This is Chapter One from my novel . . . in a love song available for ebook purchase only.
One
The first time he looked over the half-empty pitchers of beer on the round rough-hewn table and past the cheeky smiles and loud laughs of the men seated there, he caught a glimpse of her pulling the tap lever while smiling across the counter at a kid he’d swear was under 21. Immediately his mind drove straight to the recollection of how long since he’d been with a woman and parked there.
Not much of a drinker anymore he’d agreed to accompany his coworkers on this Friday night macho session simply because he knew the drill. His construction buddies wanted to christen the new guy with the camaraderie of drunken manhood, share a few more crude jokes, flirt with the barflies, and assert their praiseworthy abilities to hold their liquor. Only one of the group was married, but it didn’t slow the guy down in the beer chugging or flirtations, though he didn’t seem serious with the teasing and the girls didn’t take it so.
He felt the beer gaining momentum along with the usual accompanying bravado, one of the primary reasons he’d decided to leave drinking behind for the most part. The crazy stuff was far back in the past, but the tendency to strut, which he buried when sober, always seemed to display itself like some posing peacock if the alcohol gained any authority in his bloodstream. As his eyes locked onto her, that rebel urge surfaced in full peacock hue. He grabbed a couple of the near empty pitchers and sauntered up to the bar placing them on the counter beside the youngster’s barely touched glass of dark brew.
“Refills, please.” He kept his voice level in spite of the noise, not wanting to appear as shouting his instructions. She hadn’t seen him until then, and the feathers felt full and mighty fine when she looked into his eyes because he caught the fleeting surprise in hers which he was sure ended in a blush concealed by the low lights of the bar.
“Yes, sir.” She emphasized the “sir” and gave him a sideways smile, fully recovering from her emotional lapse at what he assumed—or rather—hoped was a pleasant view for her. She filled the two pitchers, and he paid for them with a $50 tip. She started to protest, but with a slight tilt of his head he stared her into submission. She pushed it into her black jeans’ pocket, a bit flustered.
“Thank you,” he said and walked back to the table full of raucous high-fiving guys beginning to feel their beer. After he sat down to a couple of good-natured shoulder shoves, he looked back to catch her watching him. It felt good to be a man at that moment. He gave her a subtle smile before she turned away.
“Will you look at that?” The words were delivered in slow motion as the vintage jukebox belted out the old Rolling Stones tune “Honky Tonk Woman”. The stoutly built and curly blonde-headed guy named Keith who sat next to him on his right fairly panted as three young women entered the bar with a lot of exposed legs perched on spindly heels and possibly even more revealed breasts. Heads turned at their table and at a few others occupied by male patrons eager to share in the view.
“Never seen them here before,” Dave on his left drawled, his eyes transfixed on the laughing girls who were well aware of the attention they’d garnered. They meandered their way to the bar, taking in the stares, bending their heads toward each other in secret summations and covert giggling.
He looked around his table and smirked at the inebriated men who’d been hooked and landed like a bunch of hungry fish. His eyes searched for the gal he’d admired earlier. He watched her approach the newly arrived women at the bar, seeming to hunt inside herself for a pleasant expression. Joining her to wait on them was the bartender, a guy he figured to be near his age and clearly anxious to assist these new customers.
The conversation at the table descended into the discussion of the size of body parts and what they hoped to do with theirs. It was time for him to go, so he got up to head to the rest room before saying goodnight to the boys and wishing them a good weekend. They made a big show of wanting him to stay, but he kidded them about how hangin’ out with an old guy might cramp their style. They guffawed and a couple of them chided him with a toast and a “’Night, Gramps” knowing he was only five or six years older than most of them.
At the door, he looked one last time toward the bar and found her eyes on him. He smiled at her and walked out.
Father, thank you for the intricate ways you give me stories to tell. Apart from you, I can do nothing, and, as always, thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.