Jake Melnick's Corner Tap Photos Novels & Stories

He took an uncomfortable breath, while adjusting the red tie around his neck. “Sorry,” he smiled. “Have a seat. Coffee? Water? What would you have?” I was naturally a nice person, so I offered him something to drink. “Cold water please,” he said. I went into the kitchen to get the water, and when I went back to the living room, I found Jake looking at the many pictures of Eric and I. “This is-” he pointed to a particular picture of Eric and I, while looking at me. “Yes,” I nodded.

When night came, before entering the club, I passed Rufa and Maia there first to express my condolences. Just then I saw the front of Jake's apartment was bright. The light of the light bulb hanging at the top of the orange tent was bright. Inside the tent were several tables strewn with watermelon rinds, plates of peanuts and biscuits, and cups of coffee. Some guests are busy. Others are just chattering. Most of them are elderly. I thought they were Jake's relatives on the mother's side. Mother Carol greeted us in the living room when we entered. He was holding a plate of biscuits. Mother Carol greeted us and made us sit on the sofa. A few steps ahead of us, at the bottom of the stairs was

I smile inwardly feel him close to me. "Soooooo, What do you guys do?" Abby can't help herself. Jake glances at Alpha and then back at her waiting on him to answer. " I own this club." Alpha speaks up. "Well, I woke for him." Jakes answers half way truthfully. "Ohhh." Abby says and before she can stick her foot in her mouth the cocktail waitress returns setting down our shots and the two beers.

Nico “More beer?” Jake, my campaign manager and closest friend, asks. “Whisky,” I tell him, “I need it.” He smirks as he pours me a shot and slides the tumbler across the brass table in my home office. “You look like you need a shot or five,” he mutters, trying and failing to sound sympathetic. I sigh and grab the tumbler between two fingers and gulp it down. “Send it coming.” The last one week has been a rollercoaster of some sorts.

That earned another round of laughter. Jake had pulled out his phone. He snapped candid photos of Aurelia sipping champagne, Aurelia laughing, Aurelia looking half-serious while Delphine explained tomorrow’s schedule. Then he leaned across the table for a round of selfies—himself pressed cheek to cheek with Aurelia, then both of them with Delphine, and finally even John, who actually cracked a rare smile. The photos came out beautiful. Aesthetic, golden, effortlessly glamorous. Aurelia stared at Jake’s phone when he showed them, unable to hold back her grin. “These look like we’re in a magazine already. I love them.”

Most just stared. Jake rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, this is Drew,” he said, pointing to a lanky guy with glasses at the nearest desk. “That’s Raj and Kevin by the coffee machine. Mitch and Tyler are over there pretending to code, and the one with the headphones who’s ignoring everyone is Elliott.”

As we lay in bed last night, Richard told me of his plans, so I knew this was coming. The video switched to live footage in downtown Chicago near the PPS building. Reporter Claire Russo scurried after Jake Barnes with her microphone out. “Mr. Barnes, why didn’t Mr. Mackenzie give advance notice of his retirement? What will you do now? Do you have someone in mind for his replacement?” She fired off the questions too fast for Jake to answer as he marched toward the glass doors of the building. The sound of water splashing on the counter caught my attention, and I set the kettle down. I had over-poured water into the strainer. Grounds and a hot puddle spread across the granite.

Mid-afternoon brought the usual: a couple of tradies in hi-vis arguing amiably about footy, two students with laptops open to notes neither of them were reading, an older couple sharing a pot pie and silence. Mediocre—the kind of place you chose when you didn’t want the world to look directly at you. Jake Michaels sat with his back to the wall, a schooner sweating on the varnish. His pack was looped around his ankle—not because he thought someone would nick it, though that happened too, but because muscle memory never stopped being practical. He wasn’t drinking so much as sharing a table with the idea of it. His eyes were on his phone, thumb frozen on the wrong photo.

“Yep. What’s up?” “My little sister, she’s not in high school yet, but she’s super interested in photography. I really loved the ones you took of the team, and I was wondering if you’d be happy to have a chat with her at some point? I know she’d be really excited to learn anything she can. And well…” Jake looked away for a second. Mia held her breath. “Maybe I could take you out for a milkshake after to say thank you?” Tilly gaped at him. Her mouth was completely suspended. Mia did the only thing she could do and gave her a swift kick under the table.

They laughed it off before Ryan showed Alex around the house—the compact kitchen with its well-stocked fridge, the guest room with a view of the backyard garden, even the small home office where Jake edited his photos. “I’m a freelance photographer,” Jake explained as they paused there, pointing to a wall of framed shots: crashing waves, cityscapes at dusk. “Mostly outdoor stuff, but I dabble in portraits.” Alex leaned in to examine one, a black-and-white of Ryan mid-laugh, capturing his vitality perfectly. “This is amazing. You really got him.” Jake’s gaze flicked to Ryan affectionately. “He’s an easy subject.”