Bar Crawlin' Blues

Evie surveys the dozen or so middle aged men in the restaurant, they of the herringbone shirts and tweed jackets that scream academia. Their eyes are glued to the screen overhead. Whatever it is, it must be exciting. But she can’t tell, no thanks to the din of Gaelic music piping through the speakers over the speakers.

What a drag. Remind me never to come here again.

“You sure know how to lighten the mood, missy.” She darts her eyes at Christina.

“Don’t knock it until you tried it.” Christina leers at her.

“What kind of bar is this? Like, all the songs are depressing and there’s no young people and stuff.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

“Deception my foot. Everybody’s either drinking or watching the boob tube.”

“Yeah, take a look and maybe you’ll know why.”

Evie tries to get a glance of what’s going on, but everybody is a least six foot tall. And they say the Irish are short. She motions for one of her threads to hoist her up on their shoulders so she can get a better view, and lo and behold, she spies a most unusual sight, at least for a bar.

A soccer game.

“Who are these people anyway, Christina?” She sneers. “Are they like, immigrants or something? I don’t know anyone ‘round here who watches…that.”

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Most of these people aren’t from around here. I have it on good faith that most of them are from Limerick and Cork.”

“Limerick and Cork?”

“Counties, stupid. They’re from Ireland.”

“Ah. So they’re punsters?”

“When they’re not sodding themselves.”

Evie glances at the young man tending bar, a raven haired man with a pleasant appearance that would make any girl swoon. To say nothing of soiling her panties.

“I thought he’d be considerably older.”

“You mean Eamon? He’s a graduate of Dublin, class of ‘07. He decided to take over the family business when he ran out of options back home.”

“Back home?”

“He’s an English major.”

Evie chuckles.

“’plains a lot.”

“Hey Eamon!” Christina calls over to him. “Can you fix a whisky for me? And an Irish coffee for the girl.”

“Whisky and an iced coffee coming right up!”

Evie casts a sideways look.

“Who do you take me for? An old lady?”

Christina grabs her by the wrist, leading her to an antique table. As several of the more intoxicated patrons stumble out into the darkness, Evie’s friends take their places within the restaurant. They are surprisingly relaxed, talking and even joking amongst each other. Evie stares at the distressed surface of the furniture, wondering if it’s fake or indeed a relic from a later time.

“What’s this all about?”

“Think of it as an olive branch.”

As promised, Eamon delivers the alcoholic concoctions. Evie takes a look at the creamy dark coffee, taking tentative sips as she watches the footballers on TV. Christina, on the other hand, chugs her whisky like a heathen. As the liquor takes root, their lips quickly become lubricated. Evie laughs.

“You know, my teammates almost went apeshit when you followed us after the game?”

“I know. I swore they’d tear you apart.”

“They really like you.”

“Thanks.” Christina smiles.

“I can’t say the same about mine.” Evie stares at the screen. “Except for Dani and
Becky, none of them come ‘round to my side when my back’s against the wall. Almost like I’m a…”

“Bitch?”

“Exactly!”

“I think the Beatles summed it up well. The love you get is proportional to the love you give.”

“Damn you’re smart. How’d you get to be such a genius?”

“Nothin’ genius about it. Just being a good person and all.”

“So what inspired you to come here?”

“It’s quiet for starters.” Christina takes a break from the sauce. “No one bothers me. The drinks are good. Plus, free soccer on the TV.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be 21 before you can drink?”

The soccer player puts a finger to her mouth.

“No one’s supposed to know. Besides, he’s cool as long as no one makes a big deal about it.”

Evie steals a glance at the handsome bartender, impure thoughts coursing through her head. It’s not hard to imagine her tangled in his arms…and other things as well.

She’d be so lucky just to get a peck from him. Never mind fuck him.

She spies a couple of her foe’s teammates as they wonder towards the bathroom, apparently having their fill of the free drinks. The caffeine kicks in soon enough.

Her brain spins with a thousand stray thoughts. She distracts herself with the sad lyrics blaring over the PA, hoping to appear anything but a buzzed coffee freak. Her bladder gets the better of her though.

As she excuses herself, she saunters over to the women’s restroom, somewhat intoxicated. The herculean effort of trying to **** the door open catches her off guard. That’s unusual. She jiggers the handle.

“Excuse me, can I have some assistance?” She calls in Eamon’s direction.

“What’s the problem?” He calls back in a heavy Irish brogue.

“Door’s jammed, I think.”

As he walks over it suddenly gives way. Evie’s eyes are like dinner plates as she observes the two teammates going down on each other, their bodies entwined in a sixty-nine, oblivious to the pair of figures hovering in the doorframe.

“It’s official.” Evie takes a breath. “I’ve seen it all.”