How I Met Your Sister

CW: sexual themes, drug use, domestic abuse references, strong language.

It was a boring Tuesday night and only the regulars had shown up. She came in holding her husband’s arm. Both out of place: too dressed up, too perfumed, too neat. Two smoking wagyu steaks at the Holloway Drive Baptist Church soup kitchen.

I liked to watch the newcomers as they wandered in. I made a bet with myself. This time, I thought they'd leave. So I put five bucks under the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and watched them drift. He exchanged fleeting glances with the customers at the tables. She set her eyes on the far end of the bar. Every time he set course for a table, she pulled him back towards the dartboard in the corner.

Sade was coloring the place with her silky voice. I had seen the whole place drop its leashes and transform under the spell of “Smooth Operator” before. The regulars had grown immune lately, but that night, two tables, nine and twelve, had started kissing. I still think, sometimes, that those were exactly the tables they had passed by on their way in.

She took the stool at the corner of the bar and he stood beside her. I had meant to give them the customary two minutes to think twice before asking what they wanted, but he began an insistent rap on the counter.

I remember approaching them with my most affected grin. I had polished that counter every night for the past five years and hated anyone who threatened to scratch it.

“What will it be?”

“A white wine for her and a shot of whiskey for me,” he said, scanning the tables from there.

She gave me a soft smile.

If someone had asked me then, I would have said that he was the only one who wanted to be there. That's not that rare. Dumb assholes who need a little extra spice.

If I remember right, instead of serving her the boxed wine, I opened a bottle for her. When I placed the drinks on the counter, he had crossed the room and peeked behind the curtain.

“Is it always this quiet?” she said, then.

All of a sudden, I knew I had lost my bet. And probably my head too. Her gray eyes stung like wasps. I let my head sink between my shoulders. “It’s just another Tuesday. Fridays are usually better.”

“I see.”

Her husband returned. “Another whiskey.”

“Could I have one of those olives you put in cocktails?” she said, tapping on the drinks menu with a long ruby-red nail.

I nodded. She smiled. Her husband checked the tables again. He seemed especially drawn to blondes. I could have told him there were none. I didn’t.

Sally and Ned came in at ten. They never missed. I guess I owed half my business to Sally's smile. Or to Ned's size. Anyway, the first one was on me. Sally found her right away. The corner couldn't disguise her charm and maybe, just maybe, the dartboard light had just come on. I know, I know, but a manager has to do whatever he can to keep his business running. Ned didn't bother to approach her husband. That dick wouldn't have appreciated Ned’s games; he was hypnotized by the swing of a loving hand under table nine.

I set the drink down for Sally and the olives for the woman.

“Thank you, Frank,” said Sally. “This is my new friend Laura.”

Laura took an olive and nibbled at it. Her eyes wouldn't release me. I managed a silly mumble and blushed my way to the other side of the bar.

I stared at the monitors for a while. There wasn’t much action on the other side of the curtain, but a couple of orders from table twelve kept me busy. Laura chatted lightly with Sally, but I could feel her gaze on me. Despite the signage, her husband passed through the curtain once, probably thinking I wouldn't notice, but he soon found out he had no business there.

“If you want to watch, go to the cinema,” I told him while I handed him a cold pack. “This is not for sale. I need it back.”

He nodded.

Only then did I pour him another whiskey. He gulped it down and his gaze followed a new couple until they sat.

Kenny G was heating up the room and two people switched tables. Then another two. Most of the attention gravitated toward Ned. It had been a mess to keep track of the tabs until I started making them sign for every drink. They made a fuss for a couple of days, then got used to it.

Laura was now alone. When I glanced at her, she gestured toward me. “Would you pour me a little more wine, Frank?” she said it as if we were on a date in the park, or at least, that's how it felt to me.

Guys, guys, you need to understand — even a bartender at a swingers club can fall for an angel like Laura.

“Oh. Stop it, Frank. You're making fun of me.”

“Laura! Don't stop him now. This story deserves our attention. You found the funniest way to lose Marvin.”

“Shut up, sis! Go on, Frank, you have my permission.”

Marvin. Right.

Marvin returned to Laura’s side as soon as I had poured her wine. “Whis—key!” he said, really fighting to get that key out, and slammed the cold pack on the bar. Laura stared at me.

You did. You did. You knew I was going to kick his butt out the door.

Whatever. I gave the guy another chance. Besides, I didn't want Laura to leave. Marvin took his glass and sat at table five. The guy sitting there was just like him. His wife, though, didn't look like Laura at all. The blonde hair on her head didn't make it to her eyebrows.

I swear!

But she didn’t want to be there at all, and the bruises on her arms… Bad stuff.

We found Marvin behind the curtain when the bar closed at three. A needle was still in his arm. The blonde slept next to him, unaware. Her husband was gone.

“What—?”

“What did you just—?”

“Calm down, sis. Frank’s pulling your leg. Go ahead, Frank, get off the phone and tell her.”

Hey, Marv, yeah. Hey, man, get your butt over here, your sister-in-law wants to see you’re fine. By the way, bring Sally. Ah! And my trophy!

You know, sis, I still keep half of the five-dollar bill I bet. I put it in a frame. After all, only Laura let me down.

“To be fair, Frank, you lost the bet. I didn’t leave either.”