“It looked like someone was trying to get a tip,” I mutter, but that just sends Manny laughing harder. My face burns hotter than any burning building I’ve ever been caught in as I realize I’m still holding his hand. I let go, crossing my arms in a pout before finally relenting. “Fine! Then what did you do last night?”
His face settles into a soft smile, half obscured by his rich black beard, as his eyes settle back on me. “You wanna know?”
Suddenly, I’m even more flustered, as if it were even possible, to the point I can only manage a curt nod.
He finishes sliding the drink to me before ignoring a waiting customer's request for a beer. “You really wanna know?”
My lips purse into a straight line as he milks the moment for all its worth.
“Hey buddy, can I get a Heineken or what?” says some college kid from over my shoulder.
Manny’s face twists, as if he’s just been slapped, his eyes darting to the man behind me. “Patience, buddy, can’t you see I’m talking to the pretty lady?”
He waves the guy to the other end of the bar before his eyes settle back on me, this time with a piercing intensity that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the entire room.
“I went home.” He says it so plainly, I think it must be a joke. “I cleaned up, went home, and took a shower.”
“That’s it? You made me wait for that?”
His face cracks into a mischievous grin. “Well, there was one other thing.”
Now I get ready for the other shoe to drop.
“After I showered, I laid in bed trying to will back time so I could have a few more minutes with this sexy Frankenstein I met.”
The irate customer finally pops our bubble, and Manny shuffles away, leaving me with those words, those two words, the ones I had hung onto last night like they were a prayer. Something in me loosens, my shoulders relaxing, as if I’ve had this guy entirely wrong from the start. But then I remember he’s still a bartender, and I’m still a customer, and as he said, he just wanted a big tip.
My frustration finally makes me tuck into my Manhattan, expecting little more than cool satisfaction. Instead, Icollide with a wall of smooth vermouth, warming whiskey, and herbal bitters all balanced as if on a refreshing knife's edge. Even more than that cigarette, the drink is a tidal wave of relaxation washing through my every cell. Without thinking, I take another sip as if I’m breathing for the first time all day. I almost want to weep, knowing this might be the best Manhattan I’ve ever had in my long life, and this is the only place I’ll ever have it.
“Well?” Manny’s interruption stirs me from my reverie in a panic.
“Well, what?”
“How did I do?” His face wears a deep, satisfied grin, already noticing the pleasure on mine. “I promise, no other bartender touched it.”
“It’s… great… Really great.”
“Why so sad?”
“Because I’m supposed to be mad at you.”
His frown is so warm and innocent that it makes my heart melt. “Is this because of what I said? Because I’m really sorry. I swear, we get all sorts of creatures and cryptids in here. I should have been more sensitive.”
“It’s not that,” I huff. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how foolish I must sound. I can’t even finish expressing that I’m dealing with being cheated on, and I refuse to let him manipulate me, too. I’m frozen in the moment, exhaustion, confusion, and too much alcohol pressing down on me. The room begins to spin, andI almost lose my balance until a sharp clank nearby snaps me back to reality.
“Maybe we get you some water?” Manny nods towards the pint glass full of water as his kind smile masks a look of concern. He pretends to look away, as if there is anything in this bar better to look at than me, and says, “You know, I am glad you came back. I wasn’t lying about my evening.”
His flirtation warms me, makes me feel seen in a way I so desperately wanted to be, but I can’t stop thinking about last night, about tips. “What do I owe you?”
“On the house.” He doesn’t hesitate, almost cuts me off. “And if there’s anything else you want, that’s on me too.”
Before I can say anything, he scurries away, actually scurries, tending to something with urgency, both of us knowing full well it isn’t remotely urgent. I sit there, taking in the scenery, drinking alternating sips of water and Manhattan, at a loss for how to think of the bartender I had so gleefully made a villain of before walking in here.
A few more folks shuffle in and out, a couple of coeds, a loose gaggle containing a werewolf, and I think a swamp thing. Yet the whole time, Manny is the only thing I see in my mind.
“Want anything else?” Manny’s voice breaks my trance as he comes to check on me.
“What’s your deal?”
