Oliver Reed

My encounter with the hellraiser's hellraiser.

It was a typical, hot, slow, busy drive to Beverly hills from my suburban Northridge California home on the 405 Freeway. My air conditioning had stopped working a week before. It was 90+ in the Valley, and soon my nicely pressed white work short was wrinkly and sweaty. I looked “unsightly,” as the owner of Jimmy’s liked to say. The drive took me well over an hour in stop-and -go traffic, with all of my windows rolled down, breathing in the diesel-filled exhausts of the big rigs. When I finally exited the freeway, I headed east on Santa Monica Boulevard to Beverly Hills. The air became cleaner and 20 degrees cooler. My spirits started rising as I headed to “the big show” as we called it. I slipped Sticky Fingers into the player, singing out loud and pounding out “Brown Sugar” on the steering wheel. I pulled into the underground parking lot, past the valets, Rolls Royces and limos, and found a spot at the very end of the lot. I got out and looked at myself in the car window. S**t. Oh well. I shrugged my shoulders and went in through the employee entrance. 
As soon as I got to the lounge and ducked under the bar hatch, I knew something was up. Vince, the lunch bartender, who never knew how to say “no more” scooped up his tips and scurried past me, whispering, “Be careful.” I was still crouching under the swinging bar door when I heard some really loud shouting, almost screaming. When I stood up behind the bar, I was face to face with Oliver Reed. He had arrived with a friend, and good old Vinnie had already started stirring up the storm. I was already frazzled from the drive, and now I had to face this. The Hellraiser of them all. For any of you who don’t know, Oliver Reed was an English actor, and a barrel-chested bull in a china shop. He played the old white haired Gladiator owner Proximo in Gladiator. But he wasn’t old then. He had built a reputation as a true bartender’s nightmare. He was known to grab a bartender by the tie, and pull him over the bar for the smallest perceived slight. It is rumored that bartenders began wearing clip-on ties because of him. 
He had stains on his white shirt, and a matted beard. His eyes were more of a maroon than red. “Aaarrgghh!” he screamed at me, “Give me and me crew a round of black rum.” I looked at the bottle of Bacardi Black, which was nearly empty. Strange, it was full only last night. Thanks Vince. Against my better judgment, I reached into the cabinet and pulled out a fresh bottle, and poured them all a shot in their empty tumblers, just to keep the peace. Mistake. “Give us a man’s shot,” he jeered at me. I felt my heartbeat pickup. I looked at him, smiling, and said, “Sure! But I’ll have to charge you double”. He gave me a short glare, and drank his drink. 
The mood at the bar slowly started to change. I felt it in my old bartender’s heart.I signaled to the cocktail waitress to bring some coffee. I tried to keep things calm, but suddenly, Oliver laughed maniacally, turned to everyone at the bar, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his penis. He said loudly, Look at it. Have you ever seen anything like this? Well, everyone looked, of course, afraid of upsetting him. There was some sort of tattoo covering a large part of his penis. He then turned to me and screamed like an insane pirate, which he was playing the part of in some film at the time. “Barman, give us another round of rum!” Some of his newly- recruited crew cheered him on. I planted my feet, leaned back so he couldn’t reach my tie, looked him in the eyes, and said, I am sorry, Mr. Reed, but I cannot serve you any more alcohol”. Everyone, waiters, customers, piano player became very quiet. He glared at me, eyebrows furrowed and fire in his eyes, and shouted, “I’m the captain and this is me crew! Now you will give us that f*****g rum now!” I leaned toward him, but not too close, and giving in to the cursed Callahan temper, I glared back at him and shouted, “Well I’m the captain of this ship, and you’re all cut off!” He looked at me, fire in his eyes, shaking with rage. Turning to his friend,he said, “Shall I kill him now?” I felt a vague sense of doom.
I avoided eye contact after cutting him off, but I could feel his eyes burning the back of my skull.
Never try to reason with anyone who is intoxicated. It just doesn’t work. While working at a Venice dive when I was 24, I saw a bartender take a beer mug in the face while trying to reason with a drunk. Not pretty.
Oliver finally left, with some urging from his friend, staring at me all the way to the door. I took a deep breath and went back to bartending, trying to act cool, but my heart was beating like a drum. The luck of the Irish had held up again.
About two hours later, as I was making drinks for one of the cocktail waitresses, she stared over my shoulder and gasped, “Oh my God, John, he’s back”. I chuckled, thinking she was joking until I saw our manager walking rapidly walking toward the kitchen, followed by all of the waiters who had been waiting in line for drinks. 
I looked up at the top of the steps that lead down to the bar, 
There he stood. Oliver Reed, much drunker than before, if that is humanly possible, flanked by what appeared to be two thugs from central casting. He walked directly to me and said in a very loud baritone, “I’ll take that drink now!” 
The other bar customers looked away, avoiding eye contact. I calmly and quietly said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Reed, but I already said no. I can’t change that now. I already told you. He leaned toward me and whispered, “Give us a glass of orange juice, please.” I understood. Reaching for a glass, I filled it with ice, and said, loud enough for the others to hear, “Ok, ok, Mr. Reed, I’ll give you the drink.” I held the glass below everyone’s line of sight and filled it with orange juice, shaking my head in mock disgust. I set the drink in front of him. He turned to his companions and, smiling triumphantly, raised the glass. They clapped. He guzzled down the drink, slammed the empty glass on the bar, and as I shall always remember, he looked me in the eye, smiled, and winked. 
And off he went into the night, head held high,