MASALANA

Around 11 PM, Neon lights flickered against the walls of the old bodega-turned-nightclub in Malasaña. American pop mixed with Spanish reggaeton, vibrating through the floor and into every ear inside. Perfume, liquors and smoke were mixed thickly in the air despite the smoking ban in the building. Waitresses moved between tables with their short skirts and bright smiles attracting the usual crowd of tourists, university students, and men with too much money and too little shame. Rachel stood behind the counter. She had taken the job six months ago when the hospital bills started piling up. The owner, Nate paid under the table, which meant no taxes but also no protection. She only worked Thursday through Saturday nights which was enough to supplement her day job at Sterling Tech. One hand wiped the counter while the other stacked glasses. She only worked nights because she needed the money for her brother's bills. She knew that she did not belong in that world. She barely laugh like the other girls in the club. 

Around 1 PM, A man  stepped in. He didn't rush, nor did he hesitate. His eyes only scanned the room. He looked different from the other men Rachel had been seeing in the club. He only nodded and headed straight to the VIP section without a word.  A few minutes later, Rachel noticed him again. There was a stillness around him.

"VIP table six," her manager muttered.

Rachel picked up her notepad, smoothed her skirt unconsciously, and hesitantly walked over. The music was slightly lower in the VIP area, but the energy was still high. She stopped beside his table.

"What can I get you?" she asked professionally. 

Joseph looked up.

And for a split second, he ran his eyes across her. She looked different from the others. He kept his face neutral, calm, and collected as he observed her.

“Are you new here?”

“Not really, sir. I've been here for a while now, sir.” 

He looked at her again. There was something off about her mannerism. She did not look like someone who belonged in a setting like Ma lasagna. She moved close beside the table which was close enough for him to catch the faint scent of something soft, sweet maybe, even under the heavier bar air.

"What can I get you?" she asked again.

"Whiskey," he heard himself say.

His own voice startled him.

"Neat."

Rachel simply nodded, writing it down, unaware that something had just happened across the table from her. She walked away to get the order.

When she returned, he noticed there was something different about her that piqued his curiosity. 

She set the glass down carefully.

"Anything else?" she asked.

He tapped the edge of the glass once, then looked back at her.

"Yeah," he said slowly.

"What?"

"What's your name?"

She hesitated.

"Rachel."

He nodded slowly.

"Joseph."

Their fingers brushed slightly as he reached for the glass. Rachel pulled back first, straightening her skirt and dusting invisible dirt from it.

Joseph lifted the glass, taking a slow sip.

"Gracias," he said quietly.

The whiskey burned as it ran down his throat, but he didn't react. His eyes stayed on her.

"Another," he said quietly after a moment.

She arched a brow. "But you haven't finished that one."

"I will."

She nodded and left.

The second glass came, then a third.

He didn't drink fast. He wasn't trying to drown anything. In fact, he looked more focused with each glass.

"Sit," he said after the fourth order and glass.

Rachel paused. "I'm working, sir"

"I'll pay you for the time," he replied, tapping the table lightly. "Double what they pay you per hour."

Her lips pressed together hesitantly. Men had offered her money before, but it wasn't always like this.

"I'm not that kind of company," she said.

"I know," Joseph answered immediately.

That made her falter, and she looked at him quizzically.

"I just don't want to sit alone tonight," he said.

After a few seconds, she slid into the chair across from him.

"I'm still on the clock," she warned.

"Then I'm renting the clock. I might buy it too," he replied softly.

Rachel could not deny that she loved it at the VIP section. The music felt lower there. 

Joseph stared into his glass.

"My grandmother hates loud places," he said suddenly. "I mean, she loves parties, but the music isn't overly loud like this."

Rachel blinked.

“Ohhh…” She did not know what she was supposed to say to that.

"She's turning eighty next week."

His fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

"She raised me. Practically alone, even though my parents are still alive." A pause. "She thinks I've become distant.”

Rachel studied him carefully now.

"Why can't you visit her often?" she asked gently.

He hesitated before answering. .

"She keeps asking me to bring someone to her birthday dinner. Says she wants to see me happy before..." He didn't finish the sentence.

The air around them tensed.

“I understand,” Rachel pause, “but why can't you take someone to her?”

“That is because I have no one to show her.”

“That is crazy”

“Right.” Joseph replied.

“Everyone has their own issues. How I wish I had someone like your grandmother in my life.”

“What do you mean?” Joseph asked

“I love my parents years ago.”

“I'm so sorry about that, Rachel.” He said. 

“And life gets hard. You know?” 

Joseph's gaze lifted. He stared at her attentively.

"It's just me and my little brother now," she continued. "He's... not well. He has a heart condition."

Her fingers twisted together unconsciously.

"He needs surgery. I've been saving. But apparently, my dad didn't die alone. His death brought more problems. Debts everywhere. So my savings were mostly spent on paying those debts."

Joseph reached for another sip, slower this time. The silence between them was heavy. 

"You shouldn't drink," he murmured when she lifted the glass she'd poured herself.

"I'm not," she said, though she took a small sip anyway. "Just a little."

"Come with me," he said after a while.

"To where?"

"My grandmother's birthday dinner."

Rachel stared at him.

"We literally just met."

"I know."

"And you want me to pretend to be your date?"

"I don't want you to pretend," he corrected. "Just... be there."

She let out a breath.

"I have my brother. I can't just leave him."

"I'll cover the surgery."

The words seemed to hit a nerve because her expression changed instantly.

"No."

"It's nothing to me," he said.

"It's everything to me," she shot back.

He didn't flinch.

"I can transfer it tomorrow."

"Stop. What do you mean?” Her voice sharpened, shaken.

“I will cover the bills.” He said.

The softness from earlier pulled back slightly. Not in a cold way, but somehow protective.

"You don't get to solve my life because we had a conversation," she said. "You've already paid for drinks and my time. That's enough."

Joseph tilted his head as he watched her carefully.

"I'm not buying you."

"I know," she replied. "But it feels like you're trying to fix something that isn't yours to fix."

That made him pause midway. 

"You don't trust me," he said quietly.

"We just met. You want me to trust you?” She scoffed. 

"And yet," he added, "you told me about your brother."

She looked away first.

"That doesn't mean I'll take your money."

He leaned back slightly, staring at her like she was a puzzle piece.

"Okay," he said at last. "But the invitation still stands."

Rachel exhaled slowly.

"I have to go back to work now. Thanks for this."

"Your number?" he said, stretching his hand toward her.

She took the phone, dialed her number into it, and returned it.

"I'll take my leave," she said as she walked away.

He looked at her, and soon he finished his drink, paid with a tip, took his keys, and left.

Rachel stood there for a long time, staring at the white tile floor. She was perplexed because of the unrealistic offer from a stranger at the bar. She thought she was dreaming until her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to check what it was. She discovered that it was a text from an unknown number.

“This is Joseph from the bar. I meant what I said. The offer stands.”

She stared at the message for a long time and thought about Benjamín. About his weak smile. About the way he'd looked at her with so much trust, like she could fix anything. She thought about her pride and about how taking money from a stranger felt like selling something she couldn't get back but then she thought about losing him. And suddenly, pride didn't matter anymore. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Finally, she typed:

“Can we meet tomorrow?”

The response came almost immediately.

“Tell me when and where.”

“Cafe Del Espejo, Downtown. 10pm” She replied immediately.

“Noted.” His response was short.

Rachel let out a breath of relief for a moment and she wish that it was real.