The drink we never had

I have a friend who's a bar manager at a place downtown. Few nights a week I help him close and make a little extra money. I love the smell of bars. Real bars. Not hotel or casino bars, they smell clean. I mean bar-bars that smell like stale beer because there's no place for the odor to ventilate, but out the front door.  

For the past three weeks there's a guy who comes into the bar. He's there every night or so I was told. Handsome guy. Tall. Blonde. Blue eyes. Muscular. Stern. Clean cut and a little military looking. When I'm there, I notice he drinks 5-8 beers, has some dinner, hangs out and watches TV by himself.

I don't date, not really, and definitely not in the traditional sense. When I hang out with a guy, the night is already pre-planned. All I have to do is groom for the occasion and show up. Not much thought goes into it on my end. Even as a teenager a boy would call me and say, "I want to see this movie that's out now. Want to come with me?" and if I was interested I would just groom for the occasion and show up. He bought the tickets, popcorn, etc. ...  

Being a woman in Los Angeles, single, no kids, is like a myth to some people. Unheard of. Quick! Kill it! Kill it! 

I don't want rules, restrictions, or a road map to figure out what kind of mood you're in. I want unconditional love. I won't settle for less.    

Some people cannot fathom why any woman would choose to be single. They poke at the subject with a proverbial stick. Pavlov's Dog. 

But it got me thinking.


TUESDAY NIGHT

Hanging out at the bar, in walks the military blonde. I said hello to him and our communication beyond that was kept professional. Cordial.

When I left the bar that night I saw the military blonde in the parking lot having a cigarette. We didn't say hello or even acknowledge one another. He was smoking his cigarette. I was leaving to go home. Two ships passing in the night.     

The military blonde smokes. That's a deal breaker for me. I really hate the smell of cigarettes. I used to smoke. 10 years. One and a half packs a day. You would think after the first lung infection I would have quit smoking. But I didn't quit until the second lung infection that grew into a respiratory tract infection. Then I quit.  

But I was thinking,

Dinner. Drinks. Not a date. A meeting. To see if we wanted to go out on a date. I haven't been on a date in... forever.   


WEDNESDAY NIGHT

I went to the bar. In walks the military blonde. I suck at making small talk when I have a personal agenda, and honestly I hate it when people "small talk" me when they have a personal agenda. Just say what you want. 

But I attempt the small talk anyway.

"Just getting off work?" I ask.

"No. I'm staying down the street." he says. "Above [my friend's garage]"  

"Oh yeah. I know where that is." I say.

"A friend of ours got married in Vegas last weekend. I'm just visiting." he further explains. 

"Where are you from?" I ask.

"New Orleans." he replied. "Ever been?" he asked.

"No. But I would like to go some time during Mardi Gras." I reply.

"It's a good time to go." he says. 

I then realize I should have congratulated his friend for getting married but I didn't think of it until afterwards. I'm horrible at small talk.

"A beer drinker." I say pointing out the obvious.

And for one split second the military blonde looked offended and pissed off. Oops!  He didn't say anything. He just looked at me with a very serious and stern expression on his face.

"Because I've only been serving you beer," I say desperately trying to recover,  "And there's a lot of Pubs in Los Angeles, and I was just wondering what your thoughts were of them and if you'd been to any other bars in the area. I mainly drink wine. Do you drink wine?" I asked nervous and uncomfortable.
Face palm!

"No. Just beer." he replied very matter of fact.

Well. Alrighty then. I just smiled at him, and then walked away.

When I saw the military blonde was ready for another round, I kept it very professional. No personal chit chat, and forget asking him out for a drink or dinner Friday night. I completely blew it.

"Why do American television shows have so many commercials?" the military blonde asked.

Um. Because I don't know?

"They have the same shows in London but with one commercial break, we have commercial breaks every 7 minutes." he said.

"Most people just DVR." I said. "And fast forward the commercials."

The military blonde said nothing.

As my Wednesday night came to an end, I explained to the military blonde I was leaving, and my friend would continue to take care of him. He instead closed out his tab and left. 10 minutes later I left.

Down the street from the bar is a liquor store. I stopped in to pick up a bottle of wine and ran into the military blonde who was buying cigarettes. He looked over his shoulder at me. I smiled at him, batted my eyelashes, held up the bottle of Fleur De Lyeth wine and said, "Wine." 

The military blonde shot me a look of disgust.

"I know you don't drink wine, but if you're still in town Friday night maybe we can meet for a beer. I like beer too." I said.

Jesus Christ, I need therapy.

The military blonde looked me over for a few seconds and said, "Maybe. I fly back to New Orleans Saturday morning." Then he bought his cigarettes and left the liquor store without saying goodbye or goodnight.

Awkward.

When I left the liquor store I saw the military blonde standing by his car smoking a cigarette. He looked at me. I looked at him. And then I went home. 


THURSDAY NIGHT

I go to my friend's bar. An hour later in walks the military blonde. He sat down on a bar stool directly in front of me. We make eye contact. He orders a Heineken, takes a sip of his beer while maintaining unbroken eye contact with me, then he stands up, and moves to a table furthest away from the bar where he continues to drink and watch TV. On occasion I catch the military blonde just staring at me - but we kept all communication between us for the remainder of the night professional.

At the end of the night I inform the military blonde I wasn't going to come in tomorrow night. The weather report said Los Angeles was in for a rain storm. I then wished the military blonde a nice flight back to New Orleans. He looked confused.

"Guess I'll have to drink some place else tomorrow night then huh?" he said very sarcastically. "Too bad. This is closest to my room above [his friend's garage]." Then he paid his tab and left the bar.

When I left the bar last night, I walked past where the military blonde said he was staying. The garage was dark and locked up, but the lights on the loft above the garage were all on, and the front door was open.

Did he purposely leave the front door open?

I waited to see if the military blonde would walk into the doorway. I considered going up the service steps to the loft and knocking on the open door. I considered the military blonde could be some nutcase who just got out of prison. I considered many things, like why did he keep the door open to begin with? Was he ok? 

I lingered in front of the garage to see if the military blonde would come to the front door, even if just to close it. But he didn't. I considered going up just to see if he was ok, but what if he really was some nutcase axe murderer?

And so,

I continued home.


FRIDAY (NOW)

It's pouring out. I'm not going anywhere tonight. I wonder if the military blonde will go to the bar and wonder where I am?

Fleur De Lyeth the drink we never had.

Safe travels back to New Orleans.

Cheers.