After Hours

Luke Ford sat on a bar stool at the After Hours Bar. He smoked a cigarette, something the bar owner allowed only after regular closing time. He also sold drinks after hours to regulars, illegal though it was. Luke had arrived just after 10:30 p.m. that Saturday night. That was four hours ago. He was still alone, but waiting. Gretchen said she would come. She promised.

 He caught his reflection in the mirror that adorned the back of the bar. He looked tired, not quite old, but at 56, aging prematurely, he thought. “Another Blanton’s?” Tony, the young and handsome bartender asked, bottle ready.

“You have Hennessy?” Luke asked.

 “You know we do, Mr. Ford. Something bothering you tonight?”

“Give me the Hennessy, Tony.” He twisted what was left of his cigarette in the ashtray and lit another one. “Any auditions lately?” Tony was an actor, who’d had some success, but was still waiting his game changing role.

“I’m up for the lead in a Martin Perlmutter vehicle.”  

 “Good luck, Tony, I hope you get it.” He took his first sip of Hennessy. “Gretchen been here lately?”

 “It’s late, Mr. Ford. I’m not sure she’s coming, sorry.”

 “That’s not what I asked you.”

 “I know, but if the shoe was on the other foot, what would you want me to say if another customer asked me if you’d been here lately?”

 “I get your point, Tony, but you just told me she isn’t coming tonight. First of all, how would you know that? And second, how is something a person might do less private than what they did a few days ago?”

 Tony smiled. He picked up an ashtray, emptied and cleaned it before placing it back on the bar top. Luke Ford was the only customer in the place. “I guess I hate to see you sitting there like that.”

“Like what?” Luke knew, but he asked anyway.

“You keep looking at your watch. Every five minutes you turn toward the door, hoping she’ll walk in.”

“What do you know?” He waved his cigarette in dismissal.

“I’ve seen it before.” Tony topped off Luke’s Hennessy. “I’m talking out of turn here. Let the lateness of the hour and my aching legs be my excuse. Trust me, Gretchen is a lost cause.”

“Was she here with someone else this week?”

Tony looked at Luke without answering him. Gretchen had indeed been at the bar every night. Certainly, Mr. Ford would want to know who she was with and Tony was not prepared to answer that question. For a man his age, Luke Ford was a slow learner. He turned away and put a few liquor bottles in their places on the shelf.

 Luke took another sip of his drink, enjoying the flavor. Tony was right. Luke was suffering. He’d made the cardinal error older men sometimes make. He’d fallen in love with a younger woman. Gretchen was 32, single and enjoying a budding career as a local newscaster. Slightly plump, long blond hair and brown eyes, she had charisma.

They’d met at his office when she came to interview him for a story, she was working on, about the plight of lawyers who were losing business to mediators. His business was fine. His personal life was a mess; his third divorce recently finalized. He asked her out for drinks, and before long they were seeing each other once or twice a week. It wasn’t exactly serious, but he’d fallen for her quickly. He knew better than to tell her he loved her, but she didn’t need to hear the words to know that. 

 She’d promised when they spoke earlier that day that she would meet him at the After Hours Bar when her ten o’clock broadcast ended. She should have been here by eleven, he thought. He’d almost called her at midnight, but he didn’t have the confidence he’d had as a younger man. She’d be angry and he’d be defenseless.   

 He checked his watch, a quarter after three. He knew he was just being stubborn. Or, maybe he was enjoying the onset of the misery he knew he would live with for the next six months. In the long run, hearing her say the words might make it easier. As Tony was pouring one more Hennessy it dawned on him that a smart young woman like Gretchen might simply ghost him. “Now that would hurt,” he said aloud to his image in the mirror.

 He lifted his drink and silently toasted Gretchen and their short romance. Suddenly he could smell her perfume. She slid on the stool next to his. “I’ll have what he’s having, Tony,” she said.

 Tony grinned broadly and immediately stifled it. “Absolutely.”

 “Considering the way he looks, he’s had enough,” Gretchen said, glancing at Luke.  

 “Where were you?” Luke asked.

 “Working, silly. A ginormous story broke five minutes before I was leaving.”

 “Really, what happened?”

 “Bigfoot was discovered in Central Park.”

 He frowned, disappointed. “No need to be disrespectful.”   

 “Sorry,” she said, “I had to go to my mother’s apartment. She had a minor stroke, but her doctor says she’ll be fine.”

 “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I was worried about you.”

 “Don’t be, Luke. You’re a great guy. I just wanted to stop by and tell you that. I knew you’d still be here.”

 “And this is goodbye?”

 Gretchen put her hand over Luke’s and stroked it gently. She turned to Tony. “Put his bill on my tab, honey.”