“Press the switch under the bar. Right-hand side,” Sam instructed.
I complied and instantly understood why he lowered the lights. The bar switch I pressed lit up a crystal pendant light above me, a string of light around the bar and more lights around the shelves and cabinet behind the bar. Damn, this was one beautiful bar. A strikingly odd feature for Sam’s prim apartment.
I opened the small fridge under the bar. Surprisingly it was empty. “You don’t have any juices?”
“No idea what you’ll find back there. Never used that bar much myself. Only got it because dad talked me into it. He always wanted to make his own Vesper Martini whenever he was here. I can only pour a scotch on the rocks.”
“Alright. I’m just going to have to surprise you then.”
“Do I want to be surprised?”
“Hey, I trusted your cooking skills. You got to trust my mixology skills now.”
My eyes scanned the bottles of liquor, considering my options. What cocktail would a man like Sam prefer? How about something that was not his usual whiskey? Gin, maybe? No, not Sam’s type. He preferred something stronger for sure.
And then the perfect cocktail recipe for Sam popped to mind.
Reaching on my toes to the shelves, I brought down two bottles. Then chose two old-fashioned glasses from the assortment in the cabinet and opened the freezer to find the ice tray.
Gosh, I hadn’t done that in so long. Hopefully wouldn’t mess it up. That would give Sam something more to tease me with. Good thing I chose a common cocktail recipe. Safe choice. I’ve done that mixture a thousand times in my life.
Sam took seat on a stool at the bar. “So what happened that made an ambitious woman like you drop out of school? You don’t seem like the kind of person who lets much get in the way of your career.”
Usually, when I was behind the bar, I’d be the one hearing the nostalgic stories not the one telling them. But for this one time, I might just indulge Sam.
“I had one exception: my sixty-year-old single father who raised me from a baby into a woman all on his own.” I wiggled a few ice cubes from the silicone tray and dropped them in the two glasses. “My dad had a stroke. Couldn’t do much on his own after. Half his body was paralyzed, his speech was slurred, couldn’t walk, couldn’t eat. It was my turn to step up and care for him. That’s why I left school.” I free-poured the ingredients – two-part alcohol, one-part liquor. “A friend of my dad, Ben, he had this pub and wanted to help us. So he hired me. After a while, dad’s recovery was going well. Very slowly but good progress. Still couldn’t walk much though his speech began to come back, enough that I could finally hold a conversation with him over dinner again. Then one day, Dad tried to get up from his wicker chair on his own. He fell and broke his hip. While he was at the hospital, the doctors made me realize that caring for him on my own wasn’t practical. Hell, I was an eighteen-year-old who was just starting to learn how to take care of myself and suddenly, I was taking care of my dad, running the house and working long evenings. I couldn’t handle all that weight on my tiny shoulders. I mean, he fell while I was in the next room to make coffee. That’s one or two minutes that I’ve left him alone. What if that had happened when I wasn’t home? So I had a long talk with Dad and we agreed it was best he moved into a care home. Of course to cover all the expenses, I had to take on a second job and as someone who didn’t finish school, my brightest career path at the time was bar tendering. I ended up working afternoons at Ben’s pub followed by nightshifts at a gentleman’s club in the town centre.” I saw Sam’s jaw dropping and I raised a firm hand to stop his obvious incoming questions. “Now don’t judge me. Yes, I had to wear skimpy clothes but no, men couldn’t touch me. Honestly, I didn’t mind working there at all and the tips were super generous. Dad wasn’t too happy with me working there, but I was happy that I got to make his life more bearable. Until the second stroke hit him and took him away from me forever.”
Haven’t talked about my past with someone in such a long time. It was always hard to revisit those memories. Surprisingly enough, this time, it wasn’t. It came out rather effortless and without a single tear too. Maybe because I was over the grief now. Maybe because talking to Sam was always easy.
Sam moved to stand opposite me at the bar. “Sorry to hear. Didn’t know you had a tough life.”
“Well, without those struggles and sacrifices, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. And I wouldn’t have learnt to make this.” I dropped a swizzle stick in the glass, gave a good swirl to the ice cubes and the liquids, then slid the finished cocktail glasses before him. “One Black Russian for you, Mr Webb.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Just try it. It’s good.”
Sam tentatively lifted the glass to his lips. “I’m going to regret this in the morning, am I?”
“Maybe.”
Sam bravely took a sip of my drink. And there it was in an instant – the sour-face expression, just like I predicted.
“Coffee, seriously?” He cleared his throat. His feeble attempt to rid of the taste I was sure he’d hate.
“And vodka. Come on, don’t be a wuss. You can barely taste the coffee.”
“It’s a two-ingredient cocktail so yes, coffee’s practically the only thing to taste. And I’m not a wuss. Watch me.” And he took a more modest sip of the drink. “Wow, this is one seriously awful cocktail. Second worst drink after coffee itself.”
Sam put the cocktail aside. Stood from his seat and came around the bar. He found a whiskey glass, poured a shot of scotch and downed it at once. Oh, dear. He hated the taste more than I assumed.
Sam’s arm came around my shoulders and pulled me under his wing. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
I smacked the cocktail stirrer on his hand dangling over my shoulder. “You had it coming, mister. You keep bringing up that ill-fated night when I ruined your pants with wine.”
“Not too ill-fated. It led to us being here tonight. Me feeding you and you poisoning me.”
The little wink and the flashing of his pearly white teeth were why I went along with the stupid coffee prank. Sam was a true sport. He could take a joke with a laugh and wasn’t too prickly. It was a good trait for a friend.