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The Bartender

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comedy
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Blurb

An unlikely friendship between two strangers at a bar.

Architect Veronica meets ex-Divorce Lawyer Judah turned Bartender at her favourite local bar in Seattle.

She was a woman whose looking for love and a change of scenery even though she doesn’t want to admit it and he's an arrogant man who thinks relationships were a complete waste of time after having to prepare his own divorce documents just after two years of what he was told, a blissful marriage.

But when Veronica's sister and brother-in-law dies in a plane crash, she was now the legal parent of her 3-year old niece. Exchanging whiskey with milk bottles was something they both never had imagined doing this early but well, there they are.

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"People often have an idea of you based off of their own realities and their own beliefs"- Jay A. ** It was raining the second I planted a foot outside my fancy office building, the building I helped design and watched Engineers cement it brick by brick. DC's foul weather I swear. They say an Architect’s design was an Engineers’ nightmare. They were right.  The magnificent concrete was at least seventy stories high and I was not about to calculate the height and width for you—I’ve done enough of that today. My brain was seconds away from being a spitfire if I uttered another technical aspect of my job. A late evening on a Monday calls for a drink at the usual bar that I frequent. Yes, contrary to popular but sexist beliefs, women can drink in bars and not be labeled as a drunk on a weekday. Besides, I didn’t have a kid, I don’t have debts I need to worry about (I raked in hundreds of thousands monthly) and I’m not committed to anyone. Despite all that, I f*****g hated my job.  The fancy pinstripe suits, the obnoxious wine parties, the pretentious charity balls that were tasked to squeeze the fellow upper class’ pockets, the exploitation of workers who built your s**t for you and then underpay them. Yes you heard me right. But hey, don’t judge me too harshly just yet. You read it right, I do rake in a truckload by the months, I have the fastest cars the world has to offer and I sometimes eat caviar for breakfast but I absolutely hated my job. Don’t ask me why, it’s a Monday so let me just get a drink before I go on ranting how my obnoxious  job with a fat bank account has sucked the life out of me.  Rattles of bells rang as I pushed the door open, scanning the surrounding around me. The same stale alcoholic scent wafted in the air, the same flickering bulb that was always going on and coming back on minutes later was changed out, even the stools by the bar seemed polished and brand new. It was like the interior was baptized with this thing called ‘good taste’. Someone even changed out the bartender. Did I perhaps walk into the right bar? I stepped outside again, my neck craning to see the sign above the door post, my 3-inch stilettos groaning at my weight as I did. But before I could double check, a voice pulled me back in. “Yes you’re in the right place. Except I’m not Barney.” “Where is Barney?” I asked the new Bartender I now had a clear, good look at. Trust me, most Bartenders don’t look as good as they portray in those sappy rom-coms but this one however had piercing blue eyes that made my panties soak the second I sat down. His hair was unruly as if he was just fresh out of a s*x spree and he wore a white dress shirt where the top button lay lifeless on his shirt with his sleeves rolled up, exposing his tanned, strong arms that veined when he lifted something.  “Barney’s dead and I bought over this place last night.” He said. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Barney? Dead?” I repeated. “I believe that’s what I said. Didn’t his weight problems and recurring asthma show signs of an early retirement?” “So…he’s not actually dead?” I raised a confused brow, dumping my Balenciaga on the chair next to me—it was gifted, I didn’t actually go to the store to get myself a pouch that could carry only my keys and pen. “Last I checked, he wasn’t breathing anymore. But good news, he was still smiling when we buried him…with an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels in his arm.” “Jesus.” My fingers rubbed my temples.  “So, what’s your name?” “Who wants to know?” he polished a glass with a white towel and flipped the vessel over with a smooth chuck, his chin nodding towards the array of alcohol and spirits on the glass shelves of the bar. “What do you fancy this evening?” “s*x on the beach.” I said flatly, not appreciating that he had completely ignored my attempt at common courtesy. “Wouldn’t you like that?” he mused. “Excuse me?” my jaw went slightly south, completely taken aback. He raised a brow and smirk as if I had just given him the permission to do something completely uncalled for, outrageous even.  “You look like you were left out to dry, grouchy even with that frown you had the second you stepped in here. You can’t be bothered to use a proper handbag, I’d say it's gifted maybe considering you just chucked it like that—I’m guessing you only have a pen and your keys in there. Your slight limp is indicating your heels are probably killing you. Your stray wisps from that messy low bun screams that you don’t care and you’re not wearing lipstick despite that fancy white suit. Can’t be the rain, is it?” He said in the most straight-forward, nonchalantly voice he could possibly muster. “Oh? Last I checked I’ve not asked for a deduction from you—especially on a Monday evening after a long day of staring into the computer screens and dealing with egotistical t***s very much like yourself.” I said, looking affronted.  “Exactly, on a Monday evening. You being in here on such a day tells me you hate your job and you rather flip the finger in your boss’s face and tell him you want to quit.” He said in a sepulchral tone.  How the hell was he able to tell all from just a handbag and a mild limp? “Like I said, I never asked for it so thanks but no thanks for the small talk.” I pressed my lips into a flat line, my fingers gingerly balling into a fist on my thigh. “And you don’t have to take my word for it, like you said—it was just a random deduction I’d like to offer my once in a while to my clie...customers.” He shrugged carelessly even though he had just corrected himself. Clients? Was that what he wanted to say?  “Today is literally your first day on the job.” I frowned theatrically. He smiled but said no more. “Don’t take it upon yourself to throw me a welcome party.” He smiled and I rolled my eyes. I watched him in silence as he mixed a concoction of cranberry and orange juice, vodka with peach schnapps and expertly shaking the shaker, pouring the sunset shade of liquid into a tumbler glass. Slipping a little cork coaster towards me, he placed the drink on top of it. “Your drink, Miss.” He said unfeelingly and went back to busying himself with polishing the other empty glasses. The bar was quiet, only a handful of other men sat in the corner, already drunk and were muttering under their breaths with cheap cigarettes clutched loosely in between their fingers sipping on a rookie drink. I figured they’d rather be away from their demanding wives and crying kids for all the toys they want but couldn’t afford. I shuddered at the mere thought of that.  “Thanks.” I muttered, stirring the obnoxiously thin straw that I’m guessing was specifically curated for fast drinkers like me—the ones who rather gulp not savor. “Was Barney your Uncle or something?” I asked, after feeling a little restless. The question popped out so casually I didn’t even stop myself. “Thought you didn’t like small talk?” he countered. I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him. But I desperately wanted to know where the real owner of the bar was. He was such a sweet bubbly guy who gave me drinks on the house, sometimes even experimenting new concoctions on his own that made me throw up till dawn—I still had to go to work the next day feeling like I was treading on air like f*****g Superman with ballet flats.  “I just want to know. He was my friend.” “You were friends with my Uncle?” “Now that you mention it, you quite have the family resemblance. Maybe in a year or two, you’ll start to bald just like him.” I grinned, finally getting back at him for being such a prick earlier. “I take it you have a thing for bald men don’t you? Are you perhaps the Step-Aunt that I didn’t know about?” he was quick to answer albeit his facial expressions were neutral. “Nah, I don’t do relationships, especially not with my favorite bartender. I may love his drinks but not enough to hear him recite his concoctions in his sleep.” “You women say that. You act all indifferent to the man you first meet—maybe even play hard to get and eventually one too many dates and frivolous s*x, boom you chain him down with expressing your deepest desires and emotions for him. He makes you empty promises about loving you, put a ring on it and then one day your s*x life gets boring and you start to reminisce about that time where you said I-don’t-do-relationships and then you end it. To keep it short, it’s a complete waste of time.” He said it all in one breath, still polishing his glasses languidly. I leaned forward against the table where my elbows were planted despite feeling slightly irritated at his once again uncalled deduction; I can’t help but tick him off further, “Oh Ross, who hurt you?” I said quietly.  “What makes you think it was I the one who got hurt?” he ignored the random name i had just given him with ease. “Fair enough, but you seem to speak out of experience so I daresay you may have gone through all the redundancy of a relationship. It’s no wonder you’re so bitter whilst polishing expensive crystal glasses behind an oak wood counter.” He mimicked my action, dropping the glass and towel on each side of my arm. “Sweetheart, I assure you I’m not a bitter man. Because unlike someone, I don’t come in here telling strangers about my sob life story.” I leaned back and sat upright, squaring my shoulders. “I don’t recall doing such a thing.”  Although I hate to admit it, that’s what I used to do when Barney was around. Did he rat out on me goddammit? “You don’t have to; I could see it all from your face. You getting agitated not too long ago just confirmed that I was right about you.” My drink was still untouched but I was already feeling all sorts of emotions swirling within me, at the back of my brain, at the pit of my stomach, maybe slightly south. I was angry, impressed, repulsed but mostly impressed as to how a stranger could tell so much about me with just one look. Not even the palm readers could tell you so much about your hidden agenda and your deepest desires and calloused thoughts of occasional misery and life.  “I find you to be rather pompous and repulsive, is that how you were taught to treat your customers?” “I never asked to be liked. Seeing that I run this place, I can choose to behave however I like. I say you’re maybe taking this a little too personally, ease up and enjoy your drink, sweetheart.” “And why the hell should I? After you had just pulled a stunt of being a completely egotistical, impertinent man?” I snarled. “Because Ronnie, it’s a Monday.”

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