Jesse Faden is the bartender.

A glass was set in front of Emily. It was bubbly and clear, with ice, a lime slice, and some garnish.

"Ricky. Gin and seltzer," said the bartender.

"I didn't order this."

"On the house. No offense, but you look like you needed it."

Emily looked at the bartender, then the glass, then back up. Then she snorted.

"Thanks."

She grabbed a small black straw out of a nearby cup and helped herself.

"Your friends seem nice."

Two of the group paid one of the house girls to give Estevez a lap dance, a woman clad in a corset, garters, and panties (all a matching shade of hot pink) grinding against Kirin's jeans as the others hooped and hollered. One of the others (Emily having forgotten her name) followed their waitress into the bathroom for something other than nose-powdering.

"We're not friends. Sorry, that was callous. I mean we just know each other from work. I don't have a lot of friends."

"I can relate. I have to move around a lot and making friends can be difficult."

"Any specific reason?" Emily stirred her drink. She had to admit, the drink was helping her relax a little. She didn't chat about personal stuff a lot. Or maybe because the bartender was easy to talk to.

"My brother and I were separated when we were little. I've been looking for him."

"And you think he's in New York?"

The bartender's eyes glistened, a swirling presence surrounding Emily.

"I know he is."

"Well, I hope you find him. I'm Emily, by the way."

On the clock, the bartender fixed herself a water with ice.

"Jesse."

They clinked their glasses together.