PopcornJackTerry

I’ve been thinking a lot about this story lately. It’s kind of odd that I wrote this one before I got more into the mixology end of bartending-creating new cocktails rather than just pouring drinks-but it’s always stuck with me and I wanted to share it.

 

Almost empty even though it was just after three, Pedro decided to finish cleaning up.  He turned the lights up a little, not all the way to the “That’s what I’ve been flirting with all night?” level, but enough to help him see any spots he might still need to wipe down.  The only customers were Sasha, the waitress here who just got off about an hour ago, her unemployed room mate Jessica, who came in every night when Sasha was done, and Kyle,  Jessica’s boyfriend.  Kyle was less of a regular than Jessica was, but Pedro like seeing him because he knew that meant someone other than Sasha would be paying for the drinks.  He did not charge them much, but he had to charge them something, and he did not like seeing Sasha spend the tips she had just made on someone who seemed as ungrateful as Jessica did at times.  He had long ago given up on trying to tell Sasha that she could find a more considerate friend and reliable room mate than Jessica, his remarks always falling on deaf ears.  Sasha was young, much like Pedro had been one day, and she saw her life in the city with the same wide eyed optimism that he had had.

Besides these three, there was one other couple sitting at a table, not far at all from where Pedro was cleaning, and, even though they had not ordered a drink in quite some time, he leaned over the bar to give them the benefit of the doubt.

“Hey folks, I’m doing last call.  Anything else tonight?”

The couple had been in the middle of a rambling conversation.  Caught off guard by the introduction of a third voice, the man looked at his watch.

“But it’s only three.”

“I know, but it’s slow, so I figured I’d get home to my wife a little early tonight.”

The man disentangled himself from his companion and walked over to the bar, where he could speak in a conspiratorial whisper.

“You got three other customers down there,” he said, pointing with his cigarette towards Sasha and her minions.

“One of them works here.  They’ll leave when I ask them to.”

The man pondered this for a second, as if it were a new concept.  While he did this, he slid a few bills out of his pocket.

“It’s like this,” he began slowly, speaking with a meditative air.  “And I don’t begrudge you for wanting to get home to the missus.  But it’s like this.  We have a couple of friends who are coming to meet us, and they aren’t very familiar with the city.  In fact, this is one of the few places they know.  And we have no way to contact them.  We miss them, who knows when we’ll see them again?  You know?”

Pedro did not like to close early, or, rather, almost felt bad when he did it.  Almost.  Any bad feeling was removed from his body when he crawled into bed that much earlier and felt the warmth of his wife pressed up against him.

“I’m not kicking you out.  I’m just letting you know it’s last call.”

“I appreciate that, because I can tell you’ll probably be done in about five minutes.  So I’ll tell you what.  I’ll buy one more round, plus two for my friends.”

“You sure they’re coming?”

“I can feel them in the air.  Plus, I’ll buy those three a round, and one for you as well.  It will at least make your last few minutes at work a little more enjoyable.  What do you say?”

“Fair enough.  What are you drinking?”

The man laughed in a calculated way, acknowledging a secret that Pedro had just stumbled on.  “Why, that’s up to you.  All eight of us will drink whatever you want us to.  And what you want us to drink is whatever you would have if it were your last drink, ever.”

It was Pedro’s turn to laugh.  “You may not like my drink of choice.”

“This isn’t your drink of choice.  This is the drink you choose now.  All those bottles back there.  Surely among them there is a special cocktail just waiting to be made.”

The man’s companion had moved herself over to the jukebox and coaxed out of it a sad and yet hopeful song.  The man left a pile of bills on the bar and joined her in a dance that was a melding of pure love and silent resignation.  Pedro watched them, keeping an eye on them while he filled up eight glasses with ice.  Even when he turned to face the liquors, he could still see them, their reflection still moving from behind one bottle to the next.

“What are you making?”

“Huh?”

Pedro turned around, suddenly aware that he had no idea how long he had been staring at the bottles, hypnotized by the music and the dancing.

“What are you making?”

Sasha had come down to empty the ashtray and was curious about the glasses, three of which she correctly assumed were for her and her friends.

“That guy bought a round of drinks for everyone.  You ever see him in here before?”

“Tonight’s the first time.  How come you got eight glasses out?  I only see six of us in here.”

“He’s got two friends coming in to meet them.  He told me to make whatever drink I would make if it were to be the last drink ever.”

“Weird dude.”  She dumped the ashtray in the garbage and went back down the bar.  Pedro once again found himself transfixed by the song and the movement, but this time his hands joined in the dance, finding the bottles and pouring, creating something without knowing what it would be.  It was only when the song was over and the couple had come to the bar did Pedro realize that not only had he been making the drinks, but that he was finished.

“Lovely,” the woman said.  “What do you call it?”

“Gentleman’s surprise.”

The man laughed.  “A perfect name.  Cheers.”

Pedro took a sip and realized it was perfect.  It tasted unlike anything he had drank before, and yet he could not begin to tell you what was in it.  He brought three drinks down to Sasha, Jessica and Kyle, while a new song started, this one about life and celebration.  The room filled with a laughter and an energy.  Pedro found himself buoyant, cheerfully finishing his job while everyone joined together, dancing and singing.

The last song wound down, an anthem of a tune, all six of them singing along, and the man looked at his watch.

“It’s four.  Apparently my friends aren’t coming.  Well, good night.”

Their exit was so anti-climatic that Pedro did not have time to protest their leaving until the door was swinging behind them.  Kyle was the first to speak.

“What do we do with the extra drinks?”

“That’s easy,” Jessica retorted.  “Pass them down here, Pedro.”

“No.  We’ll save them.”

“What?  In case the mystery friends show up?”  Kyle thought not to drink them would be a waste.

“Yes.  Exactly.”

Kyle and Jessica started to protest, but Sasha saw the look in Pedro’s eyes and cut them off.  “Come on.  Let’s go get some breakfast, my treat.  I’ll see you tomorrow, boss.”

The three of them left, Jessica and Kyle still muttering about the wasted drinks, their voices quickly being surrounded by the din of the city.  Pedro stayed, looking at the drinks and knowing that he had to save them, not because he thought the people were coming, but that they never would.  He understood why the couple had been here.  It indeed had been a celebration of life, a night of energy and laughter, because it was a far greater thing to glorify a life, and all that it had been, than to galvanize the one brief moment of darkness that comes at the end of it.

Right before he left for the night, Pedro put up all the stools, except two.