FALLING, FAILING TO FIND (2009-11-17)

"He drinks a lot, does he?"

Valentina felt like she already had the answer she needed but was trying to initiate a conversation in hopes of gathering answers she hadn't laid her hand to, yet.

"That asshole? I've never seen him before?"

The bartender was busy cleaning the back bar and sacking up the cut fruit to be stowed in the cooler for another flurry of drunks, tomorrow. He could b e forgiven for not paying a whole hell of a lot of attention to the new girl. That was something that came along with new girls in the bar, even the pretty girls. There is a "done it all, seen it all" need to be unimpressed air to him. The hallmark of the experienced mixologist. There' s name you never hear anybody call themselves, except in jest.

"Not him. The owner."

"He isn't the owner," the bartender said. Familiar territory but he wasn't sure how much or how little she new about the lay of the land here. 

"The co-owner, then. Does he drink a lot" she asked?

Good girl. She was going to be a quick study and that pleased him. This wasn't a job for stupid people. They got ground up and spit out before they'd made more than a check or two. He'd seen it time and again and dumb girls were the worst of the lot. They presented all the hassles of a new employee you had to bring up to speed on the regular thing like drink prices or the beginning and end of happy hour.  Stupid barmaids added an entirely new burden to that by being so fucking stupid you had to count their tills and make change for them, and always when the bar was its busiest. He knew for a fact that the simple don't do well with pressure. He'd watch them crumble and fall apart, too many times. 

"We won't talk about that," he said. A judicious way of letting her know there was nothing more need to be said on the topic. Drink? Hell, yes! He did drink a lot but that wasn't the point. Not talking about it, now that right there was the point,  If she was a real quick person that would be the end of that, besides setting the tone for how they were going to communicate from here, going forward. He didn't have time for bullshit and braying. There was no point. No reason to talk about customers, it just made them appear almost human. No reason to discuss the foibles or failings of the staff or management. There wasn't room for it. This was a small playground and the same kids were almost always there. 

The bartender was being his own typical asshole self. He was so busying making sure she wasn't going to be a problem he missed the point entirely. This might have been his chance to run to the co-owners with tales of intrigue and seeking influence. he might have noticed she was continuing to ask what he was refusing, form teh outset, to answer. And no, it wasn't that he didn't understand the question. The fact is he wasn't going to answer. That wasn't going to be changing.

He might, if he'd been paying a bit more attention, had that same creepy feeling he had but didn't recognize when his pock was picked at the Mardi Gras. He would've felt her probing instead of concentrating on her style of presentation.

"why do you like him so much?"

"I'm just concerned," she said and she might be, too. There wasn't really any way of knowing for sure right now. That was the sort of thing that only time could tell. Words, and especially in a bar, come cheap. They don't mean a whole hell of a lot to anybody and certainly not to him. He was a pussyhound and a cocaine addict and the only bit of work standing between him and the medicine his disease was calling for was her. This new little girl who was doing a little bit too good a job cleaning up after her first Friday night.

"You can get out of here. Okay? You've had a tough night."

"Do you think we should go visit him? See how he's doing?"

She was fucking serious. Head over to ST Thomas along about 2:30 in the morning. 

"A little late for visiting hours." 

He was being kind now. The way he was thinking it had several obscenities and even a smirk thrown in for emphasis right at the end.

"I might go, anyway. Just make sure that he's okay."

"Fine. That would be real nice, I'm sure. I'm not going with you but you tell him I said "hey" when you see him. Okay?"

"I will."

That was almost the end but for one more piece of help he tried offering. 

"You know his name?"

"Oh, yes. I do." And by god, that was spot on, driving right to the heart of the matter but smart boy missed that, too. She was telling him that she knew one hell of a lot more than he'd known his first night. She was telling him to be careful. It might not be too long before he was treating her with kid gloves and doing his level best to keep her happy. 

She was telling him she wanted to fuck the boss. And if he'd known her even a little bit better than he did, that would've been telling him she would be. He'd know that much about her.