Written for OLWG #24
It had been a good day and I was happy when I walked in and took a seat at the bar. She was washing glasses. We locked eyes and she raised her chin in my direction to let me know that I had been noticed. That she’d be right with me. I spun around on my stool and surveyed the place.
Low lights gleamed off the dark wood bar and walls. The stools were dark wood too, backless, perched atop heavy brass poles. A brass foot rail ran the length of the bar, it seemed like a nice place. High backed booths with brown leatherette upholstery clung to the perimeter of the room and a smattering of low tables occupied no man’s land, between the bar and the booths. There was a girl in a red sequined gown playing a nameless tune softly on a baby grand piano while sparkles from her dress flitted around the room like butterflies. It was crowded but still, hushed.
A voice came from behind me, “What’ll it be, Sweetie?”
I spun around and saw the barkeep leaning there, she was wearing a name tag; Misty, “whiskey would be nice, Misty,” I said, “maybe a single malt; neat.”
“I can do that,” she said and she spun on her heel and went to work.
I turned back and continued to survey the room. In the booth directly across from me sat a well dressed couple, millennials. They were arguing about something, but I couldn’t hear what. A table down by the piano player was crowded by a bunch of middle-aged conventioneers. They were knocking back drinks and shoveling peanuts down their necks as they huddled with their heads close. Maybe they were discussing some business strategies.
A tall thin, long haired, blonde girl, wearing shorts and a tight top moved across the floor working the room. She carried a tray with her and scribbled down orders as she went.
I spun my stool back around when I heard Misty behind me she was smoothing a white lace doily on the bar. She smiled at me and sat my drink on it. Then reaching below the bar she came back with a bowl of peanuts.
“Would you like water back with that?”
“No, no thanks, Misty”
“My name’s not really Misty, you know,” she held out her hand to shake. “I’m Destiny.”
“Destiny?” I queried as we shook hands, “that’s not even close to Misty.”
“Yeah, I know. The boss named me Misty. He says he likes ‘M’ names and that Destiny makes me sound like a stripper. He says, and I quote,” she lowered her voice as she impersonated her boss, “This here is a high class joint, we cain’t have no strippers workin’ here. We cain’t even allow the impression that strippers might work here.”
“Hmm,” I said, “he sounds old and opinionated.”
She nodded her head, “I just need to be careful when my mom finds out. She’s the one who named me.”
“She might be disappointed?”
“Disappointed? No, she’ll be angry though. I have to tell her it was my idea. I have to tell her it’s just like a stage name. She’ll understand that.”
“Is she an actress?” I ask and, pick up my glass.
Misty cocked her head, “Kinda, she was a dancer. When she met my dad; she was working as Chesty LeFemme.”
I raised my glass to her as a grin spread slowly across her face. She turned and moved towards the waitress who was waiting nearby. I looked at the waitress and read her name tag. “Evening, Marcia.” I said.
This week’s prompts are
- Whiskey in a glass
- The keen edge