Welcome to the Speakeasy

His eyes had glassed over hours earlier, and Zach had smartly taken his keys at the first opportunity. Zach had tended that bar, and served him plenty enough whiskey, to know that he'd not be driving home that evening. Alex was drunk; of that there was no question. But this was different, even for him.

 

"What's going on, man? You okay?" asked Zach as he adorned a glass with a spiraled orange peel.

 

"I'm just tired of it."

 

"Tired of what?"

 

"All of it. Life. Politics. Ignorance. Everything. I just want to go somewhere where none of this shit exists."

 

Zach scoffed. "Good luck with that. Send me a postcard when you get there."

 

Alex returned Zach's scoff and rolled his eyes. "Right? Might as well go lookin' for unicorns and pots of gold."

 

"Don't forget us little people when you find it."

 

Alex mumbled something indiscernible as Zach served the Manhattan he'd been preparing to another patron, knowing enough to let Alex have his moment of woe. Things had been tough for him lately; divorce, his father's death, downsizing at work that left him doing the work of three, name it; bad things always happened in bunches for Alex.

 

"Zach! You got my keys, right?" he yelled.

 

"Sure do, pal."

 

"I'll get 'em tomorrow. I'm outta here."

 

"You need me to call Uber or something?"

 

"Nah. I'll walk. Thanks though. Night."

 

"Be careful goin' home, Alex."

 

Alex flipped Zach the bird over his shoulder as he made his way out the door and into the warm, southern California night. The weather was about the only thing that was perfect. He was going home. He should have gone home. He didn't; instead, he wandered around the Gas Lamp District, watching the luxurious sports cars zip by and both bemused and amused himself watching the San Diego denizens and revelers skipping from bar to bar. That was when it caught his eye – a non-descript door with a sliding peep-window, with a handful of people waiting outside.

 

Alex wandered over, curious. "Hey. What are you waiting for?"

 

The hipster he asked sighed with annoyance. "Only to get into the best bar in San Diego."

 

Alex leaned his shoulders back and raised his hands in mock apology for his offense. He was about to leave when the door opened. A man, dressed in a 1930's style suit right down to his spats, stepped out. The doorman looked at those waiting, spied Alex, and beckoned him.

 

"You, come on in."

 

The hipster curled his lip in disgust as the doorman led Alex inside and shut the door again. It took Alex a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the place; it was in all aspects identical to a 30's style, prohibition era speakeasy. Tucked in the building's basement, the space was long and narrow and could accommodate maybe forty people at most. The bar and bathrooms occupied one end of the space; a small stage protruded in the middle. On it a three-piece jazz ensemble played. All around the walls were high-backed leather seats. There were no tables. Alex wandered over the bar, where the doorman nodded and left him.

 

"You look like a whiskey guy," said the bartender.

 

"Scotch, actually, Glenfiddich. Whatever year you got, neat. Double."

 

Within seconds the bartended slid a glass across the polished mahogany surface of the bar. It contained a generous pour of a 21 year Grand Reserva.

 

"On the house."

 

Alex's eyes shot open widely in surprise. "That's an expensive drink to serve on the house. To what do I owe the honor?" The bartender smiled and nodded, gesturing beyond Alex's shoulder. Alex turned, saw her, and grinned.

 

She walked over to him; no, she glided towards him, her long, silver, hip-hugging dress shimmering in what little light the dimmed fixtures could shed. Her long, blonde hair was trussed up in a loose bun, and bright red lipstick accentuated her lips. She could have stepped  right out of one of those noir films of which Alex was so fond.

 

"Lizzie. How are you, darlin'? This your place?"

 

"No one calls me Lizzie anymore, Alex. I'm fine, and yes, this is my place."

 

Lizzie kissed Alex on the cheek; she made no apology for leaving her lips' imprint on his cheek, and he made no effort to remove it. Lizzie took the glass from his hand and sipped. She left her lips there, too.

 

"The better question is how are you? I'm sorry about your dad, by the way."

 

"Thanks. Been a fun couple of weeks."

 

"I haven't seen you around. I'm thinking that the 'fun' wasn't so much." Alex raised and lowered an eyebrow in acknowledgement. He didn't like to talk about it. "Come on. I wanna show you something."

 

Lizzie led Alex around the far side of the diminutive stage and through a black curtain that hung behind it. She withdrew a key from where, Alex didn't want to know, and opened a door that lead to a small hallway. It contained two doors; one to a storage room, and the other to a small office. It was into the office she pulled him by the hand, shutting and locking the door behind them.

 

"Lizzie, I —"

 

He'd never finish his sentence. Lizzie thrust herself into him as her lips found his and kissed him with a ferocious passion. Alex readily obliged her desire and pulled her close. One hand cupped the side of her face while the other found the curvature of her hip. He'd lost his breath before they finally parted.

 

Lizzie gasped for air through lips puffed and pouty. Her eyes pleaded. This time Alex reached into his jacket pocket, removed a kerchief, and wiped the lipstick from his face.

 

"I've missed you, Alex. I remember us. Every day."

 

"That was a long time ago. And you barely know me, Lizzie."

 

"I know enough."

 

"You sure about that?"

 

Alex played tough, but he couldn't resist her. Their tryst had been short-lived but fired with intensity. He remembered, too.

 

"Sure enough." Lizzie leaned back against the desk and crossed her long, slender legs. Alex placed his hands on the desk on either side of her and leaned in, causing her to arch her back and expose her neck. He let his breath wash over her flesh until his mouth paused beside her ear. Her skin warmed and tightened, and her breath quickened.

 

"Are you sure you're sure?" he whispered.

 

"God, Yes," she replied with an exasperated sigh….

 

 

To be continued…

 

© 2016 J.J. Goodman. All rights reserved.