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“You ready for this?” I ask Tillie.
She tucks her thumbs in her skirt pockets. “Absolutely. Prepare to get your butt kicked.”
This riles up the tourists.
“Whoa, ho, we’ve got some trash talk going on!” A man in a panama hat lifts his pint glass. “Who’s got more experience?”
Morrie sees the attention is on the bar and hustles over with his microphone. “It seems we have a few prebrawl questions. Tell us your name, sir.” He aims the mike at the man.
“James.”
“And where are you from?”
“Ohio.”
“Well, James from Ohio, what’s your question for our competitors?”
James glances side to side, his cheeks reddening now that he has the spotlight. “I asked who had more experience.”
Morrie spins around, his belly a split second behind the rest of him. He aims the microphone at me. “We’ll talk first to our La Jarra local, Gabe Landers. Gabe, how long have you mixed drinks?”
I lean in. “Since I was nineteen.”
Morrie tilts the microphone back toward his face. “For those of you who aren’t from this great island, the legal drinking age is eighteen. Gabe might have an edge on our American. How old are you, Gabe?”
I glance briefly at Tillie, who stands a couple of feet away, arms crossed over her red shirt. “Twenty-eight.”
“You heard it right here, folks! Our local drinkslinger, Gabe, has been serving up cocktails for nine long years! Let’s hear from our golden girl, Tillie!” He moves along the line of tourists to get closer to her and squeezes between two young blonde women. “Tillie, tell us about yourself.”
I think she might be shy, but she surprises me as she takes the wireless mike from Morrie and walks the counter as she talks. “I’m Tillie James. I grew up in Alabama, but now I live in Atlanta, Georgia.”
I spot Chuck turning to Anya in surprise, but she just nods.
Tillie pauses in front of the blonde women. “Gabe here is five years older than me, and the legal drinking age in the US is twenty-one.” She hangs her head and the crowd lets out a long “Awwwww.”
She snaps her head up. “However, where there is hardship, there is innovation. I got my first fake ID at age sixteen and started working as a cocktail waitress!”
A great cheer goes up. “So I have seven years of experience.” She passes the mike back to Morrie.
“Both of our contenders have solid experience,” Morrie says. “But what are our heroes’ specialties?” He moves closer to me.
I take a page from Tillie’s playbook and hold the mike myself. “On this beautiful island, I make the most colorful, perfect cocktails!”
“And we love them,” a woman shouts. I turn and spot the flower-hat woman from last night.
Her pronouncement is echoed by several tourists who must have been previous customers. I don’t pay much attention to the details of the vacationers who temporarily land in my space, but they seem familiar.
Tillie takes the mike. “And for those of you who like more liquor than sugar water ...” She pauses for the crowd to react with cheers and boos. “I focus on delicious flavors that harmonize like a perfect melody.” She makes a deep bow and the crowd cheers.
One of the blonde women extracts a marker from her beach bag and writesTEAMTILLIEacross her friend’s bikini-clad chest. Then her friend does the same for her.
This fires up the crowd, and the marker is passed around.TEAMTILLIEandTEAMGABEappear on chests and foreheads and knuckles.
Morrie takes the mike. “Look at you, lining up for your favorite bartender. Let’s hear it for Team Gabe and La Jarra Island!” A huge cheer rises, and more curious beachcombers start to walk up from the water’s edge.
“And now Team Tillie!” Tillie runs along the circle, holding out her hand for high fives from the crowd. Her cheer is significantly louder than mine.
Good. This is great. Lots of energy. It’s going to be an epic night.
