A new first day of work (Part 3).

Luke had waited so long to open his bar in his ideal conditions that it had almost felt like an eternity, but after all that waiting, the cocktail bar was finally open to customers. And customers we got.

This wasn’t a bar meant to be pouring beer after beer to rowdy crowds, but a small cocktail lounge for couples to share a few drinks before retiring to their rooms. We could seat a total of twenty people, and only an hour after opening, we were seating fourteen. Six of those had taken spots at the counter while four other couples sat at different tables.

Like Diana said, she and Dylan, the other bartender, would take care of making the drinks while I focused on waiting tables, doing the dishes and occasionally pouring drinks. We were an hour in and… I felt pretty silly for being so nervous before coming here.

Fourteen people calmly sharing drinks, barely ordering one thing at a time and lost in their own little world? At the peak hours, we’d have like 20 people or more at the coffee shop all ordering stuff at the same time. Doing dishes here at the bar meant washing the spoons, shakers and whatever other tools the bartenders used to make the drinks, as well as a couple for glasses every 20 minutes. It didn’t come close to the mountain of dishes, cups and utensils I had to wash before. Not only that, but somehow the vibe of the place was… more to my taste, in more than one way.

Everything was more quiet. The customers weren’t looking to make conversation with the waiter. The couples were too busy flirting with each other to care. All I had to do was address them briefly and politely, take their orders, take their drinks to them and leave. That quiet approach seemed to fit here more than it did back at the coffee shop. But there was something even more surprising, or perhaps it shouldn’t have been.

At that moment, we had 7 couples in the bar. Some older than others, some where the age gap was more apparent, and like I said before, they were all mostly lost in their own little world. Women wearing revealing dresses, men openly staring, tons of flirting and caressing everywhere… I thought I would be uncomfortable, I believed I SHOULD be uncomfortable, but… It felt weirdly uplifting.

Again, I blamed it on Frey, on her influence on me. The lust in the air almost felt like home. Knowing that these people came here to enjoy themselves, to share carnal pleasure… It made me wish them the best. It was Frey’s belief that sexual pleasure was pure, in a way, and that so long as everything was consensual, everyone should be able to enjoy it to the fullest. Having shared countless moments like that, I had already adopted that belief myself, it seemed.

I went back behind the counter, carrying a tray with two empty glasses and set it next to the sink to wash them. “A Dry Martini and a Rusty Nail for table two,” I told Diana. “Um… And what exactly is a Dry Martini?” I asked.

Diana wasted no time turning around and grabbing two bottles from the shelf, intentionally hiding the labels from me. Her face, and even her tone, were calmed and focused. “What is a Martini made of?” she asked me.

“Gin and vermouth,” I told her.

“Correct.” She set the bottles of gin and vermouth on the counter before getting a mixing glass and a bar spoon. “Originally, the recipe for a Martini indicated the use of sweet vermouth, but over time it changed to use dry vermouth and has since become the standard.”

I nodded. “So… A regular martini, then?” I asked.

“Yes, but since we also serve its variations here, the distinction is important.”

She measured the exact amount of gin and vermouth using a jigger and poured it into the mixer with a dash of orange bitters and some ice before she started stirring. I watched her do it for about 30 seconds, mesmerized every single one. The way she stood straight with stable shoulders, stirring quickly and smoothly as proof of the thousands of times she must’ve done this same thing, the focus on her eyes and the expertise and care with which she poured the drink and garnished it with a lemon peel… I watched her do it drink after drink, whether it be a Martini, a Rusty Nail or a Gin Fizz.

I don’t really blame anyone for believing that this is all too pretentious for what is essentially just a way to get drunk, but when you see someone pouring so much of themselves into something they believe in, you really can’t help but respect and appreciate it. Or at least, I’d like it to be that way for everyone, but now I’m wishful thinking.

I looked over at Dylan, who was also making drinks for a couple sitting in front of him. I noticed some differences immediately. He was… looser, in a way. More relaxed than Diana, making eye contact with the customers every other moment and smiling at them. I watched him take an empty shaker and toss it in the air with a spin before catching it and smoothly putting in some herbs by sliding his hand over it and dropping inside what I believe was mint. The couple seemed amused, and I was starting to understand what Diana meant by him being flashy.

Diana finished the Rusty Nail by the time I looked back at her. If Dylan was flashy, Diana was deadly efficient. I put both drinks in a tray and took them to table two.

I nodded with a smile and set the drink in front of them. “I hope they are to your liking.”

“Thank you,” the man said absentmindedly while taking a quick glance at his phone.

“Yes, thank you,” the woman said, looking me directly in the eyes and giving me a dangerously sultry smile that made my blood run cold. I think I could tell she was just teasing me while tipsy and in a flirty mood, but I decided to take it as a sign. I bowed politely and left them alone, realizing that maybe I’d have to do something about my… allure while I worked here.

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