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

Friday evening, for the first time since January, I see Bonnie. I don't see her at the Bar in her old Coors gear, or run into her on the subway; I see her on the side of a bus stop shelter in midtown. She's gazing at me seductively from a fashion advertisement, and it absolutely stops me in my tracks. I'm grateful that Jenny isn't with me, because although she knows about Bonnie, I don't know if she'd understand my need to stop and stare. Before I can convince my feet to move again, I start to remember what it was like for someone to have that much control over me just by looking at me or saying my name. Obsession isn't love, but being owned so completely can be just as overwhelming.

Eventually I peel myself from my spot on the sidewalk and finish my trip to the Bar, making a mental note to avoid that corner for a while.

As I walk in, I see Tony and Carl sitting at the far end of the bar, and they both get up to give me a hug. I'm running a little late, so I promise them we'll catch up shortly, and I run to the back room to drop off my bag. After I've checked in with Jocelyn and Maya, I check in on the boys with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in my hand.

"How's your girlfriend, girlfriend?" Carl grins.

"She's good, thanks. Working hard, as always. And she asked me to move in with her."

"Holy cow," says Tony. "That's huge! Are you gonna do it?"

I smile. "I don't know, to be honest. It's fast, and her asking was sudden. I've got a couple of months to decide before I have to renew my lease with my roommates, so I'm not thinking about it much right now. But it sure would be convenient - I haven't taken the subway this much since I was a grunt at a publishing house."

"You don't move in with someone because it's convenient, Debra," Tony lectures.

Carl snorts at his boyfriend. "Who do you think you're kidding? This is New York, my friend. You moved in with me because I had a balcony and a wide-screen TV!"

"Don't you believe him, Debra," Tony wags his finger, "I moved in with him because he cooked the best risotto I've ever tasted." I laugh, and leave them in order to serve some other customers.

"Where's Mario tonight?" I ask Jocelyn a little while later. He isn't always there when she's working, but it's unusual for him to miss a Friday night.

"Oh, he's away for the weekend with Angelo. They went to Atlantic City, I think."

"You didn't want to go with them?"

"Nah, I'm not much for gambling. Besides, it's good for them to have a boys' weekend every now and then."

"So what are you doing Sunday?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, what am I doing Sunday?"

"Come over to my place, the girls and I are doing our traditional bagel brunch and watching the Yankees-Mariners game, and Jenny will be there. I'd love for you to get to know her."

She bounces a little (which makes her enormous breasts bounce a lot), and says, "Hey, that'd be great!"

At a little after ten o'clock, Susan and Grace, the current Coors promo girls assigned to work the Bar, enter and start making their way through our customers. As far as I know, Grace doesn't know anything about the woman she replaced or why she left; she just happened to be next. Susan on the other hand stops by the bar to say hi, and gives my hand a squeeze.

"Have you seen her ad?" I ask, and she nods. "I don't think I was prepared for it," I add.

Susan shakes her head. "Nobody has ever been prepared for anything about Bonnie," she says, and turns to dive back into the morass. For the first time, I wonder if Bonnie seduced her, too, or if she's talking about something else entirely, and then I decide it doesn't really matter. The very next thought in my head is to try to remember who actually paid for the enormous leather sectional couch in my apartment, and whether my roommates Cassie and Jill will want to keep it when I leave.

When I leave. I've already started to make up my mind, haven't I? I think to myself. And for a moment - just a moment - I bounce a little, too.

(Many thanks to Bridget E. Wilde of Bewildered Art for permission to use her Barmaid Fox drawing as a userpic.)

What would it take, I wondered, to bring me out of hibernation? Ten weeks of working, dating, writing my novel, and living my life without worrying about the instantaneous judgment of strangers.

No doubt about it, a girl could really get used to that.

I didn't even go into hiding intentionally - I was just posting less and less often, and then a few more days went by without blogging, and then a few more days, and then a few more...

In the meantime, Bonnie's modeling agency contract finally paid off, and in early February, Susan started coming around instead with Grace, a lovely Asian woman. The Coors family of products can rest confident in their place at the Bar. I haven't seen Bonnie since, and the few times I saw her in January, we managed to be civil.

Redhead took a huge leap and asked Danny out. She told me later that she'd finally thought of a good way to frame it: She asked him, hypothetically, if he could handle having a girlfriend who went out with other guys a few times a week as a wingwoman to earn a living. When he responded that he doubted it would ever come up, she asked, "Are you sure?" That was enough of a clue for him to figure out what was going on. That was the second weekend of February, after he'd been paying her for her company on a weekly basis for four months. Their first real date was on Valentine's Day, and she reported later that it was the most romantic evening she'd ever had.

I wanted to blog about it, I really did. For about five minutes, anyway. And then as usual I got busy with other things. I've been on half a dozen dates with Jenny, a very cool entertainment lawyer who writes poetry and has a beautiful black lab puppy. I like spending time with her, and it's not heavy or moving too fast or dangerous or bitter in any way. I've been working on my novel from time to time, but not nearly at the pace I'd like. At Lanie and Victor's request, I took an insurance seminar about managing bars - not because someone's leaving, but just to have me prepared as an alternate or substitute or whatever. Life, as they say, happens.

So why am I resurfacing now?

Valentine's Day wasn't a good night for just Redhead and Danny. Of all the improbable, absurd, absolutely wonderful things to happen, Will asked Samantha to marry him that night, and she said yes. She cried for nearly a half hour, I was told, while Will managed to keep the staff of the restaurant from freaking out completely. Then they danced for the rest of the evening, and argued about whether their kids would go to Michigan or Ohio State. They came into the Bar the next night to tell everybody the news, and show off her ring.

After that weekend, Samantha got sick.

Sam thought she had the flu. Will and Sam's roommate thought Sam had the flu, too. There's little about bacterial meningitis that doesn't make people who have it think they have the flu, unfortunately, and I guess timing is everything. Will was working all that next week, and although he was stopping by every night, by the time he got there that third night, she was hunched over awkwardly, barely conscious, and not responding to him. The hospital pumped her full of antibiotics, but by the time the spinal tap results came back positive, she was comatose.

Samantha died last Saturday.

I can only imagine how devastated Will is, because I haven't seen him or spoken to him yet. He accompanied Samantha's body back to Ohio for the funeral and everything else, and he's supposed to be back later today (Sunday). Maya went for the funeral and came right back, and she's worked the last few nights in a row to keep busy - in fact, she asked me for my Saturday night shift, which is why I'm sitting here at home, watching "Patriot Games" and writing in a blog I thought I might have left behind nearly two months ago. Some of you have claimed over the last couple of months in your comments that you came to care about the people in my life and what happens to them, so I thought you deserved to know what happened to Samantha.

I'm a little numb - partly because I was never Samantha's biggest fan, though it might seem callous of me to say so on this particular occasion. But it's also because I don't think her absence will change my life all that much. I wish there were some kind of deeply life-altering lesson I could take from all this, but "life is short" seems pretty useless to me. Will and Samantha couldn't have found each other any sooner than that first night they met each other in the Bar, so what good would it have done either of them to remind themselves how short life is? And I surely hope nobody would suggest that Will shouldn't have gotten involved with her in the first place, because it could have saved him the pain he's in now.

I would be deluding myself to believe that I am, every moment of every day, doing exactly what I want to do and making the most of my opportunities. But who really gets to live like that, besides people with trust funds and underdeveloped common sense? I'll take the joy I can from life and do my best not to hurt people in the process. But I can't live as if I'm racing against a clock, and I don't want to try.

Two Weeks Ago (Friday, August 31)

It's a warm, busy Friday evening. The Devil Rays are gradually having their way with the Yankees, bending them over just a little bit more each inning. Maya and Kira and I are holding our own; another couple of dozen customers and we'd be in the weeds, but it's the beginning of Labor Day weekend, so a lot of people have left town.

There's no mistaking it anymore; anybody who looks at Kira knows she's pregnant, and to her pleasant surprise she seems to have found the one thing that guarantees good tips even more than huge breasts. It's a little counterintuitive, maybe, since being pregnant means she's even less likely to go home with any customers than usual, but it's certainly nice to see people treating her well. That's especially true since she's determined to keep working until she decides she can no longer stay on her feet for an entire shift.

Bonnie and Susan, the Coors promo girls, are in the Bar tonight getting guys to play their music trivia game, giving out swag, and drinking bottles of Coors like they're going out of style. When they take a break, Bonnie seems uncharacteristically silent, but Susan comes behind the bar, coos at Kira's tummy, and even gets permission to lay her hands on it for a minute. Nothing's moving around in there much yet, but Susan still gets... well, a kick out of it.

There's time for a quick break right around when the baseball game ends, and I take myself to the ladies room for a bio break and to splash water on my face. When I come out, Bonnie is waiting in the short hallway, taking a pull from her bottle of Coors with one arm, and with the other holding out a full bottle for me. "Take five, Debra," she says, after swallowing. She's a little flushed from what must be six or seven beers by now. I smile and take the beer, and we lean up against the wall next to each other while people come and go.

She asks me what's going to happen when Kira takes her maternity leave, and the truth is that I don't know. I imagine Lanie and Victor, the owners, will hire someone temporary, or maybe they'll beg us all to work more shifts, but it'll all work out somehow.

"Debra, when did you do... that with your hair?"

"Oh, I did that while I was on vacation out in California a few weeks ago. What do you think, do you like it?"

Bonnie smiles, and doesn't say anything, but keeps looking right at me.

"What?" I say, getting self-conscious. She rolls off the wall, puts a hand in my hair, and kisses me.

It's such a soft, easy, unexpected kiss that it's the most natural thing in the world for me to kiss back. It's a friendly kiss, a "what if" kiss, a "your new blonde hair turns me on a little and I just want to innocently show you" kiss, a "we've become close enough friends that I can kiss you like this" kiss. And after a while, it's lasted long enough that it's no longer any of those things, it's an "oh, my God" kiss, a "why haven't we ever done this before?" kiss, a "this is really fucking hot" kiss, and an eternity later, as her free arm goes around my waist and pulls me in toward her, and I feel myself start to get wet, it becomes a "shit, what am I doing, what the fuck am I doing?!" kiss, and I push her away.

We're breathing heavily, and not saying anything, just looking at each other, when a random guy standing in the men's room doorway says, "Could you do that again?" Reality comes crashing back in, and without saying a word I turn down the hallway to get back to work. Everything he was worried about, I think to myself, everything I've managed to convince him he's just simply paranoid about, I just became that. And he's going to find out whether I tell him or not. And he's going to learn what kind of person I really am and he's going to leave, and I don't want him to leave, I love him. I love him and I just did the one thing he's been most afraid of since we started dating, and how could I do that when I love him?

The rest of the night I manage to stay behind the bar mixing drinks and earning tips without allowing my eyes to meet Bonnie's. She and Susan leave a little after one in the morning, and I go to the back room and cry.

"Well, I'm glad you guys are okay," Bonnie says. "You must have been terrified."

I nod. It's Saturday, what has to be the nicest day of the year so far, and we're drinking wine at a table outside a cafe in Park Slope, not far from Gary's apartment. Bonnie and Susan were working in the Bar on Friday night in their capacity as Coors promo girls, and when they found out about the mugging, they insisted on taking me out today - along with Gary, whom they were very excited about meeting.

Susan turns to Gary. "What did you do to those guys, anyway?"

"Nothing. Less than they bloody deserved, knocking down a woman." I wince, remembering how useless I was.

Bonnie grabs his bicep. "You're a pretty skinny guy, Gary, where did you learn to fight?"

"South African Infantry Corps, ma'am."

She laughs. "I don't think anybody's called me ma'am since I left Indiana."

I drink quietly while the girls pry the story of how Gary and I met out of him, which frankly doesn't take much prying, and I throw in an occasional smile, or nod, or appropriate noise. The waitress, not looking very pleased to be working on such a beautiful day, brings us some full glasses of wine, just in time to replace our empties. When she turns her back to go inside I notice her tight red dress isn't quite zipped up all the way, and I wonder what she was doing before she hurried out her door to get over here.

Gary starts asking questions of his own, about Bonnie and Susan. I've heard this story, too, so I watch the sidewalk traffic - stroller after stroller after stroller, pushed by tired-looking mothers who chat with each other about carbs, follow their unstrollered toddlers at a respectful distance, and occasionally yell to stop one of them from darting into traffic.

"I don't understand," Gary is saying. "You quit school for the guy and followed him out here, and then he dumped you and kicked you out of his flat when he knew you had nowhere else to go?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Bonnie says.

"Why'd he dump you?" I sit up a little when Gary asks the question.

"Why do men do anything?" Bonnie shrugs.

I lean forward. "Hey, no, that's not fair, Bonnie. Last time you made like it was a big deal that you didn't want to talk about unless you had a couple of drinks in you. Well, you have a few drinks in you, now out with it!"

Susan coughs, stifling a little laughter. "Hey, she's blushing!" Gary points at Bonnie, and she is.

"It's the wine, you guys," she says, waving us off, and then there's a quiet moment. She turns to Susan, who shrugs her little shrug.

"Okay. Since not long after we started dating in college, Cal had been after me to have a threesome with him - you know, bring another woman to bed with us. I didn't think it was that big a deal, I was in love with him and I wanted to help him live out his fantasy. But I wouldn't do it because we were in this tiny school in this tiny town, and I couldn't imagine how we'd find someone without everybody I knew finding out."

The waitress comes back out with another round, and Bonnie stops talking for a minute until she's gone.

"So we got out here, and it was all Cal could talk about. He had his new job with a bank, a nice new place, living out all his dreams, except this one fantasy I kept him from fulfilling, and now we were in a city with eight million people and we didn't know a soul, so what could go wrong?"

"Oh, Lord," I remark.

"What did go wrong?" Gary asks.

Bonnie sighs. "I enjoyed it." Something clicks into place in my mind, and my eyes widen.

"I don't understand," says Gary.

"Yes, you do," I say, and I put my hand on his thigh.

"What?"

"Yes, you do. She got off with the girl and he couldn't stand it," I say with my eyes fixed on Bonnie, and my hand squeezing harder on Gary's thigh. "He thought she liked sex with the girl more than she liked sex with him, and he got scared and jealous and threw her out." Bonnie nods slowly. "He probably even called her a dyke and a slut," I add, and she laughs.

Finally I turn to Gary, who looks at me with a pained expression. He says, "He thought he wasn't enough for her."

"He was right, soldier. You were wrong," I say, and I take his face in my hands and kiss him, a good, long, warm, deep, Shiraz-tasting kiss that makes me want to climb into his lap and do things to him with everybody watching. And I keep kissing him after Susan stifles another little cough.

Friday afternoon I'm on my way to meet Bonnie and Susan, the Coors promo girls who occasionally work the crowd at the Bar, for a movie. As I make my way to the theater, I'm stopped in my tracks by a black and gold dress in a shop window. It's so beautiful that I can barely breathe. I don't know the shop, so I don't know what kind of designers they carry or what the prices are like, but I can imagine - it's the Upper East Side, after all. So instead of going inside to ask, I just stand on the sidewalk, my ears turning red from the cold, and stare. I wonder what I'd look like with that thing wrapped around me. Maybe someday I'll have the courage to stroll into a shop like this one, head held high despite having jeans on, and ask to try on a dress without any hint that I might not have the wherewithal to walk out the door with it. But not today. I get my feet moving again.

I buy my ticket and head inside, where the girls are waiting for me. I get hugs and smiles from both, no sign of the tension that I'd thought Susan's invitation created the day before. We stop by the snack stand, where I easily cave to my permanent weakness for Junior Mints and Coke at every movie I attend. Susan gets some Twizzlers and Diet Coke, while Bonnie passes, claiming to have had a big lunch. The theater is nearly empty, so we plant ourselves happily in the center, me with a Coors girl on either side of me.

After a few commercials and previews, "The Queen" starts. I was just a baby when Diana married Prince Charles, but I was in high school when she went through her divorce and when she died, and I remember how awful it all seemed at the time. To my surprise, the movie barely touches on her life, and you barely ever even get a glimpse of her until later in the film. It really is all about Queen Elizabeth II and her family, and newly-elected Prime Minister Tony Blair. I won't give anything away, other than to say that the movie was beautiful, with only one even slightly heavy-handed cinematic metaphor. I mentioned that I'm a Helen Mirren fan - but the truth is that it didn't occur to me even once the entire time that I was watching anybody other than Queen Elizabeth II herself. She absolutely deserves her Oscar nomination, and even without having seen the other nominees, I hope she wins.

When the lights come up, it's obvious that Bonnie has been crying. I offer her my last few Junior Mints, and she smiles and takes them without a word.

It's still a little on the early side - barely four o'clock, and I'm not on at the Bar until six - so we decide to go get a cup of coffee. I actually end up with a very rich hot chocolate - I'm being very bad, but I've been indulging myself a little on purpose these last few days, and it feels good. And we end up sharing our stories of how we ended up at the jobs we have. You already know my story - how I was in a low-paying, somewhat dead-end publishing job, and decided to become a barmaid after I had a great time guest bartending one night. Susan, it turns out, is a college student who was looking for a way to pay the bills, and saw an ad for promo girls on Craigslist.

Bonnie, on the other hand, quit college a couple of years ago. She'd been dating a guy a couple of years ahead of her, and when he graduated with a banking job in New York, she just left school behind and followed him here. A few weeks later, he dumped her and kicked her out. She had no friends or family in the city, and no place to live. She managed to talk her way into staying at a hostel for a little while in exchange for cleaning up the place, and took on babysitting jobs when she could, using references from families she'd sat for in high school in Indiana. Then she met someone who needed a roommate in Bushwick, at a price she could actually just about manage - and right around the same time, the mother of one of the girls she was sitting for told her she had a friend who worked for a modeling agency, and would probably be interested in meeting Bonnie. It turns out she was.

"Wait, you're a model?" I say.

Bonnie raises an eyebrow. "It's not that outlandish, is it?"

"No, I didn't mean it that way, you're really pretty. But you're also really nice, and I've met too many models in this city who treat everyone over a size two like dirt."

She shrugs. "Maybe it's just the models who never had to mop up shit and vomit for six months. Anyway, I still haven't had many gigs yet, I'm just getting started, which is why I need this job, too. They're still training me, working on 'my image,' stuff like that. So you probably wouldn't have seen any of my work, anyway."

"Still, it's kind of a great story. You were really brave to stay in New York and try to make it here instead of turning tail and running home to your parents."

"No... running home to my parents would have been braver, since they made it real clear to me that I was an idiot for dropping out of college. It turned out they were right, but I didn't want to give them the satisfaction. I stayed here because I'm stubborn."

I smile. "That's not a bad story, either."

Soon enough, it's time for us all to get going - I have to work a shift at the Bar, and they're going to hit at least three or four bars with their Coors gear. "We should do this again," I say as I get a couple more hugs and general agreement from the girls. We're just about to part on the street, when I find myself asking one more question.

"Bonnie, why did he dump you?"

She looks down at the sidewalk, then over at Susan, who shrugs. Turning back to me, she says, "That's a story for a different kind of drinking."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Bonnie smiles, says, "Don't worry about it," and turns with Susan to go.

It's Thursday night, and Sophie and I are working a pretty good crowd. She and I haven't really worked together before; she used to work mostly daytime shifts until Lanie and Victor consolidated the Bar's operating hours. She seems to be a thoroughly competent barmaid, which is a relief - I guess I had always suspected she and Kira were stuck on daytime because they couldn't hack it at night. But among other things, tonight I've learned that Kira was going to school at night - and Sophie just preferred the convenience of a more "normal" schedule.

"So how are you managing now that you're working such different hours?" I ask Sophie when we have a moment to breathe.

"Well, my boyfriend's not thrilled, I'll tell you that much. He's a morning person, and he goes to the gym before work, so the last few weeks I've been getting home only an hour or two before he gets up. It's been a strain."

I tell her a little bit about how Warren and I had similar problems with our schedules during the couple of months we were seeing each other, but I can't offer much in the way of solutions.

"Have you talked to Lanie and Victor about it?"

"I thought about it, but what are they going to do? It's not like they can open up earlier just because I'm having boy trouble. I'm thinking about finally trying to find another job, though."

"Well, I guess they'd understand that. I hope you don't have to leave, though."

"I like this job, Debra, but I'll tell you something - it's not easy to find a good black man in this city with no prison record, no drug problem, and no children floating around somewhere. I think I have to do what it takes to hold onto him." I nod, since there's not much I can say by drawing from my own experience. We get back to serving drinks, and as I'm scanning the crowd, Bonnie catches my eye and smiles.

Bonnie and Susan, the Coors girls, have been circulating among the crowd tonight, encouraging people to put on their headphones and play their music trivia game, and giving out Coors schwag as they go. They're really funny to watch - Bonnie is much taller than Susan, and they have this act where they argue with each other over who's going to be first to steal the guy they're talking to from the girl he's with. They somehow manage to make the guy feel fantastic without ever letting the girl believe they're a serious threat, and it's good for business (theirs and ours). In some ways, it's also like watching Mutt and Jeff with boobs. Either way, we're selling a fair amount of Coors tonight, and that makes everybody happy.

Susan comes up to the bar at one point, sans Bonnie, and waves me over. "Hey, Debra, Bonnie and I are going to see 'The Queen' tomorrow, you want to come along?"

"Thanks, that's really nice, but I'm on tomorrow night."

"Oh, so are we! We're hitting some bars in the Village afterwards. It's an afternoon show, we'll totally have you out in time to get here."

I don't really have anything planned for Friday until work, so I don't have a good reason to say no. I'm not exactly looking for one, I just haven't been very social for the last few weeks since I got back from the hospital. So maybe this is just what I need - these people want to be my friends, and I could stand to watch a good movie on the big screen for a change, when I don't have the luxury of hitting pause and taking a nap. And Helen Mirren, well... she's amazing.

"Okay, you're on!"

She tells me where and when to meet them, and we're all set. A guy who's been trying to flirt with her for an hour comes up to the bar, and as loudly as he can, orders a round of Coors for himself and his friends. Susan gives him a peck on the cheek, and walks off, after which the guy leaves me a $6 tip on $14 worth of beer. When Bonnie comes back from the ladies' room, the two ladies get back to work trying to convince the rest of our customers that Coors is the hippest thing since sliced bread.

Vince wanders over with a tall stack of nested glasses in his hands, then sets them down next to the sink. "How are you feeling, superstar?"

I smile. "Just fine, superhero."

"Jill's been a little worried about you."

"I know. She's sweet. But I'm fine. At least I am now."

He puts a hand on my shoulder. "I know it might be a little weird having a guy you work with dating your roommate. But you can talk to me anytime you want, okay?"

I nod. "She cares about you a lot, Vince, you know that, right?"

Vince smile, and looks down. "I know it." He turns and starts washing glasses, and I leave it at that.

A little while later, Bonnie and Susan are bundling up to head out, and Susan calls over to me, "Debra, see you tomorrow!" Bonnie looks at her shorter colleague, and I can make out her mouth forming the question, "What?" As they leave the Bar, they're arguing. Now what have I gotten myself into, I wonder? Either they're together and I just became a third wheel when Bonnie wanted some couple time, or Bonnie just plain doesn't like me and doesn't want to see me outside of the obligations of her job. And then I realize I don't have any way to get in touch with either of them to cancel.

Tuesday evening I walk into the Bar for my 8-to-close shift, and standing next to Bill, who's working the door, is Will. He's dressed in a Michigan football jersey and a skirt, and holding blue and yellow pompoms. I stop in my tracks, and he glances over at the bar, where Samantha is sipping a cocktail and watching him. She coolly nods, and Will heaves a sigh.

"Good evening. My name is Will. May I tell you about Michigan's devastating loss to the clearly superior football team from The Ohio State University?"

I laugh. Samantha smiles and takes another sip, then turns around to talk to Maya, who's behind the bar with Amy.

"Will, what have you done??"

He shrugs. "A bet's a bet."

I look at his legs. "Not that I'm complaining much, mind you. Seriously, your calves are ridiculous, you know that?" He smiles. "Hey, she doesn't have you doing this for an entire twenty-four hours, does she?"

"Oh, no," he says, and leans a little closer. "In fact, she was pretty clear about insisting the rest of my debt would have to be paid in private."

"Aaahhh," I grin. "Well, good luck with that."

I make my way behind the bar, where Amy is starting to cash out. I smile and say, "Hey, Samantha, who won the big game?"

She sticks out her tongue. "I never lost faith, funny girl, I knew my Buckeyes would come through."

"Did you ask Will what he would have made you do if Michigan had won?"

"I don't deal in fantasies and pipe-dreams, Debra. But I'm sure it would have been all about sex, sex, sex."

"Wait, isn't that part of what you're demanding, too?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, but it's not all about sex, that's just dessert - the public humiliation is the main course."

Maya says, "I still don't get how sleeping with you is a punishment for him."

"Maya, my dear, it's not about him losing. It's about me winning. And believe me, what I have in mind for later is very much about me winning, and not about him at all." She and Maya high-five. I manage to refrain from asking what happened to betrayals and "sleeping with the enemy" and such things, and just go about the work of tending bar.

A little after ten o'clock, I'm pulling a pint of Guinness when someone walks up to the bar and asks, "Hey, are you Debra?" For a moment, I freeze, and my heart races. Has someone figured out where the Bar is and who I am? Did someone I know tell someone they shouldn't have? I look at the someone, and it's a tall woman wearing a Coors jacket, standing next to a short woman wearing a Coors jacket.

"Yes. What can I do for you?"

"I'm Bonnie, this is Susan. We're from Coors." Thank goodness she clarified that. "I spoke to the manager, Todd something - he said he'd let you know we were coming?"

"Oh, of course! You're the promotion people. Welcome to the Bar!"

"Thanks! We just wanted to check in, make sure you knew who we were before we start."

"Let me know if you need anything."

They wave and start scoping out the room, and my heart gradually stops pounding. As I serve drinks, I watch the two women approach customers, explain their music trivia game, and then put headphones on people who want to play. Winners get Coors t-shirts and keyrings, losers just get Coors t-shirts - in my opinion, losers should be served a pint of Coors. I really don't enjoy Coors, not after all the great beers I've tasted - it's awfully watery. When I finally saw "Smokey and the Bandit" for the first time, I was appalled and aghast that anybody would go to that much trouble for a truckload of Coors - or that it was considered a regional "specialty" beer at the time the movie was made.

But we sell a lot of it at the Bar, and I know there are benefits to keeping the distributor happy. Plus, Bonnie and Susan are very attractive women, which means the guys they're talking to will spend more time in the Bar tonight, and more money on beer, meaning more tips for me.

At one point, Bonnie comes back over to the bar. "Debra, what's with the guy in the skirt?" I tell her briefly about the bet, and she shakes her head, laughing. "You know, I knew a girl who got fired from Coors for sleeping with a guy from Sam Adams." I grin, and file that away for later. I guess these sorts of "betrayals" happen everywhere.

At eleven sharp, Samantha drains the last of her Long Island Iced Tea, and waves Will over. "Carry my bag, slave," she says, obviously relishing her power, and he obliges. "We're done here." They head for the door, and I find myself envying them even the bizarre tryst they're about to have. It's been a couple of weeks since I had sex. I know, a couple of months ago I was complaining about a drought of several months, but I'm supposedly seeing someone. I'm going to have to do something about that soon.

--

Speaking of which, remember I mentioned how much I enjoyed the solo piano music Warren had playing at his apartment during our first date? Warren e-mailed me a link this morning that I wanted to share. 93.9 FM WNYC, one of New York's public radio stations, is airing some of Seth Kaufman's new music tonight at 11pm, on their show "New Sounds," along with music from other solo piano artists. For those of you not in the area, I gather you can use the links on the left-hand side of that page to listen online.