I pull the tiny pad and pen from my pocket to scribble a note to my sister. What can I say? I’m old school at heart.
Grabbing my keys and jacket, I head out the door in hopes of finding peace and quiet, or at least, a good beer.
Unsurprisingly, there’s not much nightlife in my sister’s sleepy little town. From what I gather, it’s bustling during tourist season, but in mid-December, there’s not much going on.
I park my rental in the lot behind Mahady’s bar. I saw it as we drove back from dinner, and it’s the lone establishment on the main drag with its lights on, so it’s the clear winner. Inside, the lights are dim, the bar is occupied, if not packed, and a chalkboard sign on the wall advertises half-price Budweisers on Tuesdays.
It’s Sunday, and I haven’t touched Bud since college, so it’s not a draw for me, but I take a seat at the bar all the same. Within seconds, the bartender appears and cheerfully asks what I’d like. I order a Chimay Gold, and she smiles at me like my drink choice is both innovative and sexy. It’s not. It’s beer.
Goddamn, I’m a cynic.
Maybe this is why I haven’t gotten laid in nearly a year.
Or maybe it’s because my wife was schtupping her tennis instructor.
Okay, maybe both.
The door opens, and a blast of cold air brings me back to the present. I drum my fingers on the polished oak of the bar and issue a polite thank you when my beer arrives. The other patrons are either engrossed in conversation, their drinks, or darts, from the looks of it. This is fine by me. I didn’t really come to socialize, just to escape the bliss that was nearly shaking the damn walls at my baby sister’s house.
I scroll through my phone, checking in on the stock market and responding to emails that I can’t pass off to my assistant. What can I say? It’s thrilling to be me. Before I can ask for it, another Chimay Gold is placed in front of me, and my empty glass vanishes.
I drink down the smooth ale as my mind, once again, wanders over the pitfalls and pleasures of this past year.
Things have certainly changed. At this time last year, I was married.
I was also miserable.
Now, the misery is gone, but I can’t exactly say I’m happy. I mean, I’m not unhappy. But I’m not sure that’s quite the same thing.
I’m also thinking I’ve drunk more than I thought I had if I’m waxing philosophic in a small-town bar at ten p.m. on a Sunday night.
The door opens again, bringing a gust of wind and what appears to be an already drunk bridal party with it.
Before long, the bar fills up, and I’m about to head back to Elaine’s in the hope that she and Simon have worn each other out and the house is quiet.
But then, I see her.
Tall, curvy, and blonde, she’s stunning, and I’m a little shocked that I didn’t notice her when she walked in.
She’s got my full attention now, though she doesn’t have the bartender’s, and that’s a problem.
She’s got legs for days, and I can almost feel them wrapped around my waist. Damn, I need to get laid.
Legs, because that’s what I’m calling her now, sighs audibly, taking a seat and mumbling, “Dammit. What does a gal have to do around here to get a drink? Have a dick?”
“While it might solve that problem, I imagine it might create a few more.” The words are out before I can stop them.
Then she turns her smile on me and I’m glad I didn’t censor myself.
“You’ve got jokes, huh?”
“Among other things.”
She barks out a laugh in response.
I lean forward and tip my chin in the bartender’s direction and, like magic, she appears in front of us.
“What can I get you?” The bartender’s eyes are locked on me, but I defer to Legs, who smiles like a Cheshire cat and orders a Long Island Iced Tea. I decide on a third beer, though I know I won’t drink it. Still, it’s an excuse to keep talking to the beautiful woman next to me.
