile, crooked but closed, no crinkling.
"How much for the drinks?" I try to match his small smile.
"On me, Lucy." He reaches across the bar and grabs my hand. "I'm Max Traeger by the way." And he doesn't let go of my hand.
"How'd you know my name?"
"It was on your credit card." His hand is a little wet from the bar towel, but very warm. I feel cold when he finally lets go.
Just as I'm turning to hand a drink back to Tracy and Laura, he asks, "Can I get your number?" I can almost see the looks they must be exchanging behind my back.
I give him Tracy's line, "How bout you give me your number instead. Girl's gotta be safe ya know."
A small lowering of his brow makes his crooked smile seem bigger, his eyes darker. "Call me old-fashioned. I believe it's the guy's job to do the calling. If you change your mind, let me know." He turns slightly to take the order of the couple to my right, but gives me one more smile before moving away. I'm a little numb by his instant response. It always worked for Tracy.
Turning all the way around, I can see the girls are both open-mouthed too. "What was that about?" Tracy wants to know.
"Yeah, what'd we miss," chimes in Laura.
"Nothing. Just harmless flirting for free drinks. Drink up!" Oh, well. Not meant to be my night after all.
"I'm hungry. You guys wanna grab some food? The restaurant upstairs is still serving and last call here will be any minute," Laura loves the french faire, at least the french fries, next door.
….
“The kitchen will be closing in thirty minutes and the only tables available are in the bar area,” the hostess shows us to a table near the empty bar. Before we can even order though, the waitress brings over fried calamari, mini burgers, french fries, and chocolate cake, “Compliments of Mr. Traeger, ladies. Enjoy."
We say, "Who?" in unison.
I follow up with, "Do you mean Max, the bartender downstairs?"
“Um, yes. He thought these items would be to your liking. Enjoy ladies. And let me know if you need anything.” The waitress walks away before we can answer, “Thank you,” in unison again.
Tracy is used to getting free stuff from guys, “It's no big deal, he must have overheard us. And the restaurant is attached to the bar, so he probably gets free stuff here too.”
Laura doesn’t care how we got the food, she’s just happy to have some so quickly, “I'm
starving
. Dig in.” They take turns making fun of my goofy smiles. The fries taste better somehow.
Leaving the restaurant, I stop between the street and the steps leading back down to the bar, “You guys go ahead. I'll catch my own cab.”
“Are you going back to the bar to give a great..big…thank you?” Laura giggles and makes a smacking kiss sound I hope never to hear from her again.
Tracy is laughing as they get into their cab. “Just to say thank you and leave your number you mean? You know my rule...make the guy wait for you.” She says this so loudly that the drunk guys walking my way all laugh and start yelling out “I’ll give you my number” and “I’ll give you more than my number without making you wait, sweetheart.” I hurry down the stairs before they get too close.
….
“We’re closing up, no more entries even with a hand stamp,” the bigger of the two bouncers says.
“Can I just leave a note for someone that works here?” Smirks from both bouncers. I bet girls leave lots of notes all the time. I feel lame, but ask for a pen and tear off a corner of a flyer on their entrance table. Folding the note, I ask them to give it to Max the bartender.
“You mean Max Traeger?” The bouncers look a little nervous, like I just said something wrong. “Ya know if you wanna go in, go ahead. You can give him the note yourself,” says the shorter guy.
I feel lame enough without having to track him down in an emptying bar. “No that's ok. Just please give him the message,” I turn around quickly before they can say anything else.
“Hey, Jimmie. What side you want me on?” I just got to the club. The music is loud. The bar is a mess. The two bartenders are running back and forth. The bussers aren’t in sight.
“Thanks for showing up, Max. Tonight’s been crazy with Mike out again. Take the front station...it’s the most action,” he says with a laugh.
“Ha, great. Haven’t tended bar in a long time and you throw me to the wolves?!” I like Jimmie. He keeps his cool in a rush and doesn’t lose bottles or money like some of the other guys.
After a few orders, I feel like I’m back in college. Not missing a beat with mixing drinks, opening bottles, wiping down the bar, pouring shots for smartass girls and dumbass guys.
I notice the petite blond edging around the packed dance floor. She was up to the bar earlier with her friends, but let the redhead do the ordering. Well, let her get a couple guys to buy them drinks.
I like the way the blond looks. She stands out from the other girls who are squeezed into clothes way too revealing for my taste. Bouncing, slightly frizzy curls, blue eyes, tight skirt. Can see she has a nice body, but isn’t trying to sell it.
And I like the way she moves. Not quite touching the guys she’s trying to get around, just putting her right hand near their backs in case they bump her, her left arm behind her back. Looking down instead of smiling at everyone.
“Can I get a Knob Creek neat?” Her order makes me want to laugh. Probably read it in a book and thinks it sounds grown-up. Her voice is perfect, soft and high. I’d like to make her squeak for real. Name on her card is Lucy Shannon.
The confused look on her face when I set her drink down makes me smile even more. She’s speechless for a second, with a slight frown, but almost said “thank you” automatically I think.
Her hands are delicate, pushing the drink back towards me, the nails a little chewed. She’s blushing at my response. Her thanks sounds tiny.
I keep an eye on her, hoping she’ll come back up to the bar. Instead I get a great view of her tits bouncing as she sort of dances, mostly jumps in the middle of her friends. Clenching my jaw, I make out three other guys taking an interest too. She really shouldn’t bounce around like that.
Just as two of the guys are moving closer to her on the dance floor, she starts making her way towards me again. Nope, damn, just heading to the bathroom.
I didn’t have to stop her on her way back though. She’s smiling again, white teeth almost fluorescent in the lighting. I take my chance to get her number before the night’s over or some asshole goes for her first. Her response isn’t good. Sounds like she’s saying something for her friend’s benefit; the redhead gives me a knowing smile behind her. I don’t play that game.
Too bad, but maybe I’ll see her again. They’re heading upstairs to French Brasserie.
“Jimmie, I’ll be right back.” He nods my way. I take the back stairs up to the kitchen. “Hey, Manuel. How was it tonight?”
The cook thumbs-up and keeps moving around the counters, “Bueno. Estaba ocupado, Mr. Traeger.”
“Good man!” clapping him on the back as I leave the kitchen.
End of the night, the only area still serving is the bar. I see a waitress and call her over to me. “Hi, Mr. Traeger. Can I get you something to eat?”
“No, Melissa, thanks. But see that group of girls over there, just sitting down,” I nod towards Lucy and her friends as the hostess is directing them to a table. “Can you send over some of our appetizers...ya know, burgers, calamari, whatever, and chocolate cake? Get ‘em whatever they’d like on me.”
“Of course, Mr. Traeger.” I smile as I head back down to the bar for last call. Let’s see if she has good manners and stops by to say thank you.
….
Sitting at the bar while the crew works around me, enjoying the drink she tried to order...girl’s got taste. Brett hands me a torn piece of paper, “A blond left this for you.”
“Is she still here?” looking around at the stragglers as they are herded out of the now overly bright bar.
“No. But I told her she could come down to give it to you herself,” he adds quickly.
“All right. Brett, next time...don’t take my messages. Got it?” He nods and quickly walks away.
