A Quiet Bar

It looks like a nice quiet bar, roadhouse, whatever. A few folks here, clean enough, not a dive. Lots of room at the bar, I choose a stool all the way at one end. You can sit back to the wall and see anything coming.

Including the bartender. Cute, young, tats, tough, short white hair. She comes over and gives me a look. Raises an eyebrow.

"I’m new around here. You have tequila? Of course you do. Can you make some kind of a cocktail?"

She shakes something up and in a minute she’s placing a drink in front of me, with a look like ‘you’d better like it’

It’s nice, strong, cold, "a kind of tex-mex sour."

She rolls her eyes at ‘Tex-Mex’ and walks away. I guess that’s not a complement around here. I watch her as she greets others. A warm smile. A drink in their hands quick. Like they’re regulars and don’t even need to order. I sip and watch.

A lot of different kinds, business folks, blue collar hispanic, asian, black folks. Mostly men, a nice looking gal up the bar, about my age drinking something red. Cosmo? Manhattan? This is definitely not a dive.

Red chats her way down the bar, finally gets to me
"End of the line."
Red: "I like to save the best for last."
"Nice line."
Red: "I can let one fly now and then. I’m Barb, What’s your name?"
I tell her
Red Barb: "Do you need a doctor?"
"I scraped myself, not serious. Unless you’re a doctor."
Red Barb: "I can play doctor."
The bartender comes over
Red Barb: "Hey p, get this guy, um, what are you drinking?"
"Tequila sour."
Red Barb: "And I’ll have another."
"I can pay for my own drinks."
Red Barb: "I’m sure you can. But what’s the fun in that? This is more friendly."
"I guess. Hey what’s up with the bartender? She doesn’t talk?"
Red Barb: "Not too much. She’s not just the bartender, she runs the place. On her own. I you cross her, she’ll have a few choice words for you. All these folks, they’re from all over the world, but they all feel at home here. PT speaks their language. They feel at home. Hey you’re kind of nice."
"Thanks. Hey you’re kind of tipsy."
Red Barb: "I guess so. You don’t mind, do you?"
P serves the drinks and gives us both a long look.
Barb sticks out her tongue and p smirks and walks away.
"What’s that about?"
Red Barb: "Nothing. Just a game we play. Bottoms up."
We clink glasses and she takes a healthy slug. 

Red Barb:"So how did you get that scrape?"
"Well doctor, I work the line. Things can happen if you’re not careful."
Red Barb: "Why aren’t you more careful, lineman?"
"Just in town, double shift, it happens. No big deal."
Barb runs her finger along my arm.
Red Barb:"I might be able to help you with that." She giggles and is getting a little wobbly.
"Thanks, do you think maybe it’s time to go?"
Red Barb:"Is time for us to go?"
"Are you driving?"
Red Barb:"Sure." She gets her keys out of her bag.
"No you’re not." I take the car key off the ring and put it on the bar. "This way." I help her out, looking back to see P take Barb’s key and give me a nod.

It’s an hour or so later when I get back to the bar. Quiet, close to closing. P is cleaning up. She places a simple taco in front of me and pours a shot of tequila, drinks half, and gives me the rest. All very serious, sad. Then she leaves me alone. Now I get why there’s an old food truck outside. The taco is bean & cheese, with everything, kind of spicy. P is back, offering me a beer. Shiner bock.
"Perfect. This is perfect. What’s best about Austin." I get one of those warm smiles. My first one. I cash out, leave a big tip.

Barb and I come in one time together. Order tacos and iced tea. Sweet tea is terrible. Especially with tacos. P gives us a wink. A wink! Later that week Barb and I figure out we just don’t click. I’m back at the roadhouse.

I go in every night. See P run the place. See her handle a busy Saturday night alone. Make sure big drunk guys stay apart. Make sure everyone has a good time. I work my side hustle, just playing things to my advantage. It could be someone with too much time or too much money. Nothing they miss. nothing that hurts much. I spend all that money there at the roadhouse.

P and me exchange numbers. I send a text sometimes. She never does.

P starts to sit across from me sometimes. Just keeping me company. One day I start talking. I tell her I’ve been on the road since 14, worked all over, learned a trade. Which I hate. I tell her about the hustle. Which I hate too.
She put’s her hand on mine, like she's thinking - You hate those things, you can learn and grow out of them. She says - out loud - "You don't have to."
That’s more than she’s said to me since I met her. And it pisses me off. "Hey, you’re not so different, I see you, you manipulate people just like me. Only I do it without being in charge. If I mess up, or find myself on someone else’s turf, I have to use my brains or my fists to get out alive. You don’t learn and grow out there."
I wanted her to back off but P is tough, doesn’t rattle. She looks down at my hands, scars on my knuckles. Feels them. Says nothing. I’m still pissed off, but not as excited.
"Look." I stand up and offer her my hand like asking her to dance, lead her around the bar and move her backwards, slow twirl, avoiding chairs, another twirl and hold her close, move her backwards, we go around and around her whole place, moving her backwards, and then I swing her back behind the bar. She’s wide eyed. She loved it.
"You see p, even you, you get swept off your feet. If someone leads like that, confident, it’s hard to resist. I have to lead."
We’re quiet for a long time. I cash out and leave a big tip.

I get an idea that it’s time to move on again. Summer on a fishing boat in Alaska. It’s good money and I need a break. I leave right away. All summer I send P a text now and then. She never answers.Weeks. Months.

It’s fall and I’m back. She should have her place open now, I go in and head to my stool. It's empty for me. Her warm smile. God I missed that. She puts a tequila sour in front of me. Like she had it ready the whole time. Perfect. I missed that too. Not just the drink. But someone knowing that’s what I want. P pulls up a stool.
"I did a lot of thinking on that boat, P." She’s listening. Serious. "I might have been a little wrong... I have a stupid idea."
She gives me a look like ’Go on stupid’
"I have some money, and I can just blow it, or maybe you could talk to the owner. Maybe I could invest. I don’t want to be your boss, or make any changes, I just want a place to be. Bouncer, backup, lifting cases. Do you hate the idea?"
She puts her hand on mine and gives me a look like ‘Took you long enough.’

The next morning she sends me a text. ‘Thomas says ok. Meet me at the roadhouse’
I’m there before her. She drives around in her red pickup, parks next to me. Gets out all calm and walks me over to the front door and we unlock it together.

We go around, She shows me here’s how I do this to open, here’s how I do that. No problem, right? Then she says, out loud ‘Just be nice to people. Be real.’ 

Hell I can do that. In fact, it’s fun. All evening P sneaks looks at me from behind the bar. She looks like I feel. Later she makes me a taco the way I like it. Along with a shiner. Pours me a shot of tequila, drinks half and gives me the rest.

The next day I’m in helping to open.
"Hey p, this is great, but do you think I could make the food?"
She give me the sweetest look like I just made her day. Hands me the simple menu, then points to the food truck key behind her. No questions, no instructions, nothing. Go. Do it.

The food truck is kind of like the ship’s galley. I only burn myself a few times. After a while I come in with a few samples to share with P. When she has a sec she takes a bite and nods, smiles. She shows me how she keeps the fillings, the tortillas, the extras, so she can assemble quickly and it all tastes fresh. Then she sends me around to the regulars to give away the rest of the samples. See what people think. Everyone is so nice. Who doesn’t love free food?

As we lock up that night I say "You lead, P."