The Stranger at the Bar

The rain didn’t stop falling. It intensified, pounding on the windshield so she could no longer see the road.

Celeste pulled up to a deserted street bordered with restaurants. The city lights were all blurred in the rain. Her hands were numb on the wheel. She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped when she saw the soft red light of the bar sign.

She went in without looking back. A neon sign saying “The Velvet Room” hangs above the door.

It was not crowded, thank God. She did not want to be seen where she was.

The bar itself smelled like aged wood and scotch. The music on the background was soft, some slow rhythm. The lights were low but warm, and shadowed faces were all around.

Celeste was still at the door, and made her way down to the other end of the bar, where the light was at its dimmest. She took off her coat, draped it over the barstool next to hers and called over the barkeep.

“Whiskey. Double.”

He poured without asking and nodded.

That first one burned all the way down to her stomach. She didn’t blinch. The second one was a bit smoother.

“Tough night?” the bartender finally said, wiping a glass. “tell me about it" she growled.

He nodded his head slightly and went off. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Her phone buzzed again in her purse. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. She turned it off completely.

When she raised her head, someone was sitting two stools away from her. A man in black suit, rolled shirt sleeves and a glass of dark drink is sitting in front of him. He wasn’t looking at her straight on, but he seemed to be focused, as if he was watching everything she did.

Celeste dismissed the sensation. She got another drink.

The man spoke at last in a flat and deep voice.

“You’re drinking like a man who wants to forget about something.”

She looked at him. “That obvious?"

He shrugged, but his twinkling eyes still focused on his glass. “I recognize that look.”

“What look?”

“That look people get when they begin to understand the life they’ve built is nothing like the one they thought it was.”

She gave a dry laugh. “You sound like a therapist.”

“Not by a long shot.”

She spun right back round to him. A male probably late thirties, early forties. Strong jaw, black hair and eyes that seem to have read more books than they have ever watched anything else. He was tall and had a dangerous look about him, but was well dressed.

"You always talk to strangers that way?" to strangers like that?"23

"Only if they feel like getting it."

"Well, I don't."

He smiled weakly. "You don't? So why are you sitting here alone, drinking whiskey in a bar that’s gonna close up in twenty minutes?"

She parted her lips to reply but no words would come out. She did nothing but look away.

He slumped down in his seat, unruffled. "Sorry if I hurt your feelings."

"You did not," she whispered softly.

[Good.] “Good.” He took a sip from his drink and asked: “So what are we forgetting tonight?”

She swirled the amber color in her glass. “A marriage. A reputation. A couple of dumb moves.”

He nodded mildly, not ridiculing, not pitying. “That’s a lot for a single night,” he said.

“I’m a multitasker.” “I’m a multitasker.”

That made him laugh, a silent laugh that reached to his eyes. “I come for that.”

They remained quiet for maybe five minutes. The bartender came over again.

“And for the lady, thank you.”

Celeste was already shaking her head too quickly. ” Make it a triple."

The man gave her a little look. "Are you going to leave here or crawl?"

" I'll get by." “I will manage.”

Dibidub: "I don’t think so," he said. “But maybe take it easy so you don’t lose your own name.”

She rolled her eyes. You're not my babysitter."

[Didn't say I was.]

Something was deeply wrong with how calm he was . Not aggressive, not pushy, just solid. Solid like. like he’d set eyes on better nights than hers.

Celeste put down her cocktail and signed for a refill. Her speech was starting to slur.

"You never told me your name," she said.

He arched an eyebrow. ”Neither did you."

"Maybe I don't want to."

"Then I won’t tell you mine. Deal."

She smiled faintly and then closed her eyes.

”Good man.”

“I try.”

He moved a step closer. “So what did happen? Husband? Job? Both?”

"How’d you know?" She ask

"A lucky guess."

She was looking at her drink, speaking in a low voice. “My husband cheated. With one of the women who works for him.”

“Harsh.”

“Yeah. And the press found out before I did.”

He was silent for a moment, as he sat. “That’s worse.”

She smiled. “You think?”

“What did you do?”

“What was I to do? I left. I don’t shout. I don’t throw things. I just… I walk away.”

“That’s cruel.”

“It beats blubbering on TV cameras.”

Then he looked at her, harshly, but not reproachfully. “You sound like someone who’s been hiding it inside for far too long.”

She laughed hoarsely. “You chatter too much.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you just wanted someone to listen to you.”

She glanced at him again, truly looked this time. His eyes were dark and impenetrable. But there was something there—a kind of control she couldn’t identify. From surviving too much.

“You’re strange,” she said.

“So I’ve been told. ”

Smiling in spite of herself, she reached for his drink, and took a sip without asking. He made no move to stop her.

“Yours is stronger,” she said.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“I already do.”

He smiled kindly. "You're a dangerous woman."

“Not anymore.”

"Don't be so sure of that.

Her heart lept slightly but unwillingly. “You don’t even know who I am.”

He tilted his head to one side. "Perhaps I do."

She frowned. "What are you saying?”

“Nothing.” He drained the glass and slid it along the bar to the bartender. "You'd do well to watch your step, Celeste."

Her breath caught. “I never told you my name.”

He smiled weakly, not in protest. "Did not need to."

She looked at him, confused and a little unnerved. "Have we met?"

He remained silent at first. He just leaned in closer, the sound of his voice a secret.

You don’t remember me, counselor?”

Her gut twisted. The word counselor was like a bell she had lost.

She parted her lips, but he was already getting up, sliding a few bills across the counter. “Drink the rest of this. You'll be okay.”

And then he pivoted and walked away from her, and she was left there, staring at the vacant stool.

She called after him,“Wait how do you”

But his back was to me.

Celeste gasped for breath and went back to her drink. Her head was muzzy, her pulse racing too quickly. She didn’t know why his words had made her feel like there was electricity running through her skin.

“Counselor,” she whispered to herself, trying to focus.

The bartender came back. “You okay, miss?”

She forced a small smile. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t. And somewhere deep down, she already knew the night wasn’t over.