( Continued from last publication.)
Her fingers drummed on the counter. The rhythm was erratic. Her eyes darted across the room to where a patron was being served. Her piercing stare hit the barman. He composure became compromised. The counselor looked briefly to the heavens for some support. None was forthcoming. "Stuck In The Middle With You." by Steelers Wheel, blared from the music set. No one tinkered with the volume. A weird noise started to play in the barman's head. He struggled to complete serving the patrons. Three minutes and twenty-nine seconds of the song felt like an hour. His cheeks ballooned for a second. The song was finished.
The barman's gait was unsteady, yet quick. He retreated to the room behind the bar. Meanwhile, his guest at the counter continued her drumming but had now added a whistle and rapid eye movement to her ensemble as she seemed to be entertaining an audience in the ceiling. She stopped briefly and attempted to repair her hairdo.
Her savior, or nemesis, emerged from his retreat. He smiled . She frowned. He called her name. She paused.
"Yeah, what?," she snapped.
"Oh, I noticed, you fixed your hair," he said with a smirk
"My hair is always in order," she coyly responded.
A wistful smile shaped her face.
"So, ah, ah, are you going to contact Jack?" he cautiously asked.
She froze for a moment.
"He never answers, " she quietly replied.
Sensing to mood was more cordial now, he offered her some candies from small container on the counter.
"You know what,?" He did not blink.
" I think I'm just going to go home and get some rest," she murmured.
"That might be a good thing for you," he advised.
"You see, it's fruitless talking to you about anything."
He bowed his head and pretended as if he were fixing something just below the counter.
She walked slowly out of the bar. The barman felt that he had failed her.
A tall slim, man came through the door. He wore no hair but his thinly lined moustache. The visitor was decked in a pair of blue jeans, loosely fitting gold colored raglan shirt. His brown sneakers lit up the floor. He looked to be 40ish. His eyes pointed to the counter. The barman welcomed him with a nod. The visitor felt relaxed.
"Hi, Sir, may I have a drink?"
"At your service, " the barman responded.
"Well, I'll have my favorite, brandy and a coke," he requested
"Sure!"
"Is there anything else you need?"
"No, that would be it for now."
The barman hurriedly fixed his customer's drink.
The guest sat on the barstool, took a sip and let out a sigh of relief.
"How is you day been going so far,?' the customer asked.
"Great!" he quickly responded.
"Ah, well, like sucks sometimes," complained the visitor.
"Yep," the barman curtly responded.
"Did I tell you my name?" asked the customer.
No, not really, responded the barman.
The visitor extended his hands, the barman reciprocated.
"I'm Jack," he said.
The barman. who infrequently gives his name to his customer, said, "I'm Dan"
"Nice meeting you Dan," Jack responded.
Dan paused for a while and thought about the visitor's name.
(to be continued...) Copyright© 2023 Wallace Paul
Her fingers drummed on the counter. The rhythm was erratic. Her eyes darted across the room to where a patron was being served. Her piercing stare hit the barman. He composure became compromised. The counselor looked briefly to the heavens for some support. None was forthcoming. "Stuck In The Middle With You." by Steelers Wheel, blared from the music set. No one tinkered with the volume. A weird noise started to play in the barman's head. He struggled to complete serving the patrons. Three minutes and twenty-nine seconds of the song felt like an hour. His cheeks ballooned for a second. The song was finished.
The barman's gait was unsteady, yet quick. He retreated to the room behind the bar. Meanwhile, his guest at the counter continued her drumming but had now added a whistle and rapid eye movement to her ensemble as she seemed to be entertaining an audience in the ceiling. She stopped briefly and attempted to repair her hairdo.
Her savior, or nemesis, emerged from his retreat. He smiled . She frowned. He called her name. She paused.
"Yeah, what?," she snapped.
"Oh, I noticed, you fixed your hair," he said with a smirk
"My hair is always in order," she coyly responded.
A wistful smile shaped her face.
"So, ah, ah, are you going to contact Jack?" he cautiously asked.
She froze for a moment.
"He never answers, " she quietly replied.
Sensing to mood was more cordial now, he offered her some candies from small container on the counter.
"You know what,?" He did not blink.
" I think I'm just going to go home and get some rest," she murmured.
"That might be a good thing for you," he advised.
"You see, it's fruitless talking to you about anything."
He bowed his head and pretended as if he were fixing something just below the counter.
She walked slowly out of the bar. The barman felt that he had failed her.
A tall slim, man came through the door. He wore no hair but his thinly lined moustache. The visitor was decked in a pair of blue jeans, loosely fitting gold colored raglan shirt. His brown sneakers lit up the floor. He looked to be 40ish. His eyes pointed to the counter. The barman welcomed him with a nod. The visitor felt relaxed.
"Hi, Sir, may I have a drink?"
"At your service, " the barman responded.
"Well, I'll have my favorite, brandy and a coke," he requested
"Sure!"
"Is there anything else you need?"
"No, that would be it for now."
The barman hurriedly fixed his customer's drink.
The guest sat on the barstool, took a sip and let out a sigh of relief.
"How is you day been going so far,?' the customer asked.
"Great!" he quickly responded.
"Ah, well, like sucks sometimes," complained the visitor.
"Yep," the barman curtly responded.
"Did I tell you my name?" asked the customer.
No, not really, responded the barman.
The visitor extended his hands, the barman reciprocated.
"I'm Jack," he said.
The barman. who infrequently gives his name to his customer, said, "I'm Dan"
"Nice meeting you Dan," Jack responded.
Dan paused for a while and thought about the visitor's name.
(to be continued...) Copyright© 2023 Wallace Paul