Hugh, The Bartender, and The Patron

It's quarter to three in the morning. A cheap fan blade swings round and round overhead the red bar of Pauly’s Pub. Chairs and stools still have to be pushed in from the drunks who left sweaty wads of crumpled Washington’s on the tables. There are only three people in the place: two patrons and the bartender himself.

Cupping his whiskey glass with sincere sentimentality, Hugh savors his final sip into small tastings, smaller and smaller each time, to keep the glass from emptying. The bartender reaches in his shirt pocket and takes out a pair of prescription glasses with a beaded chain tied between either ends of the arms. He looks down, his mouth slightly agape as the folds of his neck squeeze together, while he counts dollar bills quietly to himself by the register in the corner. The final patron sits in the back of the bar, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, with a wine glass that’s hardly been touched.

Hugh contemplates if it’s time to settle up and call it a night, staring at that final sip like an old friend saying goodbye. He sighs contently and lifts it bottoms-up, swallowing his excuse to stay.

“You finally done?” the bartender calls out from the corner. “Coulda just ordered another round and it woulda taken ya less time and more booze.”

“Thanks,” Hugh smiles, “But I need to call it a night. The biggest day of my life begins once I leave.” Hugh examines the rows of liquor under the neon cabinet lights.

“Yeah?” the bartender flips through a small notepad with a short wooden pencil in his hand. “What, uh, what’s tomorrow?”

Hugh pauses. “I’m getting married.”

The bartender’s eyes turn sharply towards Hugh. He sets down his notepad and pencil and makes his way to the illuminated shelf of whiskey and pours Hugh another round. “Shoulda said somethin’, I wouldn’t have letchya leave! On me, sport.” Hugh smiles reluctantly then finally accepts the gesture with a sip. “Who’s the poor gal?” the bartender inquires in a joking tone.

“Nancy,” Hugh responds proudly.

“Nancy. Okay.” The bartender begins to wipe glasses on the counter in front of Hugh. “She’s the one, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s the one.”

“Don’t seem eager to getta tomorrow, huh?”

“I am, I am. Just…” Hugh tries to find the words. “Taking it all in.”

“Yeah, sure, sure. Yeah, once you tie the knot, that’s it, ya know?” the bartender says understandably. Hugh nods. “Course, uh, ya know, if things ever go south you can just start over with another lady, move somewhere nice – nicer than here, ya know? – and, uh, ya know, forget the whole thing ever happened,” the bartender interjects. Hugh stares wide eyed at him.

The bartender sniffs and coughs nonchalantly. “Me and my ex, whew, what a piece o’ work she was, yeah.” He looks up at Hugh and realizes what he’s saying. “Oh, no, not that that’s gonna happen to you and Nancy, that’s for sure.” The bartender pauses. “Yeah, she was a real piece o’ work, that’s for sure. And divorce is a real thorn in the side, ya know? After all the fightin’ and listenin’ to her call ya fat eight hundred times, when you’re finally through with it, ya gotta do all this paperwork and lawyers and whose-whose. Real thorn in the side, that’s for sure.”

Hugh rubs his hand along his mouth, unsure how to respond. He takes another drink.

“No, but that’s great, you and Nancy,” the bartender attempts to redirect the tone. “That’s great. Couple o’ young kids fallin’ in love, that’s great, ya know? Love is real.” He puts a glass away and leans on the bar across from Hugh. “Love is definitely real. When me and Carolyn met, she was a real knockout – whew! Tall, long legs. She could do this thing with her eyes where should could look at you – right? – and make you feel like you were the only one in the whole place. Yeah, she’d look atchya with her brown eyes and capture your whole attention.” The bartender looks off to the side, “Or where they blue?”

He sighs, “Real piece o’ work, that’s for sure.”

“Nancy makes me feel that way, too,” Hugh begins. “When she looks at me… gosh, I don’t want to be anywhere else in the world.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the bartender half-heartedly engages, “Yeah, I remember that feelin’. Feels good, huh?”

Hugh nods proudly. “Yeah. Feels good.”

The bartender suddenly looks across the room and notices the other patron silently sipping his wine. “Hey!” The patron looks around, like he’s searching for the source.

“What’re ya lookin’ around at? Hey, you!”

“Me?” the patron says in a soft voice.

“Who the—nobody else is here! Yes, you! You done with your drink or not?”

The patron stares at his glass and drops his bottom lip in thought. “I’d like to finish, if that’s alright.”

“No, it’s not alright, its three in the mornin’,” the bartender mutters to himself, suddenly realizing Hugh heard him. “Oh, no, you’re good. You take your time, huh?”

Hugh slightly raises his glass as a thank you, taking another sip. The bartender steps aside to finish counting the tips and jotting in his notepad.

It was only then that Hugh noticed the music was still playing; the crackling sounds of an old recording underneath the solemn croon of Frank Sinatra. His voice echoing off each wall in Pauly’s Pub. Suddenly loneliness made itself present in the bar.

“Hey, Pauly,” Hugh says clearing his throat. The bartender didn’t move. “Pauly,” Hugh tries again.

After a brief pause, the bartender looks over his glasses and sees Hugh trying to get his attention. “Oh, me?”

“Yes, sorry. Pauly, right?”

“Nope. Pauly’s been dead for years.”

“Oh,” Hugh reacts with a high pitched voice. “Sorry.”

“Never knew him. What’s up, sport? You settlin’ up?”

“Actually, I was wondering if…” Hugh stops himself. He's never opened up to a stranger before, but it was too late. “How do you know someone is the one?”

The bartender continues to flip through the bills from the tip jar. “Sheesh. Little late to be askin’ that, huh?”

“I love Nancy, don’t get me wrong. I just… how do you know?”

“When ya know ya know, ya know?”

“Sure, but how do you know?” Hugh presses deeper. “What can you tell about someone that makes them the one?”

“Oy, sport, that’s, uh, that’s a tough one.” The bartender scribbles final notes in his notepad, throws his towel over his shoulder, and accompanies his new friend. “You spend too long thinkin’ about this and that, watchin’ every move she makes, you’ll wear yourself out. Nobody’s perfect, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not expecting perfection, but I am expecting something a little more than just kindness.”

“Ah,” the bartender says low. “Okay. I get it.”

“You get what?”

“Most bachelors come in here trynna savor their final moments o’ freedom ‘fore they tie the knot. And there’s no goin’ back once it’s done. Well, that’s not true. Me and Carolyn didn’t last. But that’s not what you want.” He puts up his forefinger and shakes it. “No, what you want is to know if she’s right for you. You care deeper about life than these other shmucks do. It’s not as simple as 'find a good girl and have a kid', huh?”

“No,” Hugh speaks softly. “It’s not.”

“Hmm,” the bartender contemplates.

Hugh traces the ring of the whiskey glass with his finger and looks down at the caramel pool resting at the bottom. “All my life… I wanted to be married. I’ve been scared of being lonely. When Nancy came into my life, she was the solution to my fear.” He brings a knuckle between his lips, nervous to finish his thought. “But… am I in love or just afraid to be alone?”

For the first time the bartender is speechless. He exhales and glances away from Hugh, saddened by his question. The bartender waits for wisdom to come to him but he’s left empty handed. Hugh sees that not even the bartender can talk up some tired cliché to convince him for the time being, and he slouches deeper in his barstool.

The other patron takes a slow, long sip of his wine. “Excuse me,” he speaks as politely but clearly as he can, hoping he isn't interrupting. The bartender, almost relieved, looks over at the man. “I’m finished. How much?”

“Seven,” the bartender answers aimlessly. The patron leans to his left and reaches in his back right pocket for his wallet. He sifts through his cash – finding a twenty, a ten, a few fives, and plethora of ones. He takes out the ten and a one and neatly places them in the center of his table. He reaches over and takes a folded coat off the seat next to him, slipping in one arm at a time.

The patron stands up and smoothens out the creases along his torso with a few long swipes along his body. “Thank you.”

“Ya, okay – just tell the miss’s you weren’t the last one to leave, huh?” the bartender joshes.

“I’m sorry?” the patron says absently, not understanding.

“Ya know, you didn’t stay up drinkin’ all night, not at least compared to this guy here, huh?” There’s a pause. “Come back again?…Ya know, I just serve ‘em, you drink ‘em.” Another pause. “Sheesh! Some folks like a little excuse on the way out ‘fore they get an ear full from their ol’ lady!”

“Oh,” the patron chuckles. “I’m not married.”

The bartender throws his hands up, “No, what a shocker.”

“Goodnight.” The patron looks at Hugh. “Goodnight.”

Hugh raises his palm up, and then suddenly calls out to him. “Where are you going?”

The patron, with his hand pressed against the door, turns back around. “Where am I going?” he asks innocently.

“Yeah. It’s so late, no one’s waiting up for you. Where are you going to go?”

The patron furrows his brow in amused confusion for such a silly question. “What do you mean? I’m going home.” The patron smiles confidently at Hugh. Then he pushes the door open and leaves.

Hugh watches the door shut. The bartender walks up beside Hugh. “Eighteen,” the bartender informs.

Hugh looks at the man, who has a melancholy smile. “Pardon?”

“Figured it’s time you settle up and become a married man.” Hugh ponders the statement for a moment, then leans to his left and grabs his wallet from his back right pocket. Hugh sifts through his cash – two twenties. He rubs the two bills together, deciding on a thought, then takes both bills out and lays them on the countertop.

The bartender comes back around and takes both bills. “You want change?”

“Nah,” Hugh smiles.

The bartender raised up the bills to thank him. “Hey. Congratulations on the wedding.”

“Thanks.”

“Nancy’s the one. Believe it.”

Hugh was more touched than he cared to admit, and he raises his palm in the air and holds it sentimentally. “Goodnight.”