CHAPTER FIVE
Last call in the Crow's Nest was, Valentina supposed, pretty much like closing time in any bar, anywhere. There were regular features that could be counted on, regardless the night of the week or the size of the crowd earlier in the evening. Immutable laws that endured independent of the small details of one evening opposed to the next. It was a routine and, as such, there were steps to be followed; an ordered sequence of events that needed to happen. Glasses to be collected from table tops' already awash in spilled beer and puddled water from condensation on highball glasses, long after the ice had rolled over, prepared to rejoin the ocean. The musky bar linen would have to be collected in the cloth hamper back behind the bar, where it would steep and stink until the driver stopped in to collect it, midday tomorrow.
Just so, and with all the same surprise and charm, the guy trying to put his hand on Valentina's butt while she cleaned the mess up around his elbows was a fixture. He would be slurring the same stupid lines, cute or disgusting to varying degrees, promising the standard pleasures and respect that only a drunk can feel for a person they haven't had yet. It might not always be the same guy sitting here tonight but it would always be someone. It always was.
She was young but her experience already predicted it, preparing her for him.
"You're beautiful, you know. You make me think...,", the drunk said, stumbling for what it was she might make him think about.
"We've got to close. Drink up, please."
"...of an angel! A pretty little angel."
"An angel, huh?", she asked.
The drunk nodded, awkwardly pleased at his progress.
"Yup! A tiny angel," he continued, "with a tight little butt."
The bartender started around the end of the bar, prepared to grab him up by his collar and pitch him out the front door but Valentina stopped him, shaking her head and lifting a hand to stay him.
"Wrong thing..." she was saying when he interrupted her.
"I'm not just...I know what you're going to say, I hear it all the time, but I am not just saying this because I'm drunk."
He put so much emphasis on the final word it sounded more a social position than a physical condition. He might have been telling somebody he wasn't just patting them down because he was a DEA agent, or reassuring them he'd be able to help them with their auto accident because he was a doctor.
"No need to worry about your child's education...I'm a drunk."
See?
It sounded exactly that silly to her. Hell! It would sound just as wild-assed and off the wall to him if he wasn't -- well, drunk.
"You're not? The only way you can prove that to me is by going home, now. You come back tomorrow when you haven't been drinking and tell me I'm an angel with a cute butt. Alright?"
And yes,by god, that was fine with him. It made sense. Besides giving him a way out of this situation without losing face, it provided an opportunity for the future. Something to think about on the drive home. Get ready for.
"I'm gonna. Okay? I'm just gonna do that, right now." he said, rising unsteadily. Valentina put a hand on his elbow, half supporting him so he didn't fall and partially propelling him toward the door. When she is moving a drunk, momentum is everything. The entire secret of success. Without it, she had nothing.
Out the door. He stopped and was turning as she pushed it heavy door closed and twisted the deadbolt. Through the oak she heard him say, "I will see you when I get in, tomorrow night. Count on it, angel. I'll be back."
He wouldn't.
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