Rum & Ginger (2 page)

“What about Mike’s place?” he asked. Mike’s bar, the Bill and Vinny, was named after Mike’s two heroes, Shakespeare and Van Gogh. Mike tried to promote some kind of culture at the bar. He held open-mic nights, poetry readings, and once a month he transformed the bar into a gallery and featured a local artist. It attracted the right kind of college kids and the more palatable citizens of Liamsport.

“Eh.” Lena shrugged. “That’s fine. At least Mike has a pool table.” She unlocked her car door. “Meet you there.” Ben waved as she slid into the driver’s seat. He pressed the button on his key fob, unlocking his silver Prius, and slid behind the wheel. Ben checked his rearview mirror as he turned the key. The Cure picked up where they’d left off when he’d arrived at work, in the middle of “Friday I’m in Love.” He saw Murphy crush out his cigarette and tip a nod. Ben nodded back and pulled out of the parking lot onto the street.

B
EN
DROVE
into the municipal lot a few blocks from the Bill and Vinny. He didn’t plan on drinking that much, but a few blocks walk to clear his head couldn’t hurt at the end of the night. Ben turned the key, cutting Robert Smith off midlament. He looked at his phone before he opened the door. He should text Chance.
What I should really do is invite him along
, Ben thought. He wouldn’t come. Ben knew it. Chance rarely wanted to go out, and when he did, it was usually to the theater or a movie. Ben shrugged. Maybe tonight would be different.

Heading 2 the B&V w/ Lena. Wanna join?
Ben typed and sent. He waited to see if Chance would reply. Sometimes Ben wondered why Chance even had a phone based on the frequency of his responses. Ben was about to open the door when his phone vibrated.

In the middle of a session.
Ben read Chance’s message. A session meant Chance was on his computer, writing fan fiction with some of his Internet buddies. They took turns pretending they were fictional characters. Ben wondered if it was the Harry Potter group or the Avengers nerds.

If u get done b4 I get home, offer stands
, Ben answered.

Thanks. Have fun. I won’t wait up.

K.
Ben flipped his phone shut, not surprised. He shook his head and stepped out of the car. He pressed the lock button as he walked away, noticing Lena’s VW three spaces from his own. Ben always felt a little guilty having fun without Chance.
But why should I?
Ben thought.
I’m an adult. And it’s only a couple of drinks.
He tried to shake off his ill mood as he approached the bar, looking up at the sign and smiling. The bar looked like any of a dozen bars downtown but for the sign. Mike had chosen the classic woodcut picture of William Shakespeare and the famous Van Gogh self-portrait and had them painted to look like they were arm in arm and raising pints. It was too hilarious.

As Ben pulled open the door, a gust of smoky, warm air rushed out to meet him, carrying with it the sounds of a busy bar, music, laughter, and conversation. The one drawback to Mike’s, in Ben’s opinion, was the thick haze of smoke that lingered constantly within. Mike didn’t serve food, so the B&V remained one of a handful of bars where people could still smoke inside.

Ben couldn’t believe the B&V was this busy on a Tuesday. The bar was packed. He stood at the door and scanned the room for Lena. “ID?” the guy at the door asked. Ben thought his name was Curt. Ben dug out his wallet and handed the bouncer his driver’s license with a little satisfaction. Ben was closing in on thirty and relished those times when others couldn’t tell. “Thanks,” the guy said and returned Ben’s ID. “Have a good one.”

Ben nodded and smiled. “I’ll try,” he answered. Then he waded into the sea of bodies gathered here and there in groups, talking, drinking. He still couldn’t see Lena. Although he did see a disproportionate amount of young hotties. And they looked strangely enough like jocks. The B&V wasn’t a sports bar. Ben wondered what had drawn these guys to this bar. A round of cheers erupted. Ben looked over to see Lena sitting on two beefcakes’ shoulders.

“Ben!” she shouted, waving him over. “Ben-Ben! Get over here! Put me down, boys.” She patted her supporters, and they lowered her to the floor. Lena threw her arm around Ben’s shoulders.

“What’s up, Lena?” Ben asked, returning the embrace. Judging by the way his friend leaned on him, she’d already had more than a few drinks.

“Look at all these little beauties,” she almost slurred, guiding him to the bar. “Get me a vodka and tonic. I have to pee.”

“Delightful,” Ben said with a theatrical grimace. “Just go.” He waved her off as she stuck her tongue out. He grinned at his friend as he pulled a few bills from his pocket and turned back to the bar. Everybody knew orders were taken faster if you showed cash. Ben rested his elbows on the edge of the counter.

He discreetly scanned the room, surveying the massive amount of eye candy. The ratio of men to women was seriously skewed and the pool table busier than he’d seen it in a while, crowded with young men. “Getcha somethin’?” Ben turned toward the voice behind the bar. His gaze fell on a bartender he didn’t recognize, and Ben’s voice stuck in his throat. The bartender was a vision: lean, tall, with a jaunty fauxhawk of dark hair fading to red at the tips. The young man had beautiful caramel-brown eyes beneath mischievously arched brows. His lips were full, and his mouth quirked in the perfect grin. He was exactly the opposite of Ben’s basically clean-cut style.

“I, uh. My friend,” Ben stuttered. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the heat he felt on his cheeks to go away. “Vodka tonic for my friend,” he finally managed.

“Anything for you?” the pretty bartender asked. He’d already grabbed a highball glass and placed it on the bar. As he dropped ice into the glass, Ben noticed his arms were covered in tattoos, accentuated by a sleeveless dress shirt.

“Rum and ginger ale,” Ben said without thinking.

“Right.” The bartender smiled and nodded, pouring vodka with one hand and retrieving another highball glass with the other. Ben thought the man’s easy movements were like poetry. Glass, ice, pour, and a spray of soda, both hands working independently. “That’ll be six,” the bartender said, dropping black stirrers into the drinks and passing them across. Ben handed over two fives and the bartender turned to the register. Ben took advantage, checking out the view the bartender’s skinny jeans offered. Ben averted his eyes quickly when the bartender turned. “Four’s your change.” Ben accepted the bills and laid two on the bar. “Thanks.” The bartender flashed a smile. Ben returned a smile of his own before sipping from the stirrer like a straw in a decidedly unmasculine gesture.

“What are you doing?” Lena asked as she grabbed her drink from the bar. “You look like a little kid.” She took a long sip from her glass, ignoring her stirrer as Ben released his tiny straw, feeling self-conscious.

“What’s with all the hot boys?” Ben asked, his voice raised to combat the new round of music from the jukebox.

“Mike’s brother just turned twenty-one.” Lena took another sip of her drink, smiling at a much younger man across the pool table.

“So what?” Ben said as he tipped his glass to his mouth, attempting a more mature manner of sipping but poking himself just below the eye with the stirrer. He plucked the thing from his drink and threw it in an ashtray on the bar.

“So these are Chuck’s frat brothers, past and present,” Lena explained.

“I didn’t even know Mike had a younger brother.” Ben smoothly sipped his drink at last.

“Charlie’s my parents’ last hope,” Mike said, having overheard the conversation.

“Hey, Mike,” Ben shouted, offering his hand.

Mike shook it. “Hey, Ben. Good to see you out for a change. Where’s Chance?”

Ben shrugged. “Happy at home,” he answered.

“Maybe he’s the smart one,” Mike said, turning to Lena and pecking her cheek. “Hey, girl, what’s up?”

She returned the kiss. “So you’re the artsy one and your brother’s the jock?”

“Family shit. You know how it is.” Mike shrugged. “But he’s my brother. If he’s going to get shitfaced somewhere, it might as well be where I can keep an eye on him.”

“You’re a good brother, Mikey.” Ben patted the owner on the shoulder.

“And these boys are smokin’ hot,” Lena added. “Luckily they’re all legal.” They all laughed.

“Well, have fun, guys,” Mike said and drifted off to monitor his bar.

“Wanna dance?” Lena asked.

“There’s no dance floor,” Ben replied. Lena handed him her empty glass, smirked, and retreated to the jukebox. He finished his drink and turned with the empty glasses, placing them on the bar. Before he could reach into his pocket, the new bartender dashed over.

“Need another?” the tattooed man asked.

“Two.” Ben held up his fingers.

“Vodka tonic. Rum and ginger ale.”

“Good memory,” Ben replied. The bartender swept the empties away and poured new drinks. “My name’s Ben.”

The bartender paused, then wiped his hand, and offered it to Ben. “Brodie.”

Ben shook his hand. “Brodie. That’s cool.”

“Nickname.” Brodie shrugged as he mixed the drinks.

“How long have you worked here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“This is my second week,” Brodie answered. He placed Ben’s drinks on the counter, slipping a stirrer into each. He slid them to Ben, but before Ben could grab them, Brodie snatched the stirrer from the rum and ginger ale and discarded it. “Too dangerous,” Brodie stated with a smirk that Ben found a little too sexy.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, dropping eight dollars on the bar and retreating to the jukebox and Lena. He handed her the vodka tonic.

“He’s cute,” she stated without looking away from the screen.

“Hmm?” Ben tried to sound disinterested.

“The bartender. The new one.” Her fingers skipped over the screen, choosing “Moves Like Jagger.”

“Brodie,” Ben said absently.

“Brodie, is it?” Lena mocked. “Ben Juan DeMarco.”

“Knock it off,” Ben replied. The sounds of Maroon 5 filled the bar. Lena moved to the rhythm, and so did Ben despite himself. He wished their stupid town had a dance club. Lena and Ben were the only ones moving to the music, but they didn’t care. It felt good to just dance. Lena rubbed up against him, but he was used to it. It didn’t turn him on, but it was oddly comforting to have the contact of another human being. He wasn’t hot for Lena, but he did love her in a way. She grabbed his hip, and their movements fell into rhythm. Chance would never dance like this with him. He remembered so many times trying to get Chance to give in, to let go. Dancing here wasn’t the same as dancing in an actual club, though, with everyone swept along by the music and the tempo. He sipped his drink and spared a glance at Brodie, the new bartender, moving fluidly, pouring drinks, and serving patrons. Mike’s brother’s frat brothers milled around, oblivious to the beat.

Brodie started to weave, gyrating his hips to the music, and Ben felt his body start to react.
Shit
, he thought. This could get really awkward in too many ways. He didn’t want Lena to accidentally rub up against him. “I have to hit the bathroom,” he stated, moving away from her. She raised a hand but didn’t stop dancing. Ben’s vacancy was quickly filled by a drunken young man in a tight red polo. Thankful for the unintentional distraction, Ben slipped into the bathroom.

He downed the rest of his drink and placed the glass on the counter near the sinks. Ben had to give Mike credit; he sure kept a clean bathroom. It felt about twenty degrees cooler in the light-blue tiled room, and the noise of the frat boys and the jukebox were muffled. Ben took a deep breath and moved into a stall. His thoughts drifted to the lean young man behind the bar as he tried to relax and urinate. Ben shook his head, feeling wrong thinking about a man other than Chance while he stood there holding himself. The door to the bathroom opened, and even if Ben had to go, he couldn’t; not with someone else in the bathroom. He never could. He flushed the toilet anyway, not wanting to rouse suspicion about his presence in the stall, and pushed open the metal door.

He washed his hands and dried them before he retrieved his glass. His hand pressed against the exit when someone spoke behind him. “Ben? Ben fucking Silver?” Ben turned to see a man with a pronounced paunch and the beginnings of a spectacularly receding hairline. “The fucking Silver Bullet! Holy shit!” The man finished zipping his pants and barreled toward Ben, offering his hand. Ben glanced at the unwashed appendage, and the man must have realized his party foul, turning to the sink and running water over his hands. “What the fuck have you been up to, Benny?”

Benny?
Ben thought.
Silver Bullet?
That’s what his friends on the track team had called him in high school. The man finished up and turned back, arms spread. Ben studied the thinning blond hair, the bright blue eyes, and the network of wrinkles growing around them. “Oh my God, Derek? Derek Collins?” Ben couldn’t believe this was the man who had been the star athlete of Liamsport Area High School.

“What the fuck, man? You don’t recognize me? It hasn’t been that long, asshole.” Derek embraced Ben, and he returned the gesture.

“No. No. I’m just surprised. I haven’t seen you in here before,” Ben answered, hoping he sounded convincing. He felt strange hugging someone in a bathroom in a bar, not to mention a man he hadn’t seen in nearly a decade and wasn’t really friends with in the first place.

“I don’t usually hang out here,” Derek admitted, looking in the mirror and running his fingers through his remaining hair. “Gotta support a frat brother, though. Am I right?”

“Mike’s brother?”

“Yeah. Come on.” Derek opened the bathroom door. “Let me buy you a drink.” He exited into the bar. Ben looked at his empty glass and wasn’t sure he wanted anything to do with Derek. He’d always been such a douche in school. Ben shrugged. They were both adults now, and Ben hadn’t been the greatest person when he’d been a teenager. Maybe everyone deserved to be given a second chance after the douchery of their adolescence. Ben slipped through the doorway in Derek’s wake.