A Night of Illusions

Personal Yummy #83

It’s late and I’m behind the bar drawing a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale from the tap when Craig walks in, looking cute as always in jeans, a white button-up shirt, and cowboy boots. I glance at him and smile.

“Hi there, Jenna,” he says, rather softly. “What? Are you bartending tonight?”

“Oh no, not me!” I say, laughing. (I can draw draft beers and make a few mixed drinks—probably more than the average person—but to bartend alone for an entire evening? I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that.)

“Actually, Nick is in the basement getting another keg of Budweiser,” I explain. “We ran out of it a little while ago, so I’m just trying to hold down the fort until he gets back, which shouldn’t be hard, since things are extremely quiet right now,” I say as I place the Sierra Nevada on the bar in front of Chuck, one of our late-night regulars, a blond, full-bodied guy who often comes in after his shift is over at the Barnes & Noble bookstore directly across the street, where he is a manager. He wears his name tag on his shirt with much pride, never seeming to remember to take it off.

Craig stands in the entranceway for a moment, then he heads toward the last bar stool to his left, quite far away from where Chuck is sitting. This really surprises me, because Chuck is the only person sitting at the bar, and Craig is usually quite sociable. Plus, I’m almost positive that the two of them have met before. Craig does acknowledge Chuck with a friendly hello, however.

“So, Craig,” I say, placing a little square napkin in front of him. “Will it be your usual tonight?”

“You got it,” he replies.

I turn my back to him, walk a few steps, open the door to the cooler—which sits to the right of the shelves of liquor and the cash register—bend down, and grab a Red Stripe from the bottom compartment. I then stand up, close the door, grab the bottle-cap opener and pop off the cap, take a small beer glass from the shelf under the cash register, turn around, walk a few more steps, and place both the glass and the beer on the bar in front of Craig. As I do so, he says thanks but glances away rather suddenly.

I get the funny feeling that he was intently watching me the entire time.

“Sure, no problem,” I reply, watching him pour the pretty-colored liquid out of the short, fatly round, dark brown bottle with the teeny opening at the top and the flourish of orangish-red on the side.

Just then, Nick appears from the back, heavily striding toward the bar, carrying a large silver keg against his stomach, his face beet red. I move out of his way.

“Craig!” he says, in his macho, exuberant tone, as he bends over and places the keg behind the bar, a deep sigh escaping. “What’s going on, buddy?”

“Not too much, Nick. Just thought I’d stop in for a drink on my way home from work,” he replies.

They continue to chat, and—amid Mick advising that “we all need someone we can lean on”—I busy myself greeting four customers who have just walked through the door. They ask to sit in the front of the restaurant, near the windows, so I lead them in that direction, which is not too far from where Craig is sitting. As we walk by him, I notice that he quickly glances at them, an uncomfortable look on his face.

What’s bothering Craig tonight? I try to concentrate on taking the customers’ drink orders, but I wonder if I should approach Craig and ask him if something is wrong.

After I take the orders, I walk around to the other side of the bar, across from where Craig is sitting, and I call out the drinks to Nick. I stand there leaning against the bar, waiting for Nick to make the drinks, occasionally looking at Craig. Strangely, he is looking down, playing with the ends of his bar napkin.

Well, I’m definitely going to ask him if everything’s okay. I decide that I’ll say something to him after I get the table in the front all taken care of.

In a matter of minutes I put the drinks on a small round tray and deliver them to the table. After I ask the customers if I can get them anything else, and they shake their heads no, not really even looking at me because they are already completely consumed with trying their drinks, puffing away, and chatting, I put the tray down by my side and am about to turn around and walk in Craig’s direction when…

“Jenna—uh—when you have a minute, could I talk to you?”

I turn in the direction of the voice, and there is Craig, looking over his shoulder at me. I pause for a few seconds, taken a bit off guard, but then I reply, “Well, sure…I have a minute now.”

As I walk the few short steps to where he is sitting, he reaches his right hand into the right back pocket of his jeans and quickly takes something out. He then, just as quickly, places his hand safely in his lap.

“What’s up?” I ask, as I slither onto the bar stool beside him, trying to act as natural as possible.

“Well, I—” he starts, glancing around, as if to be certain that no one is watching him. (Nick is now busy examining the liquor shelves, taking stock of what liquor he needs to order.) Craig then hunches over a bit and turns toward me slightly, so I turn toward him in response. Cautiously, he raises his hand from his lap, eventually revealing what he has been keeping hidden. He places his secret on the bar but makes sure to keep it within the space he has created between the two of us.

Extremely curious by this point, I look down slowly, and on the bar are two skinny, rectangular, yellow tickets, with the words “Illusions Dance Company” printed on them in black, bold text. Pleasantly surprised, I look Craig in the eye, but he doesn’t say anything, apparently feeling more comfortable to let the tickets do the talking for him. So I say something instead.

“Craig—two tickets to the Illusions concert. That’s so cool… Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I read a short review about the concert a few weeks back, but I really don’t know that much about the company, except that they are from Canada, I think, and they’re an all-male company, if I remember correctly…but you must be really interested in them if you got tickets for the show…”

“Well, actually,” he begins, clearing his throat, “In Pittsburgh gives out free tickets to its employees every once in a while—one of the nice perks about working there—and it was my turn. So I thought it would be fun to check it out, to do something different for a change…and, well, to tell you the truth, you immediately popped into my mind. I know that the company may be a little too modern and avant-garde for you, according to what we’ve discussed before about what kind of dance styles you like, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that you were the only person I knew who would truly appreciate going to a show like that, so…so…what do you think? Do you think that maybe you would you like to go?”

His eyebrows rise in expectation.

“Oh yeah, of course—I’d love to go! Going to the theater is one of my favorite things,” I immediately reply.

“Yeah?” he says, apparently shocked by my quick answer.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Well, that’s great…just great,” he says, nodding and smiling.

He picks up his beer, himself once again.

******

I am almost ready, applying another coat of my favorite long-lasting soft-plum lipstick, which I always wear (it makes my eyes look even bluer than they already are), when my cranky buzzer buzzes. I quickly put the cap on my lipstick, throw it in my purse, grab my white, pearl-buttoned sweater and keys off my bed, and take a final look in my bathroom mirror.

Looking good!

I run my fingers through my silky curls, the result of my trusty hot curlers.

I open my apartment door, hastily walk out, and then close the door and lock it. Next, I rush down the crooked, winding stairs to the first floor, pull open the blue, solid front door, and then push open the screen door.

There stands Craig, looking very polished in a trendy black suit, white shirt, black tie, black sunglasses, and black, leather ankle boots.

“Wow!” I can’t help saying. “You look great!”

He walks toward me and steps just inside.

“So do you,” he replies, taking off his sunglasses and furtively taking me in, glancing first at my face, then at the rest of me, his eyes traveling all the way down to my feet, and then all the way back up again. “That’s really a great color on you.”

I’m wearing a lime green outfit that my mom bought for me, which consists of a rather tight, ribbed, short-sleeved top with a short turtleneck, and a pair of those flowy harem-like pants with a tie around the waist that are so comfortable but make you feel so elegant at the same time. And on my feet are a pair of light brown, blocky-heeled, open-toed sandals that lace from just above my toes and all the way up to my ankles so that most of each foot can be seen peeking out through the laces.

I absolutely love these sandals.

They look stylish and dressy (and more important, make me feel that way, no matter what I wear them with), and the best part is that I bought them at the Payless shoe store located in my hometown, and they were only five dollars, part of a “Two Pairs for $10” sale. I’ve already worn these sandals for a few summers, not wanting to give them up. I know that it will be painful for me to commit them to the garbage.

“Thanks, Craig,” I say. “My mom got this outfit for me.”

Suddenly, the door to my left opens, and Beth walks out. She stops—abruptly—looks at me, and then at Craig.

“Jenna— Craig— You two look really nice… What… What’s going on?”

She looks confused.

“Craig and I are on our way to a dance concert at the Benedum Center,” I begin.

“Yeah, I got a few complimentary tickets from work, so we thought we’d check it out,” Craig adds.

“Oh! Well,” she says, giving us a nice smile, “that sounds like a lot of fun. I’m sure that you two will really enjoy it.”

“Oh yeah, I’m really looking forward to it,” I reply. “And what are you up to tonight, Beth? It looks like you’re on your way out too.”

“Yeah, I am, actually. I’m on my way to CMU to take a swim. I’ve been working so much lately, plus trying to keep up with school; I really haven’t been exercising like I should,” she explains, locking her door.

I want to ask her more—it has been a while since we’ve chatted, and she’s such an interesting person—but I notice Craig glance at his watch.

“It’s getting kind of late, right?” I ask him.

 “Yes, yes it is. And sorry—I don’t mean to be in a rush, but we actually should really get going,” he says.

“You got it,” I reply.

The three of us walk out the door, down the front steps, and onto the main sidewalk, where we stop for a moment.

“It was really nice to see you again, Beth,” Craig says, shaking her hand. “I haven’t seen too much of you at the bar lately, although I have run into Mike a couple of times… You should try to stop in a little more.”

“Oh, I will, once my schedule eases up a bit,” Beth answers, sighing, as she glances up the street. “Oh! There’s the bus.”

She begins to walk quickly toward the bus stop at the intersection of Forbes and Whiteman. “I can see it rounding the corner. I gotta go!”

“All right, Beth, take it easy,” Craig says.

“I will. And you two have fun… See you later, Jenna!” she softly yells.

“Bye, Beth!” I softly yell back.

She breaks into a slow run, her very long, wavy brown hair reluctantly following her.

As I watch her, and as Craig opens the passenger door of his black Volvo for me and then shuts it after I am seated comfortably in the silky, form-fitting, cushy leather seat, I can’t help but think what a good girl she is.

******

The Volvo stops abruptly, at a light that has just turned red.

I lurch forward.

“Dammit! Sorry about that, Jenna! Damn!… I thought I could make it through the light, but then I suddenly changed my mind… Are you okay?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure. Sure…sure, I’m okay. No problem, Craig. No problem at all,” I say, glancing at him, noticing that he is blushing, and feeling like I’ve been awoken from a dream. “That kind of stuff happens to me too when I drive,” I offer, trying to make him feel better.

I look out the window, and we are already in downtown Pittsburgh, on Grant Street, about five miles from my neighborhood. We’ve been chatting casually since we left my apartment, but he’s been much quieter than I expected, and so have I.

To be honest, I can sense that he is nervous, and I’ve been feeling rather nervous myself, which has surprised me. I’ve always felt so comfortable talking with him at the bar, but the instant he got into his car beside me and put his key into the ignition, I suddenly saw him in a different light, and a forceful wave of attraction overtook me.

******

To read the rest of the above story, as well as more stories from my novel, acquire the novel via the following link: The Grill on Murray Avenue: A Story of Innocence

I hope you enjoy it!

The Grill on Murray Avenue is my coming-of-age novel 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.