Flirting with ...

Content warning: alcohol, violence

“Water?” asked the barkeep over the clamor and chatter.

Will playfully tapped his empty glass. “Sure.”

The barkeep poured the refreshment out from an ornate pitcher. Midway through the pour, the barkeep's gaze appeared to be elsewhere. The liquid ran smoothly from glass to glass at first—then a coolness ran over Will’s hand.

“Hey,” Will said. The water continued to run out of his glass. “Hey, buddy!”

The barkeep caught words once more and whipped the pitcher up with wide eyes. “I am so sorry, sir. That was quite unlike me.” He still wouldn’t look at Will.

Will shook his hand back and forth, sending droplets flying, and then stood. A puddle had formed, darkening the walnut table, and the excess runoff fell from the edge.

“Sheesh. You’re lucky it happened to me and not someone else.” Will gestured with his dry hand to the rest of the room. “Real lucky, pal. What’s gotten into—”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A piercing tap bounced from wall to wall. The unmistakable clicking of heels on concrete.

She wore a backless black dress, and from neck to the floor the fabric glinted and glittered. The few eyes that were near stared in silence, and Will himself was especially smitten with the entrance of the raven beauty. He took a sip from his overflowing cup, and more water shook out onto the table.

At the furthest and darkest edge of the room, she found her seat. A broken bulb above her did no favors for Will, who found himself more than compelled. He couldn’t look any other way if he wanted to.

“Wish me luck,” Will said. He gave the barkeep's white vest a pat, then made his way over.

Something wasn’t quite right. From the moment Will stood, everything was hazy. The edges of his vision went away, faint in perception. He hadn’t been that drunk, he thought. Each step felt light, like his legs had begun to go numb. The shadows of the room were growing from each side, and there was no sound. What should have been just a few seats down felt like a minute of walking, and then finally, he arrived.

Will lifted a hand to the side of his face and felt a bead of sweat running from his hairline.

“You alright?”

Her voice cut him. The silence ended, and the chime of glass and small talk filled the bar anew.

Will, entranced once more, held the face of a fool; he had nearly forgotten what he was doing. From under her dark hair hung silver earrings—the cross, catching what little light there was.

Will finally cleared his throat. “I’m better now that you are here.”

Her lips were covered in shade, which she puckered and gently exhaled.

“Oh, dear. You came all the way over here; surely you can do better.” She leaned into the counter, a hand on her head, waiting.

Will found himself trembling, wracking a blank mind for words.

“And how may I be of service to the fine lady?” interjected the barkeep.

“A funny kind of question,” she played. “I suppose a barkeep would best be of service… bartending?” She tilted her head.

“Of course,” said the barkeep. His hands were clasped together, and he had a hunch in his back that hadn’t been present earlier. “I’d be happy to—please. What can I get for you?”

“Brennivín.” She winked her dark lashes. “You have it, don’t you?”

The barkeep was red in the face. “A lady of refinement, I’ll have that for you right away.” He half turned away to get the drink before his arm was caught by a pale hand.

“And please,” she said, shaking her head with an ease. “Remember the lemon.”

“Of course,” he whispered, then scampered away.

The woman tapped the table a few times. “Dear. Did you think of a better line?”

Will felt like an onlooker chained to the wall rather than someone present for conversation, but some part of his pride wouldn’t let him stammer in the same way the barkeep had; he wouldn’t be made a fool.

“What brings a woman like you to this part of the concrete jungle?”

Her eyes met his from the side, and his heart leapt so hard that Will thought it might be audible. “You people tonight, so full of silly questions. Why does anyone come to a dinky little bar? To get a drink, dear.”

With enthusiastic timing, a drink was slammed to the table. “Here you are, wonderful… on the house,” announced the barkeep with his return.

She folded her arms tightly. “Wonderful,” she repeated back. “Dear.”

“Ma’am?”

“The lemon.”

His excitement dropped with uncalled-for horror. “How could I—” he stammered, “how foolish, of course—I’ll return at once.” Gone in a haste.

She ran her finger slowly around the tip of her glass. “Well, third time’s a charm, they say. Would you like to try once more?”

Will could just hardly draw breath; she had pierced him with a long stare. It was like there was a scratch in his heart and a dagger in his pride.

“Do you work around here, in the city?” Will tried.

Her shoulders fell in a shrug, and her head rolled with discontent.

“Ahh… Three strikes and you are out, I’m afraid. But I’ll answer your question all the same.”

Will choked back his sinking emotion. He felt like a boy on a school playground, and yet he adhered to her words, desperately hanging on for the reply.

“I do work in the city. Here and there,” she pointed up, then in a nondescript circle. “I’m working right now, even.”

“Right now?” asked Will.

The barkeep was sprinting back, lemon in hand, before his leg caught behind the table. Bottles came crashing down as he reached out to the back shelving in vain. The man flew headfirst into the corner of the table, hard, and then to the concrete with an additional snap.

Will stood, jolted by the sudden violence. “Sir, are you alright—sir?” He cut around the side to get behind the counter. The barkeep was face down in a pool of blood.

The woman in black stood and patted her dress gently. “And with that I’ve earned a break,” she smiled. Even now, Will could not look away from her. One last time, she spoke.

“I do hope you have something more fulfilling to say next time.” Her heels clicked in rhythm to note her departure. “See you soon, Will. Real soon.”