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“Don’t get me wrong. I can use the money. It just seems a little strange.” Alex, a lean redhead, dodges out of the way of the gray-suited man as he boxes the cheap wine and stocks the skid row bar with the best liquor that money can buy.
Her boss, Stan, shrugs. “The rich are crazy. He offered me ten grand for a night’s rental and asked for a bartender who could keep his, or her, mouth shut about anything that came up.”
“Sounds like a great time.” About twenty-five and nondescriptly pretty, Alex pulls her hair back with a rubberband.
The gray-suited man stops beside Stan. He glances at his watch.
“That’s my cue to go, honey. You’ll be fine.” Stan waves back at her as he and the other man step out to the street.
Sliding behind the bar, Alex inspects the stock. Nothing but really expensive Scotch. She straightens and waits.
After a few moments the entry door swings open and a tall, thin man walks into the bar. He hangs his coat and scarf on the hooks near the door.
He looks at Alex for the first time and he smiles. “Good evening.”
Alex sets up a glass. “What label to start?
“Surprise me.” Lionel Luthor settles on the bar stool in front of her.
“We’ll both be surprised.” Without breaking eye contact, Alex reaches under the bar, grabs a bottle and pours.
He takes a long swallow of the Scotch. “You didn’t ask me how I liked it.”
“I figured ice would just slow you down. Do you want variety or do you want me to keep pouring?”
“I’ll tell you when I want something new. We’ll talk then.” Lionel finishes the drink.
Alex refills the glass and waits. Lionel drinks. She refills. He never looks away from her face. She refills. He drinks.
Drink number four – Alex knows that even a large man who drinks every day would have to be feeling it about right now…
“Where are you from? I mean, your heritage, not your street address?”
“Armenian-Greek.” She tilts the bottle but Lionel shakes his head. She sets the glass aside and hands him a water. “You’ll be grateful tomorrow.”
Lionel sips. “The Greeks. Hesiod, Herodotus, Homer…”
“To alcohol! The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems." Alex lifts out a fresh glass and another bottle. “Homer. Simpson.”
Lionel accepts the new drink. “One of those people who have no appreciation for the past.”
“I have a great appreciation for my great grandma’s baklava recipe. I can eat that.” She fills his glass again.
“A practical woman. I can understand that.” Lionel drinks in long gulps. He arches an eyebrow and grins. “I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.”
“Weakness or desire? Or do you count them the same?”
Lionel motions for the bottle. She obeys.
“What’s your name?”
“Alidz is my real name. Most people call me Alex.”
Lionel studies his glass and his hands. “Is it all right if I call you Lex?”
“Hey, this evening you own the bar.”
Lionel lapses into a long silence. He rolls the glass in his hands. Alex watches and waits.
“Lex, what do you think of me?”
“I don’t think of you.” Alex shrugs. “I watch you and I refill. That’s the extent of it.”
“Honest, aren’t you?”
“It’s easiest. I’ve got a lousy memory.”
He shoves the glass in her direction. She replenishes his supply.
“You don’t hate me, then, Lex?”
“No.”
He smiles absently and rubs his mouth. “The things I’ve done. You should.”
Alex pushes water on him again and he refuses it. She shakes her head and shoves the water into his hand. He finally drinks.
“Lex, you are very patient. You wait and you watch. What do you hope to accomplish?” Lionel’s words slur a little.
“In the short term? I’m working on a mop-free night.”
Lionel finishes his drink but holds the glass against his lower lip. Alex does a fast count. Eight jiggers of Scotch does a legally drunk man make. She leans in a little. “You okay?”
“What about the long term, Lex? What about the long term?”
“There’s only here and now. You are the entire world for me this evening. The people who write books about it call it living in the moment.”
“What do you call it?” Lionel puts the glass down.
Alex refills the Scotch. “Friday.”
Lionel laughs into his drink and it ripples around his lips. The words come out in a bubbling stream. “Here’s to Friday.”
Alex smiles. “Or Tuesday. Or Sunday. It’s all pretty much the same.”
“I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t live like you do.”
“Got a bad case of destiny, huh?”
“Are you mocking me?” Lionel focuses more on his wobbling drink glass than Alex.
“No, you’re entitled to try to take over the world or whatever. You’re just never gonna convince me that it’s worth this.”
“What is this?” Lionel searches her face.
“Drink number eleven.”
Lionel shakes his head and surveys the bar. The paint is peeling, the seating is worn and the place smells dank. “So, this is your world? All that you survey?” He snorts.
“When you’ve got nothing you’ve got nothing to lose. People like me scare the bejesus out of people like you.”
“What?” Lionel struggles to process her words.
“Rich people who think they’re in control of things. If someone has nothing and what they want isn’t anything you can understand -- then they’re unpredictable. Wild cards. People like me are the ones who keep people like you from taking over the world.”
Lionel taps his glass. “Another.”
Alex moves to obey. Lionel grabs her arm.
“You’re very wise.”
“And you’re very drunk.” Alex watches as he traces the darkest vein on her arm with a pulsing fingertip that keeps time with the flow of her blood.
“Do you think people like you are born or made?” He looks up at her, his blue eyes searching hers.
“A little of both, I guess. Are you looking to do an overhaul?”
Lionel throws back his head and laughs. “I already have, Lex, I already have.”
Alex extricates herself from Lionel’s grip. Some instinct causes her to look toward the door and escape but she takes a breath. She lets Lionel quiet down. “Do you still want another drink?”
“I want…I want…. I want someone to tell me it will all be worth it.”
Alex forces another bottle of water on Lionel. He takes long swallows. She starts to speak, but before she can, he angrily tosses the empty water bottle across the bar. “You think I’m here to make profound life decisions based on the yammering of someone like you?”
“Don’t throw things.” She pours another Scotch. “That’s a dozen.”
Lionel weighs the glass in his hand. “What do you think of me now?”
“Why ask? You don’t care about anyone but you.”
Lionel throws back the drink and savors the taste. It’s the first drink he’s actually seemed to savor. He nods at Alex. “But, but my dreams they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be.”
“I don’t think you have an empty conscience. You just have to break down a few siege walls to let it really have some light.”
Lionel’s hand goes to his eyes and he sits quietly. His shoulders move slightly as he cries.
Alex waits. About ten minutes pass and he rubs his eyes. She hands him a paper towel.
He takes it and murmurs, “I love you, Lex.”
“I know.” She hands him another water.--The End--