Another Drink(Martin Green) 2012 Another Drink
(Approx. 1,300 words.)


Paul Weiss went into the bar. It was seven o’clock on an unusually warm weekday evening in San Francisco. The bar, a neighborhood one, was almost empty; too early for the regulars. Paul sat on a stool. Jim the bartender came over. “Long time no see,” Jim said.

“Yeah, long time. Been pretty busy.” Actually, he’d kept away since that winter night when he and Carol had their last drink before she flew back to Minnesota to care for her ailing father. A month or so later, he’d received the letter. She was staying, had gotten a job in the local hospital (Carol was a nurse), she was sorry. Paul had wondered if she’d hooked up with the old high school boyfriend that she’d told him about. Well, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t coming back.

Jim had brought him a whiskey sour. “So you remembered my drink?”

“Sure. You and Carol had them all the time. You hear from her?”

“Yeah. She’s not coming back.”

Jim shrugged. “Well, we didn’t figure she was. She was really kind of a Midwestern girl, wasn’t she?”

“I suppose so.” He tasted the drink, icy cold, good.

“How’ve you been?”

“Okay,” Paul lied. Since Carol had left he’d been miserable.

“Still at that ad agency?”

“Yeah, even got a promotion. Been working hard. A big campaign.”

“That’s good. Keep your mind occupied.” It hadn’t kept him from thinking about Carol.

Another customer had come in, one of the regulars. Jim went down the bar to serve him. Paul looked into his drink. It couldn’t help but remind him of all the times he’d come in here with Carol. Maybe coming back was a mistake. Then someone else came in, a girl, and sat a stool away from him. Jim came over to the girl and said, “Hi, Maggie. How you doing?”

The girl said, “I’m hot. Give me something cold.” She was a petite girl with dark hair and eyes, attractive, nice legs. Paul smiled to himself at how she was almost the exact opposite of tall blonde Carol.

Jim gave her a whiskey sour. “Hey,” he said. “You work in an ad agency, downtown, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Paul here works in one, too. Maggie Miles, this is Paul Weiss. Maggie’s out here from Chicago.”

They said “Hi” and told each other where they worked. It turned out they were at different ad agencies but in the same building. “Small world,” said Paul. “I’ve probably seen you. I’m in research. What about you?”

“I just started a few weeks ago. I’m only a secretary. But I want to get into the art department. I have my degree in art.”

“Couldn’t find an art job in Chicago?”

“I didn’t look. I didn’t want to stay in Chicago. To tell the truth, I broke up with my old high school boy friend and wanted to get away. An old story, right?”

“Yeah.” Just like Carol. Only now Carol might have gotten back with hers. “Think you’ll ever go back there, to Chicago?”

She smiled, an attractive smile that brightened her face. “Back to the snow and ice? Not a chance.”

“I know what you mean. I came out here from New York. So, have you met anyone in San Francisco yet?” It was presumptuous to ask, but he felt he had to.

“You mean a guy? I told you, I’ve only been here a few weeks.”

“I forgot.” A few more people had come in and sat at the bar. Almost without thinking Paul stood up, took both of their drinks and led her to a table in the back, just as he’d always done with Carol. They sat down and he said, “This is better.”

“Yes, much.”

“Do you come in here often?”

“A few times. I live pretty close by. I like it in here. It’s usually dark and quiet. And Jim’s friendly. Tonight I just felt I had to get out of my apartment. It was so hot.”

“Yeah, I felt the same way.”

“Have you known Jim for long?”

“About a year, I guess. My place is also pretty close. Are you ready for another drink?”

“I think so.” She reached into her purse but Paul said, “It’s okay, I have it. Call it a welcome drink.”

“All right.”

Paul walked to the bar and ordered two more whiskey sours. “How’s it going?” asked Jim.

“Fine.”

“Maggies’s a nice girl.”

“She seems so.”

Jim waited, as if expecting Paul to say something more, then handed him the drinks.

Back at the table, Maggie said, “Thanks. These are good.”

“So, have you had a chance to see much of the city?”

“A little. I’ve been to Golden Gate Park. It’s nice there. And I like the museums.”

“How about Tommy’s Joynt? Everyone goes there.” Tommy’s Joynt was a San Francisco institution, a hof-brau famous for its roast beef, beers from all over the world and Irish coffee. The last time he and Carol had gone there they’d shared a table with some Irish guys. It had been a cold foggy night, the usual San Francisco weather, not at all like tonight, and one of the Irish guys had bought them all Irish coffees. They’d had a good time.

“I’ve heard of it but no, I haven’t been there.”

“You have to sometime. How about Sausalito and Tiburon? Over the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin.”

“No, I don’t have a car. I’m saving up to buy one.”

“No one in New York has a car so when I came out here I didn’t even know how to drive. I took three lessons and got my license. I think the driving school had some kind of deal with the DMV. I bought an old Chevy and practiced in Golden Gate Park. It’s a good thing you weren’t out here then or your life would have been in danger.”

She laughed. “Do you know how to drive now?”

“I think so. I try to stay away from those hills though.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Paul looked at his watch. “Well, I better be getting back. What about you? I can give you a ride.”

“No, I’m only a few blocks away. I’ll just finish my drink and walk back. Thanks again for the drink, by the way.”

“My pleasure.”

As Paul went out he saw Jim look at him and mouth the word “Well.” Paul shook his head and went out the door. It was still hot and there was a breathless feeling in the air as if something momentous was about to happen. He knew that some San Francisco natives called this “earthquake weather.” Was an earthquake coming? It was possible. He took a few steps toward his car, then turned abruptly and went back into the bar. He went straight to the table where Maggie was still sitting. She looked up at him, seeming a little startled.

“Look,” he said. “You really have to go to Tommy’s Joynt. How about Saturday?”

She hesitated at first, then said, “All right. Fine.”

Paul wrote down her name and phone number on a napkin. Well, it wasn’t as momentous as an earthquake, but it was something. For the first time since Carol had left, he’d be going out with a girl.


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