The Girl Behind the Bar

“No thanks,” she politely states, as if declining seconds on a gracious meal, when a young tech entrepreneur worked up the courage to ask to buy her a drink. The music floats in the background, and she sits with her legs evenly crossed, and her white, cotton, blouse unbuttoned to the exactly correct button to allow her gold crucifix to show on her pale skin, just above the subtle curve of her breasts. Her eyes scan the room, in only a lateral sense, never in an up-and-down sense. Someone suggests loudly over the growing bass notes to get someone behind the long mahogany table that was serving as the bar that night. All of the waiters and waitresses still in their work uniforms gaze at her expectantly. She sits up, smoothing out her navy blue skirt that flirted with going to her knee, but never quite reached. She pulls her undyed blonde hair back into a long, straight ponytail, and rolls up the sleeves on her white, cotton, blouse to the exactly correct length to allow her elbows full movement. She moves with practiced ease with a sugared rim and limes, with a bottle of Old Forester Birthday Bourbon 1994, or that dark Château Ducru-Beaucaillou 1996 bordeaux. Her gaze is strikingly blue. When someone would stumble to the bar, to order she looked them in the eye without shame or apology. She did not repeat the order that the patron would make, but instead gave a polite nod and a rehearsed smile, as she dipped back into her sanctuary that smelled of bitters and mint. People wander in and out, but moreso the former. People are crowded, and can no longer avoid talking with the people around them. The tempo of the music rises; heavy bass notes start to get people tapping their toes and snapping their fingers. A bout of genuine laughter breaks the small talk silence, and people start to let the alcohol affect them. Suit coats and handbags are dropped on the strategically scattered couches, along with apprehensions and polite “No thank yous”. The tech entrepreneur is now dancing with a college girl in a waitress costume. The whites of smiles dot the crowd of expressively colored fabrics in the dancing crowd. The bartender stands behind the bar with her legs crossed at the ankle. She dips her head as she thanks the party’s host. She says her goodbyes with a rehearsed smile. People halfheartedly beg her to stay - all the while knowing that their words mean nothing. The heavy door swings behind her, and she tucks her hands into her knee-length, navy blue, wool coat. Her breath hangs in the air as she walks away from the crescendoing scene behind her.