Lemon Drop

“Jack and Coke, please.” The bartender nods and strolled off to make my drink. I plop my purse on the counter in front of me and the chair creaks as I lean back. Tilting my head back I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the bar. A strange symphony assaults my ears. Waves of sound roll through the room, rising and falling and crashing in to each other. Girls yelling along to the music rolls over the murmur of private chatter. Clinking glasses gets swallowed by drunk guys chanting ‘Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!.’ The pounding of the DJ flows through it all, vibrating inside every cell in my body. Most of my friends find this place repulsive, but I’ve found this is the only place with enough sound to truly drown out my thoughts. My weekly visits here are more for the sound than the alcohol. Getting a drink just gives me something to do. 

            The voice of the bartender pulls my head up and opens my eyes. “Here ya go.” He smiles sweetly at me, gently setting my glass down.

            “Thanks Ted,” I smile back.

            “How was work this week?”

            “Well, I got yelled at over the phone by two different clients, and one of our printers broke.”

            Ted dropped his shoulders. “Not a good week then, huh?”

            “Nope,” I replied, pulling my glass up to my lips and taking a sip.

            Ted opened his mouth to say something else, but a loud mouth on the other side of the bar called for him before he could get anything out. He dropped his head, then looked up at me with a side smile.

            “Duty calls,” he laughed. “Let me know if you need anything.”

            “I will, thanks Ted.” He tapped his fingers on the counter and half smiled at me for a moment before shuffling down the bar.

            The sounds of the room cover me once more like a child’s security blanket. My eyes lose focus. I let go of the tension in my muscles, letting it drip down my skin like sweat, puddling below me, then getting washed away by a wave of drunken laughter. My mind floats over the water and I lose all sense of time. I only move to bring my glass to my lips and set it down again.

            Then the water turns cold and a chill runs down my spine. My hand stops midair, and my focus snaps back in to place. Someone’s eyes are on me. I bring my drink to my mouth and peer over the rim of the glass, my gaze drifting further and further down the bar. One couple is staring deep in to each other’s eyes, their drinks left ignored on the counter. A group of guys slosh their beers around with each cheer, their eyes locked on the football game on the tv above. Three girls use their glasses as selfie props rather than something to drink from. And a few scattered singles like me sit staring off in to nothing.

            The other bartender, someone new, is standing in front of someone taking their order, blocking them from my view. I don’t see Ted anywhere. He must’ve gone in the back. I watch the newbie. I don’t know why until he looks over his shoulder, straight at me. He turns back to the customer, then moves to the back of the bar and starts making a drink. When his body moves out of the way of the customer, my muscles turn to rock. The eyes I felt before are boring into my brain. They belong to a man with an unnecessarily tight shirt, deep set eyes, and a dingy leather cuff on his wrist. I can’t see his legs, but I can tell he’s sitting spread eagle. His hand is wrapped around his whiskey glass like a claw. My stomach tries to come out my throat.

            I drop my eyes and shake my head. Drunk bastard, I think. Spinning my chair the other way, I switch my glass to the other hand so my left arm is on the counter in between me and the creep. Just as I go to take another swig of my Jack and Coke, a martini glass gets placed in front of me.

            I stare at the pee-colored alcohol in the glass in front of me for a moment, then raise my eyes and meet the gaze of the newbie bartender. I squint at him for a moment, then set my drink down when he doesn’t say anything.

            “I didn’t order this,” I say gesturing to the glass of pee.

            The bartender shrugs. “Someone bought it for you. That guy over there.” He points lazily to the other end of the bar. I hesitantly follow his finger until it lands on the leather cuff guy. He’s leaning forward now, thick hairy arms resting on the counter like logs. He sloppily bites his lip and winks. I tear my eyes back to the bartender, my heart suddenly beating as fast as the bass blaring from the speakers, but he’s already turning away having been summoned by another customer.

            The pee glass stares at me. I don’t touch it. I just let it sit. I know what drink it is, but I didn’t see it being made. If it had come from Ted I wouldn’t care, but I can’t trust the new guy. I don’t know him well enough yet, and his first impression didn’t exactly put me at ease. I let another swig of Jack and Coke through my lips.

            A deep thud and a rough creak sound off next to me, tearing through the sounds of the bar. I almost spit my drink out when my body jumps. I cover my mouth and swallow hard, then turn in my chair slowly to find the source of the noise, fearing I already know what it is, but hoping I’m wrong.

            “Hey gorgeous.” His voice like nails assaults my ears first, then the veins popping out of his neck like worms under his skin assault my eyes. I don’t meet his gaze, instead keeping my eyes on his chin, which has a thick scar running down it. I can feel every blood vessel in my body.

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

            I hear myself say, “Bree,” though I don’t remember moving my lips. I bite my tongue to avoid any other slip ups, and also to avoid throwing up in to my mouth. The guy is clearly drunk and clearly horny. His legs are spread as wide as his jeans will allow him, and he has the hand that’s not holding his drink near his crotch. The scent of alcohol wafts off him like the world’s worst cologne.

            “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone on a Friday night?” he rolls. I pick my glass up off the counter, shake it so the ice clicks and raise my eyebrows as if to say, ‘To get a drink, duh.’ He finishes off the rest of his drink, which still had a third of it left, and drops the glass on to the counter.

            He looks me up and down, his eyes spending too long on certain spots. His mouth stretches in to a nasty grin, revealing yellow teeth and split lips. He doesn’t say anything for a bit, just looks a me. I hold my glass tight in one hand and bring the other across my body, holding my arm.

            His hand decides to have a spasm and jerks toward the martini glass on the counter next to me. He points his finger, then points his chin at me.

            “You gonna have theee Lemon Drop I got ya? Girls- like Lemon Drops right?”

            I immediately decide against telling him I hate Lemon Drops. I think that if I ignore him maybe he’ll leave me alone. Rather than answer him I drop my eyes to the drink in my hand and take a long sip. His hand drops to the counter like a rock and he laughs, letting puffs of whiskey smell out with each breath. My nose crinkles. 

“Aw come on baby, aren’t you gonna have your drink? I spent a whole nine dollars on it for ya.” The musk of his breath forces its way up my nose with each word. The burn and spice of half-digested whiskey spreads through my sinuses. My attempt to discretely breath through my mouth gives little relief. I don’t answer. Instead I bring my glass back up to my mouth but do not drink. I just hold it there, hoping its sweet aroma would be strong enough to block out the stench of men and sweat. I glance around the bar searching for Ted, hoping to catch his eye, or anyone’s for that matter.

The chair groans as he leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees, grabbing one hand with the other. He drops his face low enough to meet my eyes, and once he has them he doesn’t let them go. The fire in his gaze engulfs me, and I can’t move.

“You don’t wanna leave me hangin’,” he growls, “now do ya, sweetheart?”

His tone crashes into me like a bowling ball, knocking all the wind out of me. I don’t say anything, this time not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. My brain and body have been disconnected. My body wants to move, to run, to do something, but my mind is paralyzed. The wind from his breath swirls around my head, fogging my brain. I can feel every nerve in my body, but I can’t control them. 

He huffs when I don’t respond, cracks his knuckles and says, “Don’t wanna drink no more, huh? Okay. Then maybe you’re up for doing…” He places a single sausage finger on my knee furthest underneath the counter. “… something else.”

The world stops around me. Nothing moves. The music stops. All the air in the room drops to the floor. My brain is firing on all cylinders but the connection to the rest of my body has been fried. The only thing that works is him.

One hand moves to his crotch. The single finger on my knee becomes a mit, and it starts crawling up my leg like a swarm of spiders. The rough callouses on his hands are sandpaper. The mit tears away my skin with every centimeter it moves. My mind goes to the weight of the glass in my hand, the stiletto of my heel, the keys in my jacket, the pepper spray in my purse. But my hands do not follow my brains lead. They sit on the counter as cinder blocks.

The mit is relentless. It doesn’t stop. It works its way under my skirt. It’s out for blood. The spiders start biting. They sting my thigh. They move in mass higher and higher. They are hungry. They are determined. They are almost there.

“Everything all right here?” Ted’s voice scares the spiders and they retreat. My eyes stay fixed where the man’s gaze was but he jolts upright, gathering his hands in his lap and turning his head towards the bar. Silence speaks for a couple seconds, then Ted interrupts it.

“I said, everything all right here?” His voice is deeper, sterner this time. 

“Why don’t you mind your own damn business? We’re just talkin’,” the man barks.

“You sure about that? Didn’t look like much talking was going on.”

The man jumps up with fire running through his veins. I can see his hands clenching so hard they look like they’re about to break. He contemplates taking a swing at Ted, then decides it’s not worth it and opts for a different kind of hit.

“F*** you, man,” he spits, then storms out the door. I stare at the empty space his body left behind.

“Well, he’s a bastard,” Ted scoffs. “You okay Bree?” My body is starting to regain feeling. It tingles, like when your arms falls asleep, but all over. I open my mouth but a lump in my throat blocks words from coming out.

Ted’s voice becomes urgent, but tender. “Bree?” A hand lands on my shoulder and I almost fall out of the chair. My hands whip up and cross over my chest, my glass dropping to the floor and shattering, ice and alcohol coating the floor. My eyes nearly pop out of my head as they jerk up to meet Ted’s eyeline. He’s staring at me, a single hand suspended in the air. A second later his eyes widen and he breathes, “Bree?”