Love Like Wine

Soft music lulled in the background. Unlike most other bars in this part of the city, this one harbored a quiet atmosphere meant for relaxation and peaceful conversation. The room was dimly lit, with dank walls and retro furnishings. Old-fashioned with leather couches, chairs, and stools. Nothing here was modern, giving it a homey, cozy feeling. Like when you went to visit your grandmother.

The customers here were mainly, if not all, regulars. Modest people from the middle class, like old man Herman, who always occupied the same chair in the back left corner.

I twirled the clear liquid around a few times before throwing back my head and downing the drink. It burned all the way into my stomach deliciously, but the pleasure was short-lived.

I pushed the glass aside til I heard it clink against another. Sighing, I slumped on the stool. My eyes blurred slightly, and I felt a buzz coming on, but it wasn’t strong enough to distract me from myself yet.

I only drank on long days. By the number of empty drinks aligning the counter, one, two, three, plus two beers, I deducted it’d been one of the longest this month, and I'd only been here an hour or so.

George, the old bartender and owner of this fabulous heaven, Sals, strode up to me. A towel was slung over his shoulder, and his shirt's two top buttons were open, revealing just a few graying chest hairs. That is precisely how I’d left him and another unholy number of shots a week earlier.

I greeted him with a slight nod and met his brown eyes for merely a second, long enough to notice the sympathy in them. They said it all; I looked like I’d been through hell and back... twice.

“Another rough day, Vicki?”

“What gave it away?” I asked rhetorically. “Was it the bags under my eyes or the amount of alcohol I’ve already consumed? Either way, yes. It’s been hellish!”

With hair sticking up everywhere, a half-delirious smile, wilted eyes, and an overall exhausted appearance, I didn’t need a mirror to know how I looked. Work had been gruesome, and guests even worse! And Julia, the angel, had gone on maternity leave about two months ago.

George smiled understandingly, reached under the bar, fished out a bottle, popped the lid, and handed it to me.

“I can’t give you the expensive stuff on the top shelf, but I can at least offer a beer to my best customer,” he said, pushing the bottle a few inches forward into my hands.

“Whatever should I do without you?” I grinned, gratefully accepting the beer.

“Go dry,” George winked mischievously and rubbed his hands against the cloth on his shoulder.

I pulled a face. “That's a nightmare I never want to experience.”

George laughed heartily as he went to take an order from another customer, waving for his attention, shaking his head as he went.

I loved George. The old man never asked questions, and yet he had a knack for cracking people open without even meaning to. He let people talk if they wanted to, and if you chose to confide in him, I doubted even the Queen of England could get the man to spill the beans.

He was my number one go-to friend, an unpaid and uneducated psychiatrist, all in one wonderful package.

I was enjoying the beer, concluding that free drinks really did taste better than anything money could buy, when someone sat down in the seat beside me.

“You look a little lonely there. Mind if I join you, sweetheart?” The alarmingly familiar Australian voice chimed.

I sighed deeply the moment I recognized its owner. My body shook uncomfortably, and my brain started to hurt. Every fiber in me tensed like the string on a bow, and my hands clutched the beer fervently. I hoped it would glue itself onto the table so I wouldn’t flee. There was no way I was ever leaving alcohol behind.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Billy? I am not your sweetheart. And yes, I do mind, so please, go find an empty seat somewhere else,” I grumbled, putting my face in my palms and resting my elbows on the counter with a groan.

I hated nicknames, even those used as a form of endearment, with a passion. They made me feel constipated.

“But you don’t even know what I want.” Billy leaned over, finding the only rift between my fingers that didn’t cover my eyes, and grinned like a child with a secret.

Despite my protest, he'd already taken a comfortable seat right next to me. If he leaned any closer, our shoulders would touch, so I tried very hard to keep myself as still as possible.

"Vicki, just talk to me," it sounded like he was going to beg this time.

I lifted my head, feeling exasperated. “There’s really only one thing you ever ask me, Billy, and no, I will still not go out with you.”

“Please?” He begged... he begged! “I’ll let you decide on the when and where.”

“Are you kidding me!?” I ended up slamming my hands against the hard counter in frustration. The impact stung my palms hotly, but the alcohol in my system numbed the pain, so I barely noticed it or the startled onlookers. Even old man Herman glanced our way, and he barely reacted to his own name.

George was so used to our arguments that he wasn’t even surprised and chose to ignore us. We’d done this so often now that it'd nearly become a routine. I couldn't even remember when all this began, but it must have been shortly after I moved to Bismarck, North Dakota. How did I even meet him in the first place?

Well, I thought, since I only ever came here for one thing, I'd probably been drunk when we first met, which is likely why I couldn't remember our first meeting.

I felt Billy’s gaze bore holes in my cheek. He hadn’t looked away once and didn’t even seem the least bit affected by my continuous rejections.

“Don’t you ever give up?” I mumbled mournfully, rubbing my forehead.

His smile grew a smidge at my question. “No. Unfortunately, I think I'm about as stubborn as you are. And I’m not kidding either.”

I glared at him. He was scraping against every one of my nerve endings, and my enervated brain was starting to short-circuit. If anything, this man was stupidly persistent.

Billy had the audacity to roll his eyes at me before that loop-sided smile returned, “Would it really be so bad to go on a date with me? Just once?”

His adorable blue puppy eyes and engrossing smile made a combination that almost had me caving in. Luckily, his repeated courtship had made me mostly resistant to them.

I mumbled a perturbed ‘yes,’ turned my face away, and tried to shut him off by pretending I was occupied with my beer. I heard him sigh and wished for that to be the end of our discussion.

Truthfully, I didn’t think it would be as bad as I made it out to be. I just knew Billy would put more into it than I would. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and definitely not with someone like him.

Billy was, in every way, a dreamboat, which was precisely why I couldn’t date him.

He graduated from Harvard with two master’s degrees in legislation and worked as a full-time lawyer for a big sales company downtown. And, judging by the expensive-looking watch on his right wrist, he was doing well- if his matte-grey Porsche outside didn’t tell as much. His suit was a sleek fit that couldn’t hide the fact that he also worked out, and often, by the looks of it.

The cherry on top was that Billy had the kind of face that made you turn to look an extra time. He wasn’t a Calvin Klein model, but the twinkle in his eyes and charming smile drew people in. He was a grown man, a few years older than me, yet he was boyishly handsome with a youthful charm he never seemed to outgrow. I did not doubt that he'd be mistaken for someone half his age by the time he was fifty or so. And, of course, he also had to be a foolproof gentleman.

Pulling out chairs, opening doors, and giving outrageous compliments that, most of the time, felt undeserved. He had and did it all! Damnit!

While Billy lived the high life, I worked in a hotel as a full-time receptionist with 24-hour availability. 24-hour availability was a shit time to work. It meant I had to deal with customers’ complaints and/or problems at 04:30 in the morning and still be expected to solve them with a smile. Sleep had almost become a foreign concept. Breaks? Never heard of them! And what did it even mean to have a day off?

The only free time I got was either spent here, drinking my sorrows away, or in my bed, sleeping off another hangover.

Not to mention the crap pay I got for working literally all the time. Employed in a hotel, whose biggest attraction was its cheap lodging, ample, affordable party hall, and location close to the city center and the CAT, Capital Area Transit, was definitely no goldmine nor a desirable career.

Because of that, I lived in a rundown Mobile Home with a leaking roof and a toilet that only flushed on the second try. My clothes came from the local thrift shop, and I couldn’t afford a car, so I walked or commuted everywhere.

“How about another drink then? My treat.”

I had half a mind to turn Billy down, but... he was playing with my heartstrings now.

“Why?” I asked. After all my complaints, I couldn't just back down and give in. At least not without a little resistance.

"Maybe I just want an excuse to talk to you. "

I rolled my eyes to the heavens above and mumbled under my breath, "Sure, that's why..."

"Oh, come on, sweetheart, can't you pretend to like me at least a little? Just for tonight?" I flatly ignored that question.

I could not understand how this man ever enjoyed my company. I'd never been anything but completely and utterly rude and dismissive of him. But, as always, he was unaffected.

Either the man was a masochist, desperate, or in need of psychological help because there was no way any sane person would stick around my sour ass for this long and still claim to want my company.

I noticed Billy glance between me and the beer, then gestured with a slight nod. “Come on, let me buy you something. Anything. Besides, if you haven't noticed, the beer in your hand is empty,” He said, sounding mildly amused.

Nope, I hadn't noticed at all. With a sigh, I pushed the bottle away, shoving it towards the others. I couldn't even remember when or how I finished it.

That should probably have been a sign for me to stop. I’d have a mean hangover waiting for me, but right then, I ignored reason and threw caution to the wind.

Damned be hangovers! Alcohol could have my body and soul for one more night before I had to endure another trip to hell in the morning. I was sure they already had a door with my name written on it in big, fat markings. Why make them wait?

“What the heck... Alright.” I caved with a coy smile. "If you buy me a drink, the least I can do is pretend to like your annoying personality for one evening... Just this once, though." I quickly added, holding up a finger.

Billy beamed at my genuine smile. It was a rare sight these days.

“Great! That's all I ask for, sweetheart,” Billy leaned across the counter and called George over.

“I’m not your sweetheart!” he either ignored me, didn’t care, or didn’t hear my correction.

“One whisky and-” Billy paused imploringly.

“White Russian.” I needed both alcohol and caffeine to survive this.

“And a White Russian,” he ordered, winking at me.

My heart skipped a beat. I hurriedly squashed the feeling with the drink the second it came within my reach. George gave us both a look as he turned away that I didn't even want to know the meaning of, and pretended not to notice.

I was going to drown tonight, and I couldn’t care less.