The Barmaid Blog™: Life for a 20-something Manhattan Barmaid

It's a couple of Thursdays ago, and while most of the people in the Bar are watching the Yankees walk all over the Kansas City Royals, I've got one television tuned to college hockey. It's not even really for me, though I'm watching when I have the chance; it's for Will. It's the first time he's been back here since Samantha died, and we're all naturally worried about him. But for the moment, he's sitting at the bar talking to Mario, and Maya - Samantha's friend, and the reason she started coming here and met Will in the first place - is mostly just standing there and listening to him. Simone and I are taking up the slack willingly.

Notre Dame is playing Michigan in the national men's hockey semifinals, and they've jumped out to a 3-0 lead. Will has said in the past that he doesn't really care that much about Michigan's hockey team, even though he played on their football team, but it's the reason he's supposedly here, and he keeps shaking his head as things look bleaker and bleaker. During the second intermission, after Michigan has finally made a game of it by scoring two in a row, Will asks me a question I'd sort of been hoping wouldn't come up. But I suppose if it was to come up at all, it's best coming from him, because the main reason I wasn't going to talk about it was not to rub it in his face. "How's things with you and Jenny?"

"They're good, thanks. We've been spending a lot of nights together." Maya slips off to serve some customers so that I can stick around and talk for a while.

"Is it love?" he asks, the second reason I was going to avoid the subject.

"I have no idea, Will." And that's the honest truth. "But whatever it is, it feels very good."

"Okay, I'm - listen, I'm only going to say this once, but I'm sorry, there's just no way I can let it go without saying it at all, it's just who I am... can I, uh... please come over and watch it feeling good sometime?" Will finishes by smiling the most innocent smile. If it were anybody else but him, I might actually be a little angry, but with Will I have to laugh - and I have to be relieved that he's in a good mood.

"I'll make you a deal - as soon as New Hampshire wins the Frozen Four, you can videotape Jenny and me having sex."

Mario laughs, but Will just sticks his hand out for a shake. "You've got a deal, Debra. And you've made a brand-new New Hampshire fan." I wonder, for a moment, what I've gotten myself into... and then I wonder for a few more moments whether Jenny and I will still be together when next year's Frozen Four arrives, much less whenever my alma mater finally wins one. We've never really talked long-term.

Will sips from his Anchor Steam. "So how did you and Jenny meet, anyway?"

"Oh, it was a blind date. It's all her fault," I say, pointing to Simone, who's a few yards away trying to convince a customer that she doesn't really want to order a tall glass of Goldschläger on the rocks. "We road-tripped up to New Hampshire for a few days in mid-December. I met her family, we hung out at their brewpub in Portsmouth, then she came with me to see UNH play hockey against Maine... we got totally socked in by a snowstorm that weekend, and ended up raiding her Dad's wine cellar. She was bitching about the pressure she was feeling to get a boob job, I was bitching about the online dating thing, and suddenly she said, 'Hey, you and this lawyer I know would totally hit it off.' So she gave Jenny my e-mail and here we are."

"Wait," says Mario, "how did Simone know Jenny in the first place?"

"Oh, I think Simone used to be a Starbucks barista across from the courthouse in Brooklyn Heights, and Jenny used to come in a lot, or something."

"Nice," nods Will. "You really never know how you're going to..." He can't seem to finish the sentence, and looks away as he drinks more of his beer. Mario puts his arm around Will's shoulders. I really don't know what to do except reach for his hand on the bar, and give it a squeeze before I go back to serving drinks. When Michigan finally loses to Notre Dame in overtime, 5-4, Will has long since left for home.

Sunday late at night I can't sleep, and I can't sit still. I wash pots, clean the bathroom, dust my bookcase, and when that's not enough, I throw on a pair of jeans and take a walk around the neighborhood. It's all bakery deliveries and dog walkers at this hour. It's a little cooler, but still humid, and by the time the sky starts getting lighter about an hour into my walk, my t-shirt is damp - and then the rain starts.

When I finally crawl into bed it's almost six-thirty, and I haven't bothered to dry my stupid blonde hair. My pillowcase quickly sucks up the moisture, and the pillow warms. I stare at Gary's back; his shoulder shifts slowly and almost imperceptibly as he breathes, and sleep doesn't come for me.

Through the wall I hear Jill's clock radio kick on, and then it hits the floor with a crash. Gary stirs, and rolls toward me. "Hey, beautiful," he says. "Still can't sleep?"

"It's been two weeks," I say. "Again."

"Hasn't anything interesting happened at the Bar? You haven't even told me any stories lately."

I hesitate. "No."

"Anybody say anything worth jotting down for an Overheard? And what about your novel? You've been working on that lately, right? You could post another excerpt."

"Yeah... I don't know... maybe I could've done that ten days ago or even a week ago, but after all this time I feel like that would be a cop-out. I need something big, or surprising, or at least interesting, and none of that has happened."

"The Yankees swept the Royals. A-Rod has hit fourteen bazillion home-runs this season."

I smile. "Yeah, but he didn't hit them in the Bar."

"All right, something big and surprising," Gary says. "I love you."

"What?"

"I said I love you, Debra. You're the best thing that's happened to me since I moved to this country."

My eyes heat up, and suddenly I'm very aware of how damp I've made my pillow. My boyfriend reaches for me, and I feel my stomach drop right through the mattress.

For the last month or so, both Gary and I have been feeling a little burnt out. We've both been working hard, and neither of us has had a real vacation in a long time - a chance to get away, relax, and recharge without the pressures of work or the "realities" and responsibilities of home impeding. But because we've only been dating for a few months (and not without a few stumbles), whenever one of us brought the subject up, it wasn't "We should take a vacation," it was "I need a vacation."

Late Tuesday night Gary comes over to my place after his newscast is over, and after he kisses me, the first words out of his mouth are, "Come away with me."

"What?"

"I got one of those super-saver e-mails today, and there's a really unbeatable fare to fly somewhere I've always wanted to go. I want you to go with me. On Friday."

I laugh. "Supah-savah," I mock, and laugh again. Then I stop. "This Friday? Are you serious?"

"Never more. Start making calls, get your shifts covered, I want you to come away with me for ten days."

"Wait, where are we going?"

He grins. "Do you trust me?"

I search his eyes for a moment, and I realize that what I told him on Sunday wasn't a mistake or a slip of the tongue. I love this man. "Just tell me what to pack," I reply.

So I leave him alone on my laptop for a little while to make the reservations, and I start making phone calls. It's late, so I have a little trouble getting hold of some of the girls, but by the time Gary is done I have this weekend covered. By the end of Wednesday, I have next week's shifts covered, too. I'll be working a lot when I get back, but I think it'll be worth it.

Thursday night I'm on with Jocelyn and Simone, and the speculation is rampant.

"I think he's taking you to Vegas to get married," says Jocelyn.

I sputter. "What?! That's ridiculous! We'd never even talked about taking a vacation together up until two days ago, much less spending our lives together."

"Maybe you're going to Chicago to see Lollapalooza. Isn't that next week?" offers Simone.

"I have no idea," I shrug, "but I doubt he's into alternative music enough to fly us out there for ten days just for that."

"Toronto to see the Yankees play?" says Diego.

"Hm... I wouldn't put it past him, but I think we're coming back Monday or Tuesday, so we'd only get to see the first game of the series at most."

"Well, what did he tell you to pack?" asks Jack.

"It's all about the logic with you lawyers, isn't it, Jack?"

"I prefer to think of it as detective work," he smiles.

"Well, I can't help you solve this mystery, because he hasn't told me yet. He said I would have to wait until tomorrow, but he knows for a fact that I have everything I'll need."

"What if what you need isn't clean?" frets Jocelyn.

"He sent out my laundry yesterday."

At this, everybody kind of stops what they're doing for a moment, and all I can hear is the Yankees/Royals game on the TVs. Diego clears his throat, sticks one last beer in the cooler, and says, "I think you should take him to Vegas to get married."

The group gets a nice laugh out of that, then goes back to focusing on the doomed baseball game, or on serving drinks.

And now it's Friday, and I'm packing as I write this, and I still have no idea. Light clothing for days, a sweater or two for nights, a couple of swimsuits, one nice dress, comfortable walking shoes. There's a cab coming to pick us up in a couple of hours, and we're just praying that the rain will hold off long enough to let us fly out on time. I know only two things with certainty right now: I won't be around for the next ten days, and I'm starting to fall in love with this man.