Eliza

-enjoy-

 

She smelled faintly of cigarettes and sex mixed with Chanel No 5°. She stopped just inside the door and let her eyes become accustomed to the dark bar before walking over to a stool in the corner.

            “What can I get you?” the bartender asked moving a bowl of peanuts closer.

            “Double scotch on the rocks,” she replied not looking up from her hands.

            “That’s mighty strong liquor there. You sure you don’t want a Cosmo or a martini instead?”

            “Yeah, I’m sure,” she said finally looking up and meeting his gaze straight on.

            “Ok,” the bartender mumbled walking to the end of the bar and filling a semi-clean glass with scotch. “Here you go.”

            “Thanks.” She didn’t look up.

            She took a sip of the brown liquid and cringed slightly, feeling it burn all the way down her throat. Looking up she took in the scene in the bar. There was a small group of seemingly undesirable people at the other end of the bar. There was a middle aged man sitting at one of the tables scattered throughout the room, drinking and thinking. He seemed to have spent his entire life in bars like this. And there was a young couple, probably in college, sitting at another table. The boy downed his second beer while the girl, a petit girl that looked barely old enough to be there, stirred her drink, probably vodka, with one of her long, thin fingers. The girl looked like she had been crying. Maybe she still was, though she couldn’t tell. The small candle on the table threw skewed and shifting shadows on her thin, pale face.

            There was a juke box in the corner that was currently playing something soft and sad, though no one knew quite what that was. But it suited the last chance atmosphere in the bar, so no one changed it. Turning back to her drink she took another big sip and stared at her hands. The scotch burned even more, but she didn’t notice. She hadn’t been noticing much like that lately. At least not since she found out.

            “Hi,” one of the undesirable men from the other end of the bar slurred as he clumsily climbed up on the stool next to her.

            “Hi,” she said in return without looking up from her hands, and her scotch.

            “I’m Marcus. What’s your name?”

            “Eliza.”

            “That’s a great name!” he said with just a little too much enthusiasm. “My friends over there wanted to know something.” He pointed to where his friends were in case she didn’t know where “over there” was.

            “Oh, yeah? What?”

            “We wanted to know what a woman as fine as you were doing sitting here all dressed up drinking alone?”

            “I prefer to drink alone.”

            “Oh,” he said not getting the hint. “Well, we just think it’s a tragedy and must insist that you join us.”

            “No. Thank-you.”

            “Come on, please.”

            “No.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because I don’t want to.”

            “Come on. Have some fun.”

            “No.”

            “Just one drink.”

            “No.”

            “But…”

            “I believe she said no,” the middle aged man said walking over to stand beside her.

            “Hey, this is between me and her. So why don’t you just go back to your table and drink your past away. Ok?”

            “No. She said no. You won’t listen. You f*****g leave. Ok?” he asking in a transparently mocking tone.

            “Fine,” Marcus mumbled to himself as he walked back to his group of friends.

            “Thanks,” Eliza said after Marcus was back with his friends.

            “Anytime,” he replied. “But why are you drinking alone?” he asked.

            “Probably for the same reason you are,” she said avoiding his eyes. She knew that this stranger, if given the opportunity, could look into them and read everything that was written there.

            “I highly doubt that. I’m here because I’ve got nowhere better to be. I haven’t for years. So I come here. Peter, the bartender, knows me. This is like my home. More of a home then I’ve ever had. So I doubt that’s why you’re here.”

            “I…I just had a bad day. That’s all. Just a bad day,” she stammered.

            “Really?”

            “Yeah. Well, a series of bad days.”

            “Ah. What’s made these days so bad?”

            “My father.”

            “Did he take away the credit card?”

            “No,” she said angrily. “He’s dying.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry. Gosh, I’m really sorry. Of what?”

            “Stomach cancer. Has been for a while. But he just now told me. Wanted me to be happy. And now? He won’t live to the end of the month.”

            “Whoa! That’s tough.”

            “Yeah, I guess.”

            “So you’re drinking?”

            “Yup. Works every time,” she said taking a sip.

            “Does it really?”

            “I like to think it does. Makes it easier to sleep at night.”

            “Ok.”

            “Doesn’t it make it easier?”

            “Not for me. Just reminds me of another way I’ve failed.”

            “But have you failed?”

            “Yeah. I spend my days waiting till I can leave so I can come here. I spend most of my money here. I’ve probably brought this bar four times over with all my drinks. And my kids won’t talk to me,” he breathed.

            “Kids?” she asked looking up for the first time.

            “Yeah, two. Boy, nineteen, at NYU. Girl, seventeen, graduating this year. And they won’t talk to me. Haven’t in years. So, yeah, this drinking is failing.”

            “No, its just a stigma. People want you to think drinking is bad.”

            “Ok, girly. Whatever you say.”

            “Yeah, whatever I say, right?” she mumbled to herself.

            Both of them just sat there in silence for a few minutes. Drinking. After a while the bartender walked over.

            “Want another, George?” he asked.

            “Naw, Peter, I better get going. Its getting late and I have to work tomorrow.”

            “Ok, see you then,” he said and walked into the backroom.

            George drained his glass and walked over to the table where he was to get his coat. Walking back over to the bar he stuck out his hand to shake Eliza’s. “It was good meeting you. Hope you’re dad dies painlessly.”

            “Yeah. You too. Bye.”

            And with that he walked out and Eliza called for peter.

            “Yeah?”

            “Can I get another?”

            “Sure thing, ma’am.”

            “Eliza. My name’s Eliza.”

            “Ok, Eliza.”

            A few minutes later peter walked over with another glass filled with the same brown liquid as before.

            “Thanks.”

            “No problem. So, why are you here?”

            “My father’s dying.”

            “So then why are you here instead of with him?” Peter asked.

            Eliza was silent for a moment then finally said, “Because I’m not his daughter anymore.” She took a big swig of the scotch and stood up. She put on her coat and laid a twenty down on the bar. She finished off the glass and turned to leave.

            “Wait; don’t you want your change?” Peter asked.

            “No, keep it. I don’t need it.”

            “Ok.”

            “See you tomorrow, Peter.”

            And with that she opened the door, letting in all the city sounds, and walked out. Peter shook his head and pocketed the money.

            “Yeah, tomorrow.”