“Oof. Not sure I’ll ever get used to that smell,” I muttered under my breath.
Or so I thought.
“Smells like tradition, memories, and some damn good times, doesn’t it?” Wilson piped up from behind the L-shaped wooden bar equipped with at least ten metal barstools.
My hand flung up to my chest. “Shit. Wilson, you scared me!”
Wilson Williams was basically an institution around town. He was old. I didn’t know how old, but I knew he was older than my parents. He and George were good buds, practically brothers, so I just assumed he was around the same age.
“Sorry, darlin’,” he said, standing to his feet. “Well, I’ll be damned. Scarlett Carson in the flesh. Didn’t know when we’d see you back in here, and now you’re a big-shot, working at theTribuneand don’t need us little folks anymore.” Thankfully, his face was saturated with sarcasm.
“Very funny. I’m happy to help you out whenever you need. The Wheel will always be my most favorite place to work, you know that.”
“I know. I just have to give you a little shit, that’s all.” He pulled the rag from his shoulder and started wiping down the bar top. “What can I do for ya?”
“I don’t know if Maggie told you or not, but—”
“I told him about your new gig but hadn’t seen him since we chatted. Sorry, the liquor delivery showed up right after we got off the phone.” Maggie’s voice filled the space behind Wilson.
“Whatcha gotta tell me?”
I plopped down on one of the squeaky barstools, the seat squishier than I remembered. “So, this job as a big-shot you speak of… Well, I have my first assignment…” I smirked. “Donna wants me to do a piece on the fiftieth anniversary of The Wheel. She’s hoping I can get it done and have it ready for print in about two weeks, that way it comes out right before the big hoorah.”
The lines on Wilson’s weathered face softened. “That’s really neat. I’m honored that Donna thinks this place deserves a spot in the paper, and even more honored that you’re the one writing it.”
“Are you kidding?I’mhonored. This place is legend at this point. I just hope I’m able to do it justice,” I said.
A flutter of nerves swam up my throat.
I’d been so excited about the assignment that I’d forgotten the nerves that came along with said assignment. I’d always been a writer. It was my thing. Sometimes poems. Sometimes lyrics. Sometimes articles. Sometimes just journal entries. But always something.
“You’ll do great, Scarlett. You know this place almost as well as I do. I couldn’t have picked a better person to share its history than you,” he said.
“Thanks, Wilson.”
His genuine demeanor and kind words settled my nervousness, at least momentarily.
“I’m gonna go do inventory. Scar, let me know if or when you need me.”
“Sounds good.”
Wilson chimed in, “Thanks, Magnolia. Let me know if you need help with anything.”
I swiveled my barstool in his direction.
“I’d love chat with you for a bit if you have some time? Ask a few questions. I’ll probably do some interviews with customers too, and then I was hoping to grab quotes from the staff, if that’s okay?”
“Have at it. I’ve got about thirty minutes now, but you know, I’m always around. As for everything else, you have my permission to do what you please. You just gotta promise me one thing…”
“And what’s that?” I smirked, placing my chin on the palm of my hand that rested on the bar top.
“I need you to make me look real pretty when you take my picture.”
“Ha. I can absolutely make sure you look as handsome in your picture as you do in real life,” I said.
“You’re gonna make this old man blush.” He chuckled as he stepped closer to where I was sitting. He reached his hand across the bar and placed it on mine, his callouses rough against my skin. “But in all seriousness, just promise me you’ll do this place justice.” He sighed, hugging our hands together. “This building isn’t just an old smelly bar that’s been here for half a century; it’s a lifeline. It’s the feeling of walking into a room and seeing it filled to the brim with people you love. It’s the feeling of coming in on a lonely night after a heartbreak and finding a friend in the bartender. It’s the feeling of losing someone near and dear to you and being able to relive your best memories with themby simply walking through the door. But most importantly, it’s knowing that no matter what you’re feeling, you’ve always got a seat at this bar.”
“Damn, Wilson. That was perfect,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze back. “I don’t even know if I need to ask you anything else after that. You flawlessly put into words everything this place is. You sure you don’t want to write this article?” I smiled.
