Smoke dimmed lights. Old-school funk from a band mediocre enough to be stuck here every Saturday night. Sam sipped on a jack and coke that was mostly ice. The bartender had been leaning over chatting with a regular for the past ten minutes, leaving him to gnaw on the melting remains. The band finished a set of tributes and paused to take a break.
“Excuse me.” He tried to get the bartender’s attention, but she either did not hear or did not care.
Sam decided it wasn’t worth trying again and kept waiting. It wasn’t busy. It never was. A handful of beer-bellied men shuffled around a pool table. A man with a long beard more yellow than grey sat to the far right of Sam along the end of the U-shaped bar playing a loud video poker machine. His date beside him hadn’t looked up from her phone in the last half hour and made no effort to start a conversation, but neither had he.
“Don’t think she’s coming back anytime soon.” He said.
“Huh?” Crystal asked, already shifting her attention back to her phone.
“Nothing. Was just talking to myself.”
She made a small sound and didn’t look back up. He sighed, but it wasn’t her fault. He should have cancelled. Coming out after the day he had was a bad idea, but he didn’t want to flake on her again. There likely wouldn’t be an opportunity to make it up to her, he knew. He wished he had the courage to tell her she could go home and block him like he knew she would, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Couldn’t even raise his voice enough to call for another drink. A ring had grown around his glass and into the napkin that served as a coaster.
“So, uh, do you-” He was cut off as the band started up again. It made him jump, but Crystal didn’t notice. Eventually, she looked up and out at the bar.
“Another vodka cran.” she called out, raising her glass high enough to grab the bartender’s eyes. She nodded and moved to make it.
Sam took his chance and raised his glass, too. The bartender looked at him expectantly, exasperation in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what he did. Eventually, she approached. “What are you drinking, I don’t read minds, darling.”
“Jack and coke.” He wanted to say that she didn’t need to read minds to know the drink she poured him twenty minutes ago, let alone that he ordered the same drink every time he came here for the past few years.
He kept it to himself, didn’t want to piss her off. He couldn’t remember her name, so he guessed he was just as guilty. The drinks came, and his was fine. Strong. They always poured heavy here. That and the cheap drinks are what kept him coming back every couple of nights after work.
“What do you do for fun?” He tried again.
“What?”
“What do you do for fun?”
“I like to dance.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to dance?”
“Here?” She squinted at him.
“Ah, no, I don’t think so.”
Her lips formed a line. She got up and walked to the restroom, leaving him to feel as though he failed some sort of test.
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