Passing Looks and Disappointed Faces

[Gerard's P.O.V.]

Celebration time: now. After annoying the hell out of my friends and brother, I definitely had to treat myself to something, anything, even if it was that cheap can beer. I sighed, retrieving a cigarette from the nearly empty carton in my pocket; I needed one right about now. Lighting it quickly, I took a long drag, my feet taking me automatically down the streets of Belleville towards the one liquor store I absolutely loved. This store had virtually any alcoholic beverage you could imagine. There were bottles of whiskey, brandy, champagne, wine, vodka, beer, scotch, gin and virtually anything else you could possibly think of. It was definitely the place to go for your alcohol needs.

Besides, the owner was a great guy. He could be rather sour at times, cursing you out until the moon turned blue but on other times (if you were a regular customer of course, or a friend) he would invite you to the wine cellar where a rousing game of dominoes was played every week. The winner would get complimentary wine; usually though, only he would be able to get the bottle which he would later sell to a regular customer or friend as an inside joke.

Extinguishing the unfinished fag with the sole of my shoe, I entered the large store, a bell clanging above my head as I entered. I had plenty of respect for the old man who ran the shop and so I wouldn't dare smoking in it. I stepped up and down the aisles, waiting until he would get out from behind the storage area; he was bound to come out soon. I scrutinized a bottle of vodka closely, checking the dates and brand before carefully placing it back in its place.

"What do you want-Oh, hey Gerard," the old man grinned, revealing the missing teeth in his dark mouth. I grinned back, walking towards the counter at a leisurely pace. The place was incredibly sterile, with every rack wiped down to shining silver and the refrigerators kept at just the right temperature. The fluorescent lights highlighted the different types of bottles, marking their perfection. The counter was always wiped down and there was always quality bottled beer back there in a fridge he kept specifically for friends. I was quite close to the man; I came here nearly every day.

"Hey, James, how are you?" The man was named James Cabel, a dashing man with a certain charm and sophistication he continued to carry though his years as a young adult were long gone. He was that kind of person who would never lose the old-world essence, even if he were spewing out curse words left and right.

"Great, Gerard; care to join us in a game of dominoes tomorrow night?" he asked, winking at me. In the last game I had lost miserably and it seemed he was anxious to beat me again; he really enjoyed winning. Of course, we let him win at times; he supplied us the alcohol and we gave him the momentary satisfaction of a win. It was just the way things ran around here.

"You know it. Say, what have you got in the way of quality vodka?" He shook his head, chuckling.

"Wouldn't you prefer a nice bottle of wine I have? It's got your name written all over it." He was enticing me and I knew it. Still, I couldn't help but feel curious; it was probably the wine from last week.

"Sure, but I still would like some vodka." He barely cared that I was only months legal; as long as the money was clean and I was really legal, he cared in the slightest. He bid me wait, turning around to limp his way back to where the wine cellar was. He had had that limp for years and years now; he told me the story when we were just in one of those rare moments simply talking in the back of his store. Though New Jersey had always been a troubled place, it had been infinitely safer in the mid-1900s. Any scandal was huge, the talk of everyone; gossip spread quickly infiltrating every home in the town in a matter of hours. James Cabel made a mistake; he shamelessly made his moves on a young woman.

Now, courting a young woman was nothing; unless that is, the woman was engaged and that was exactly what this young woman was. Her engagement had been made public and had been celebrated for weeks; the wedding was to come when she would finally become a distinguished woman of society in everyone's eyes. And then, Cabel stepped in and all hell broke loose. Word got around to the groom-to-be that the newcomer James Cabel had slept with the engaged young woman and he decided desperate measures had to be taken.

Therefore, one night, as James Cabel walked the streets of the town with a lilt in his step after returning from a grand party, he was assaulted. The man had been waiting for him, knowing already which route he would take to return home, a gun in hand. He had no idea what had been waiting for him and, as the shot rang out, he dived to the side in an attempt to dodge the bullet. Instead, it caught him in the leg and shattered the bottom portion of his femur. They were able to repair the leg but he would limp for the rest of his life. The bullet never went through his leg and he now enjoys showing the extracted metal object to his good friends. I myself had seen it, smeared with dry blood in a small jar in his office; it's quite fascinating.

The door opened suddenly, distracting me from my thoughts and he entered, the neck of the wine bottle clutched tightly in his gnarled fingers. I grinned as he set the bottle before me. Then I began laughing uproariously; he certainly wasn't kidding when he had said it had my name all over it. It actually did; in his careful, sprawling lettering, he had written my name various times in varying sizes all over the label of the bottle so that the brand was barely visible anymore. "You know what, James?" I finally said, reaching out for the bottle, "I'll take it."

"There's a boy," he grinned, shooting me a wink, ringing up the bottle, discreetly giving me a discount; I knew he had done it, but he didn't know I knew and so the both of us were quite content. He placed the bottle in a plastic bag, handing me the bottle with a nod of the head.

"Thanks James; I'll see you tomorrow night," I said, waving at him with my free hand, walking out the store with his words of departure chasing me. I practically ran home, clutching the bottle close to me, taking care for it to not slip and break after he had written my name all over it. I placed it delicately in the wine rack I had smuggled into my room, staring at it with a fascination that was unparalleled. I couldn't have stared harder if it had been an actual living, breathing creature. Shrugging to myself, I grabbed the neck of the bottle, searching through the drawers of my desk for a certain cork screw.

This I grabbed and, clutching the bottle tightly in one hand, I uncorked it, drinking straight from the bottle once it was open. I smacked my lips in satisfaction; James Cabel always bet his best wine in the assurance that he would win it back. I chuckled to myself, corking the bottle again and replacing it in its rightful place. I was trying to control myself; to not simply drain the bottle in that instant. I tended to do that quite frequently but I wouldn't with this bottle; it was much too fine to not savor. Damn it, I then thought as I gazed down at the rack still. I hadn't bought the vodka.

Sighing to myself, I grabbed my discarded jacket, grabbing a few bills from my drawer. I resolved to not come back until I had my precious vodka; now that was something I was comfortable draining this instant. Therefore I began making my way back to the liquor store; I was going to have my vodka one way or another. Taking a shortcut route through back alleys and vaulting through backyards, I reached the liquor store in a much shorter time than the one before. Plus, I had to celebrate now more than ever because I hadn't been threatened or mugged when I took the alleys. Score!

Once I had reached my destination, I pushed open the clean glass doors, striding directly to the vodka. This time I didn't bother waiting for James to come out. Instead, I hollered for him, "Hey, James; come out here!" Sure, the employee standing at the counter glared at me while polishing the bottle before him but I didn't care. I wanted my vodka now. Finally, after a few minutes of impatient waiting and bottle examining, my dear friend came out, wiping his dusty hands on an old rag.

"Back again so soon?" he asked, a sly smirk on his face as he came down the aisles towards me. "What'll you be wishing for this time?"

"You know I wanted the vodka, not that goddamned bottle of wine," I muttered, my attention slightly deviated to the bottle I held in my hand.

"If you want vodka, I could put it in tomorrow's game," he said, leaning slightly on the aisle, not placing much weight on it so it stayed still. He knew the tricks to everything here; if I attempted to do that, I would make the whole damned rack fall over.

"Hardy-har," I said sarcastically, though I had to let a smile cross my lips. "I'd appreciate the drink now, thanks." He laughed, quickly glancing over the bottles at my right, finally plucking one delicately by the neck. He handed it to me:

"This is one of the best; I highly recommend it," he said smiling reverently at the bottle. He clearly had a passion for this business; I merely cared for the alcohol content in these unassuming bottles of fermented poisonous bliss. I gazed over it, finally deciding it really was a quality bottle; then I looked at the price tag.

"You're kidding; this is probably the priciest bottle in the entire rack, James. I don't have that kind of money on me right now," I said in indignation, moving to replace the bottle; I didn't want to have anything to do with such a price.

"That's an old price, it's actually twenty dollars less at the moment," he said quickly, hoping to persuade me. The way he ran this business was unscrupulous.

"I don't know James; it's still plenty expensive."

"You know what? Since you're a friend of mine, I'll lower the price an extra ten dollars." He grabbed the bottle again, shoving it at my hands. "It's already half the price of the money listed on the tag."

"You're going to lose plenty, James," I said, unsure.

"Take it," he practically snarled.

"Okay," I said meekly; I was actually quite happy at my purchase. I was getting a sixty dollar vodka bottle for thirty; hell yeah. I bought it and, after promising James yet again that I would be there for the game tomorrow, I left, holding my precious bottle tightly in my hand. This sure wouldn't last long in my room. Still, it felt nice owning something of such value when I usually could only afford to buy the cheapest. Sighing in satisfaction, I began making the trajectory home, taking the long way since I couldn't afford to lose this precious thing. Still, the long way made it worse because I was faced with a scene I would rather not see.