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The music was coming from a bar on the corner called Rudy’s. Charlie rubbed his temples, thinking that a Dark and Stormy might do him good. Out in front of the bar, two older men smoked cigars and gossiped with one another, their cheeks bright red from cold.
“Hi there,” one of them said as Charlie approached. “You aren’t from around here.”
Charlie stopped short and grimaced into a smile. “I’m not, no.”
The men smiled at him curiously. It seemed they had nothing better to do than smoke cigars on the front patio of a dive bar, waiting for strangers to pass by. Perhaps they’d been doing that for thirty-plus years.
“Where you from?” the other guy asked.
“I was born in Chicago.”
“Chicago! The Windy City!” They smiled wider as the one on the right asked, “And what brings you here? You got family here?”
Charlie wanted to tell the men to mind their own business— but he knew that gossip traveled quickly in a town like this, and he didn’t want any trouble with the locals. As soon as his dread went away, he wanted to return to the cabin, read his books, eat his sandwiches, and enjoy his solitude.
“I’m up the road in a cabin,” Charlie said. “I wanted to get away from the city for a while.”
“The Marshall Cabin?”
“Yes,” Charlie said, remembering the sign that hung out front.
“You’re all on your own out there?” the other asked, his lips parted.
“I prefer it that way,” Charlie assured them, rubbing his palms together. Somehow, in pretending to be kind to them when he didn’t want to, a surge of goodwill toward the men came over him. It was the same as faking it till he made it, he supposed. “I’ll see you in there?”
Charlie entered the warmth of the bar, which had a square-shaped counter in the center and fifteen or so wooden tables scattered throughout. Hanging above the bar were silent televisions showing sporting events as well as a local spelling bee. Christmas lights were strung throughout, and a Christmas tree glowed in the corner, its star brighter than the Empire State Building.
“Evening!” The bartender behind the counter planted a large beer in front of a local who sat at the counter and stared at the spelling bee.
“Hey.” Charlie felt all twenty pairs of eyes in the bar turn toward him and size him up. His head still throbbing from his strange day, he forced himself to the bar, sat down, and said, “Can I get a Dark and Stormy?”
The bartender’s eyes glinted with intrigue. “Now that’s a drink people around here don’t order so often.”
Charlie felt as though he had a target on his back. Everywhere he went, he was seen as this swanky city man, which couldn’t have been further from how he really felt. In his heart and soul, he was still that Chicago kid who’d come from nothing, whose mother had sung opera in the shower, nursing her broken heart after her failed career.
“Here you are.” The bartender placed the drink in front of him and then leaned against the counter, his eyes on the inky sky outside.
Charlie took a small sip of his drink, expecting it to be subpar. After all, he was in a dive bar in the middle of nowhere— nothing compared to the five-star bars he frequented back in Manhattan. But the ginger beer, dark rum, and lime came together in a perfect balance. Had Baxter Bailey been there, he would have called the drink “exquisite.”
“Wow,” Charlie said before he could stop himself. “This is really good.”
The bartender brightened. “You think? I haven’t made one in years.”
Charlie was charmed by the bartender’s surprise. “I’ve had thousands of these over the years. This must be the best one.”
The bartender’s smile widened. “I should record you saying that. I want to show off to my friends later.” The bartender stood up straight and extended his hand. “My name is Rudy, by the way.”
Charlie remembered that the bar itself was named Rudy’s. “I’m Charlie,” he said. Already, he found that the pressure on his chest had loosened, and his lungs were filling with air. He took another sip of his cocktail, noting that Rudy continued to look at him curiously.
“You’re not from around here,” Rudy said. “Not that it’s any of my business.”
“I’m not,” Charlie said. “I grew up in Chicago, but I live in Manhattan.”
“And what brings you out here?”
Charlie raised his shoulders. How could he translate the current horrors of his life to a bartender in a small town?
“I’m being nosy,” Rudy said with a laugh. “Just ignore me.”
