Friday at Seven

The thunder shook the building.

“Holy shit, this weather!” Mike grumbled to the bouncer as he scurried to escape the sudden storm. He paid his cover charge and slipped into the small pool hall that served as the town’s bar, disappearing under the sign that flashed ‘O’Malley’s’. Mike paused inside the door, giving himself a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting inside. His pupils dilated and took in the light and revealing O’Malley’s.

Men and women, packed the bar, chatted and laughed as they leaned close to talk. A pool table sat unused in the corner as the occupants of the bar milled around it. An outdated and non-functional jukebox sat in along the far wall, seemingly for decoration, and two men leaned and chatted over it. Then Mike saw her, the waitress glided through the crowd with grace and ease. She was late twenties or early thirties with bright red hair pulled back into a ponytail, face-framing bangs the only hair to escape the elastic. Her lithe form moved and leaned as she balanced a tray in her hand, her smile never slipping as she as bumped and jostled. Her crisp white shirt was in contrast to her black skirt and stiletto heels, the click, click, click of her heels travelled across the crowded bar before reaching his ears.

Mike was instantly enthralled. His heart quickened as he watched her move, his eyes memorized her face, her beauty etched across his braid. She was the woman he always imagined, the kind of girl every guy daydreamed about but never actually saw. Her infectious smile made him smile as he began to move through the crowd to catch her.

Mike was athletic, standing a solid six feet and well-built, but he could not match the peerless skill with which the young woman moved. He stood on his toes to see her hair, some kind of fire-engine red in a sea of shaved heads, black hair, and blonde curls. When he spotted her, he felt a hand grabbing his sports jacket, shocking him and causing him to turn. He found himself facing a young woman who was clearly demanding his attention.

The woman smiled and cocked her head. Her curled, brunette hair spilled across her shoulders and down the front of her light brown suede jacket. He glanced at her, noting her distressed jeans and her high-top Converse wedges. She held a dark green bottle in her hand. Beneath the wet fabric and stale beer that suffused the interior of the bar, he caught a warmer tone - vanilla softened by jasmine.

“Hey there cutie, buy a girl a drink?” she said, smiling and wagging her empty bottle back and forth by her head.

“Um, uh…” Mike stammered, peering over his shoulder at the disappearing waitress. He spied her, moving through the crowd with her tray of bottles, almost to him. Click, click, click. “Oh, um, what?” Mike stammered, his brain snapping back to the woman in front of him, now looking more than a bit impatient.

“You. Me. Drink. Talk. Dance.” The woman smiled and tilted her head to the opposite shoulder. Her smile reached across her face, freckles stippled across her cheeks. Her eyes held onto him, waiting for him to respond. The waitress slid by him, offering a wink and a moment of eye contact, the lovely scent of apples and peaches drifting past him in her wake, caressing his senses.

Mike smile. “Thank you so much,” he paused, waiting for her name.

“Avery,” she said, lowering the bottle, her smile waning.

“Avery. Yes, thank you so much but I was trying to catch up with the waitress. I’m sorry, I just, well, need to talk to her.” He saw her smile turn to a faux pout as she moved closer. The bangles on her wrist fell together, the plastic hoops knock together as they piled at her wrist as her hand went from his jacket to her hip. Desperately wanting to escape the awkwardness of the situation that, frankly, he had just created Mike spun on his heels to move in the direction he had seen the waitress go.

As he turned his vision caught the briefest flash of red in the corner of his eye and his brain quickly made one very unfortunate realization – that in his haste to escape he was about to turn directly into the waitress. That was when several things happened at once.

The lights flickered for a half a second and then went out, leaving the room in darkness and grumbles of discontent suddenly filling the room. Mike backstepped into Avery, stumbling her, in order to avoid the waitress that he was confident was right behind him. He felt her tray brush against his arm as she ran into him anyways. Mike thanked the lord for the power outage – because he was quite confident that his face must be the color of the waitress’s hair at that exact moment in time.

The lights had been out all of a few seconds when Mike felt fingers slip behind his neck and pull him down, his lips pushing against soft lips. A sweet smell, with a warmer note underneath, assaulted his nose while his mouth was flooded by a crisp, fruit taste mixed with alcohol. The soft hand on the back of his neck pulled him into the kiss, the woman’s tongue slipping gracefully between his lips and sliding across his, exploring his mouth. Mike was frozen, his arms hanging by his side. ‘Do something! Anything, you fool!’ his mind screamed at him, his arms responding and reaching for the woman to embrace her. At that moment, he was released and he heard it. Click, click, click. The sound of escaping steps. Mike just stood there, realizing he had been kissed but had in no way participated in that kiss. Hands still at his side, he felt like a sixteen year old kid that just had his first kiss in a closet playing ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’. He looked around and suddenly fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone to use the flashlight app as dozens of other patrons have same notion, cellphone screens illuminating ghostly faces, when he heard a backup generator kick on, rumbling outside, and dim emergency lights flickered back to life.

With the lights coming on, Mike spun, looking around. He spied the waitress a few feet away, navigating the crowd as smoothly as before. Holding the tray in one hand, she uses her other to balance as she weaves across the room. Avery, also nearby, still a new scuff mark on her shoes from where he had stepped on her.

“I’m sorry folks, but we need to close up for the night. We can’t run refrigeration and lights off backup power” shouts the elderly bartender who is surprisingly loud, his voice booming above the milling customers. Grumbling, everyone starts to shuffle towards the door as he repeats himself.

The exodus seems to take forever, though ten minutes later Mike is sitting back in his truck, staring at the bar. Rubbing his face, the events that unfold play out again and again. The soft lips, the strong fingers. As he sat there, the rain slashing across his windshield, that kiss replayed on repeat, determination settling over him. That smell and those heels. Plus she was right there, it must have been her. Mike promises to himself that he has to meet this woman.

****

Tomorrow evening, Mike’s truck pulled into the O’Malley’s lot just before 9 PM. Mike hops out of the truck and heads to the door. He had dressed to impress and moved with confidence. After paying the cover he walks inside and sees the waitress moving back and forth from the bar, delivering drinks. Another crisp white blouse and curve-hugging skirt, same stylish stilettos. Smiling, he begins to saunter to her, the bar significantly less crowded without the storm forcing people to seek shelter from outside.

“Hey love, hope you’ve changed your mind,” Avery intercepted him from his right. He hadn’t even noticed her. She’s wearing a tight tank under a black jacket and even tighter jeans, though still wears her hair down and is wearing the same bangles and shoes. She motions to her shoes, the scuff mark from him stepping on her still visible. “I mean, a drink’s the least you owe me,” and winks at him.

Feeling a bit sheepish, Mike looks at her and smiles. “Sure. What you drinkin’? Beer?”

“Cider. Angry Orchard.”

Smiling, Mike seizes the opportunity to retreat and pursue the waitress. The kiss runs through his head. The smell… which he was pretty sure was sweet. The taste was… fruity? The clicking sound as she retreated from the dalliance. His mind replays the encounter until he finally arrives at her, now behind the bar… the woman that he is sure that kissed him.

“Hey there, could I get a beer and an Angry Orchard?” All of the coy one-liners escaping his mind as the reality of her stands there. She smiles and leans under the bar, emerging with bottles. Expertly knocking the caps off she hands them over, leaning towards him, the smell of peaches hit him, but something is missing. It was sweet, but not quite that. He dismisses the change because she surely owns a dozen perfumes.

He reaches for the beers, his hand touching hers. Her skin is dry, likely from washing her hands, but the feeling is electric.

“That will be ten.”

“Sure,” he says as he digs out his wallet. Handing it over, he makes small talk “what’s your name, beautiful?”

“Well there, names cost extra” she says, coyly evading his small talk as expertly as the most experienced haggler. “But it can be whatever you want it to be,” she continues, sliding the check across the bar, leaning over farther than is needed and offering him a generous glance of her cleavage. Baffled at how to respond, Mike signed the slips, leaving a sizable tip, he secures the drinks and turns away from the bar.

“Thanks, gorgeous. I’ll be back.”

She reached across the bar, brushing his arm, “can’t wait,” and made a kissing face before flitting to another patron.

Mike slowly meanders across the room. He had spoken with her, even touched her. He didn’t understand though. She was the girl every guy wants and he had talked to her and still he didn’t even have her name, much less her number.

Sidling up to Avery, Mike hands her the cider and tips his beer back.

“What has you here two nights in a row? Looking fine tonight though so I’m not complaining, just as long as you’re not here to run me over like last night. So, mystery man, what’s your name anyway?” Avery talks fast, waving her bottle around while gesturing with her other hand. The bangles click together and the hard cider comes perilously close to spilling.

“Umm, Mike…” His mind is racing. Maybe it was her? Maybe Avery kissed him since he had kind of rejected her. She smells like Vanilla and something else, same as last night. Maybe that was under the fruity smell. Maybe the sweet taste was cider? But was she really drinking the same thing? He mulls over the concept, weighing possibilities, as Avery excitedly talks, energetically recounting her day. What started as half-hearted listening has begun to crystalize into interest.

“So I am waiting at the store and some woman cuts in front of me and suddenly she is some special number of customer and wins these concert tickets. Can you believe that she did that! I mean, as if I wasn’t even standing there? But really, I’m the winner in that situation. She cut in line and won and it landed me here instead of at some concert. Can’t complain about that too much. Company is better here anyways.” Avery’s fast-paced story recounts her day and how she had found herself at the bar again instead of winning concert tickets for that night.

Mike shrugs, thinking she had been robbed and the concert was what she deserved because she was nice and it seemed like a treat that a nice person deserved. She was a fascinating girl and fun to listen to. It didn’t matter what she was talking about, just that she was talking about something. The dictionary recited by her would have been entertaining and he would have listened.

“I never liked concerts anyways. Too many people bumping into you and scuffing your shoes,” Mike quips back. “I guess that woman did you a favor.” Avery laughs, nudging his calf with her scuffed shoe.

Tipping his bottle back, Mike finishes his drink. “I’m gonna grab another, be right back.” She pauses and he turns back to the waitress. He walks to the bar and slides his beer across, leaning heavily onto it. “One more, please.” As she smiles and leans forward, he mirrors in a conspiratorial fashion and says “That was quite a kiss last night.”

She stands and stares at him. Blank eyes boring into him. “Wait…what?”

“You kissed me when the lights went out.” Winking, trying sell confident and alluring.

She was unfortunately not in the market for alluring. Instead, she started laughing. Chuckling like someone had shared some inside joke, she looked over to him. “Why would I kiss you?”

He was left without a good answer. Stammering, he tried to answer and found his confidence from seconds ago had vanished and was replaced by something between horror and embarrassment. Signing the slip, he retreated back to Avery who was watching him, nursing her own drink.

Walking over, he watches Avery as he closes. She dances in place to the music as she waits for him and spies him walking back over. She smiles. Not the seductive smile of a man’s fantasy looking to serve him, just one that says she is happy to be talking to him.

Mike slides into the seat next to Avery, giving his fresh beer a pull. Avery, still smiling, immediately starts into her story again, bangles clicking, cider sloshing. Her story is energetic and he feels pulled into it, listening intently, chuckling as she jokes about her coworkers at the hospital she works at as a nurse, and nodding in agreement as she complains about the trials and tribulations of her day.

She pauses to drink for a moment and he seizes his chance. “Avery, did you kiss me yesterday when the lights went out?”

She smirks. “Well, I was gonna let ya do more than that but you went after her,” she motioned her bottle towards the bar. “Do you think me desperate enough to ambush you in the dark?”

“I guess not... but I mean, someone did.”

 “It was dark. Lots of people,” she said shrugging. “So that’s why you’re back, you came back to ask that pretty redhead out, didn’t you?”

“Well, that was the plan.”

“You don’t even know her, do you?”

“Well, I mean I was gonna talk to her and get to know her first. I wasn’t going to just hand her my number.” Mike found himself on the defensive, seemingly defending his ability to ask a girl out.

“Do you even know her name?”

“Well, that’s the next step. Maybe my next drink?”

“Well, you know mine, what I drink, what I do, and that you owe me for these shoes still. I think I’m winning, so… Friday at seven?” Mike is taken aback as he wasn’t asked out, he was told.

Mike let the statement sit for a moment before responding. “So was it you?”

Smiling, Avery leaned forward, locking eyes. “No.”

“So seven?”

“Friday.”

Avery went back to chatting with him, his mind making sense of what had happened. Her story held his attention, her eyes glittering and her smile infectious, drawing Mike in. He hadn’t even thought about the waitress and when his drink was low, feigned drinking so as to keep the conversation going. Avery’s animated style of talking continued, the bangles and bottle waving and zipping through the air.

Click. Click. Click.