A Surprise Endearment

Personal Yummy #57

I leave the bathroom, where I’ve just brushed out my long, wavy hair and applied a conservative spray of Baby Soft. As Bruce’s “Hungry Heart” greets me, I walk up to the bar. But I hesitate. It’s so crowded, regulars and coworkers laughing and having fun. Not a seat left. Except beside Nick. And he looks so different tonight, his night off, the night he goes out bowling with his league. He’s wearing gray sweatshorts, a ball cap on backwards, and a tasteful red wifebeater, which reveals the expensive gold chains he always wears around his neck. There’s a little bit of sweat on his temples, and his fingers are resting around one of the two awaiting shots in front of him. He picks it up and downs it, in a quite quick, skillful, and attractive fashion.

Oh, what the hell.

I walk around the bar and pull out the bar stool beside him. I rise a bit on my tiptoes and ease myself onto the stool, somehow managing to scooch my way into the tight space between Nick and the person to my left. Nick watches me, a smile on his face.

“Jenna! And how are you tonight?” he asks. “Just finished your shift, I take it?”

“Yes, Nick. Finally… And gladly. It’s been crazy in here all night.”

“Yeah. I can see that,” he replies, looking around. “You want a drink?”

“Oh, yes, I sure do. That’s just what I need,” I say.

“A bottle of I.C. Light for you tonight? Your usual?” he asks, downing his second shot and then following it up with a gulp of his Iron City.

“You know what, Nick? I’ve seriously been thinking about it, and I’ve decided that I might switch things up a bit and try a Sierra Nevada draft,” I answer, nodding, my lips approaching a hint of a smile.

His eyebrows flicker upward. “Daring tonight, are we? That’s the spirit!” he says, winking. “Curt…buddy…a large Sierra Nevada for the lady here… And, hey, why not?” With one large circular arm motion he collectively includes the crowd sitting at the bar, as well as the throng of people standing around it. “Everyone’s next round is on me.” And then to Curt: “Put it on my tab, buddy. I’ll take care of it with Bobby tomorrow.”

“Yoo-hoo!!!” Shane yells as he raises his large Rolling Rock draft high in the air, spilling quite a lot of it, which runs down his arm. He just starts giggling.

“Thanks, Nick!” the regulars from Eat’n Park yell in unison (they seem to always be on the same wavelength, apparently the result of working through—and surviving—all of those after-bar rushes together).

“I’ll have another Grand Marnier, Curt. Whenever you’re ready,” says Jack, for a slight moment diverting his attention from the sexy blonde sitting beside him, her legs crossed in his direction.

Laughing and talking—everyone continues doing this, even louder than before, and drink orders and fulfillments take precedence over everything else.

“Wow, Nick,” I say, as I look around and touch his arm (but just for a second), “it looks like you’ve made everyone’s day.” I’ve seen it countless times before, but I’m still amazed at how excited everyone gets at the mention of free alcohol. “And it’s really quite generous of you,” I can’t help adding.

“Well,” he says, leaning toward me and talking very quietly. (But not that it’s necessary. We could stand up and start doing jumping jacks and no one would probably notice.) “It’s a special day, right? Certainly a reason to celebrate.”

I look at him, my eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, Jenna. I know that you’re the type to keep things to yourself, not wanting a lot of attention and all that, but,” he says, pausing to drink the last of his beer, “I found out.” He says this last bit even more softly.

“Found out? What…?”

Adrenalin. More than my usual overdose accosts me now.

“Nick?”

He doesn’t answer me, but takes out a twenty and places it on the inside edge of the bar, and then he moves slightly backward and starts to stand up.

I slowly look up at him, not really sure what to say next. But before I have the chance to say anything, he leans in my direction, pauses, and, just as comfortably as ever, kisses me gently but firmly on the lips. He then looks me directly in the eye, whispers “Happy birthday, darling” in the most sincere, sweetest voice I think I’ve ever heard, and leaves.

What else is there to do?

I just sit there, feeling beautiful and special—my face flushed—just like I’ve been kissed for the very first time.

******

The above excerpt is from my coming-of-age novel—The Grill on Murray Avenue: A Story of Innocence—about the inhabitants of an unassuming bar-and-grill in Squirrel Hill, a vibrant neighborhood in the east end of Pittsburgh. The story is told by Jenna, a young waitress who dreams of becoming a professional dancer.

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