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But, as I took a closer look, the redneck party scene was diluted with the film crew. Expensive puffy coats and artsy haircuts gave them away.
“Henri!”
There were only a handful of Rapidians that knew my name. It wasn’t Jack, or Charlotte, or even grip extraordinaire Shawn – it was my new BFF Amelia.
“You made it.” Her cheeks were flushed and she was holding a pint of beer in her hand. She hooked her arm through mine and pointed across the room to where Harrison was standing with Bradley Stern. “Let’s go say hi to Harrison.”
I planted my feet and resisted her pull. “I’m going to get a drink first. Is there somewhere to check my coat?”
Amelia pointed to a chair in the corner. “You can put it over there.”
“Seriously?” The stack of coats teetered high above the table. I shrugged out of Jack’s coat, but couldn’t bring myself to leave it unattended. It seemed – wrong, and irresponsible. He’d been kind enough to literally give me the clothes off his back, I couldn’t just toss it into the corner. I looped the heavy coat over my arm.
“I’ll keep it with me.”
The bar had to be a million degrees and the windows that were above street level dripped with condensation. I unzipped my leather jacket for the first time that day and patted the inside pocket to make sure Jack’s weird key was still safely in my pocket. There were two bartenders, a trashy looking woman in an extremely low-cut top, years of sun damage had faded the tattoo on her chest; and a younger man in the same plaid flannel shirt I’d seen three times since I walked into the bar. The woman snapped her gum and then crossed her arms, pushing up her cleavage. I couldn’t help but try to decipher the letters inside the faded heart tattoo on her breast, MILF. “Are you going to order or just stand there and look like an idiot?” She didn’t hide her eye roll.
I was so startled; I actually took a step back. The bartender put her hands on the bar and then gestured for the man behind me to come ahead of me. He smelled like body odor and whiskey, and it made sense, because that’s what he ordered – a double, with a splash of coke.
Rude waitstaff were not new to me, but after the fairy tale day that I’d had, the MILF behind the bar’s attitude had caught me off guard. It brought me back down to earth and made me remember who I was, a hard-hitting cynical journalist who grew up around people just like Mrs. MILF.
“Make that two.” I held up my fingers and stepped to the bar, squaring my shoulders with authority. The man in front of me turned and smiled, he was weaving on his feet and when he smiled he was missing at least three teeth. “Let me get yours, sir.”
“Sir?” The man’s glazed eyes glanced around the room until he realized I was talking to him. “Mary.” He knew the bartender by name. “Don’t you dare let this pretty lady pay for my drink – put it on my tab.”
“It’s alright.” I smiled.
“No. It’s not.” He put his hands on his hips. “Maybe where you’re from it’s fine and dandy for a man to be rude. But, not here. You keep your money and enjoy your drink.”
The drink that Mary had poured for me sloshed dangerously in the glass as he handed it to me. I was ready for the next pickup line, but he tipped his un-ironic trucker hat and stepped around me. “Have a nice night Miss. Watch out for those movie people. Trouble.” He muttered the last word and wove into the crowd.
Mary leaned on the bar and beckoned for me to lean in with her index finger. I could smell her hairspray and cinnamon gum. “That’s Ralph. He’s harmless, and a little old-fashioned. Don’t pay him any mind.”
“Old fashioned, or sexist?” I raised my eyebrows.
“A little bit of both I guess,” Mary shrugged.
I slid a twenty across the bar. “How about you put this on his tab, but don’t tell him.” I was doing it more for Susan than for Ralph. A bartender like her could definitely give me some salacious stuff for my story.
“Sure honey.” Mary picked up the twenty and tucked it into her bra, just below her tattoo. “But remember, there’s nothing wrong with a man opening a door for you from time to time.” It seemed like odd advice coming from a woman who blatantly advertised that she was into younger men.
Knowing that I was going to come back and try to sweet talk Mary into giving me an interview, I thrust my hand across the bar. “I’m Henri.”
“Hi Henri,” her hand was strong as she shook mine. “I’m Mary. Mary Irene Fisher.”
“Ohhh.” I wished that the surprised realization hadn’t come out verbally. I was willing to bet that there was another middle name in there starting with an L. “It’s nice to meet you Mary Irene Fisher.” I felt like an asshole.
“Are you here with the film crew? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
For some reason, I didn’t want to lie to Mary. “No. Well, not really. I’m a writer.”
The bartender raised her eyebrows. Was everyone in this town suspicious of writers? “Oh yeah, what are you writing about?”
I took a sip of my drink, the whiskey was definitely not top shelf and made me cough. I pounded at my chest with my fist. Mary had an entertained look on her face. “Yeah, it’s not very good.” She laughed.
“No kidding.”
Mary took the glass from my hand and dumped the drink down the sink. She took a bottle from the top shelf, poured me a glass over ice. “On the house.”
