Sequel: Retrouvailles

Le Chat Noir

el gato negro

There are many different types of drunk. Happy, sad, angry, and everything in between. I’ve seen it all, working at The Black Cat. There are the regulars, whose behaviour once they had one too many pints I could predict, but I liked seeing new faces far more. It was always a thrill when somebody who I thought I had figured out went and did something completely unexpected, like sing or fall off their stool. More often than not, at the same time.

We hadn’t yet opened for the evening. I stood behind the bar, wiping glasses, my eyes following Charlie as he stalked about the pub. Lucy was late for the third time this week, and Charlie hated tardiness. He’d checked his watch twelve times in the last two minutes, indicating that he was growing more and more tense.

She came through the kitchen, to Charlie’s surprise. I guessed that she’d taken an extra few minutes to have a cigarette in the lane. Judging by the smell that lingered as she slipped past me to grab an apron, I was right.

“It’s five sixteen, Lucy,” hissed Charlie. He thrust his wrist at her, just to emphasize his point.

Lucy shrugged. “I don’t see you hiring anybody else,” she replied.

Charlie went red, scowled at her, then retreated into the kitchen. His office was attached, and he’d most likely spend the rest of his time there. Charlie rarely came out of the office, unless it was to make sure nobody had broken anything and that the patrons were content.

“How’s Byron?” Lucy asked me, once Charlie was gone.

I stopped wiping the glass to stare at her. “His name is Brian, and we split up last week.”

Lucy examined her nails, probably not even listening. “Shame, he was well fit. You should be happy though, that it lasted as long as it did.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, not bothering to respond. This was typical of Lucy, to subtly hint at my lack of, well, anything. I wanted to argue that my breasts were bigger than hers and she didn’t have an arse, but it wasn’t worth the trouble. She’d just flip her blonde hair and raise a perfectly trimmed eyebrow, knowing full well that she went out with more blokes than I did, or ever would.

At six Charlie came out and unlocked the front door. The television on the wall opposite the bar was turned on, highlights from an earlier footy match displayed on the screen. I continued to clean glasses while Lucy leaned on her forearms, waiting for the first customer. She’d positioned herself in such a way that whoever sat in front of her could see down her top, which I knew was on purpose. At the end of the night, she thought she got more tips. But I’d seen her haul before, and I smiled to know that I made more.

I never thought about myself as that sassy barmaid from the movies that gives stellar advice, but there really wasn’t anything else to compare myself to. I’d always been good at reading people, so I liked to make drinks without receiving an order. I thrived on their surprised faces when I slid a drink across the bar that was exactly what the person needed, even if they didn’t realize it themselves. I’d met several baristas who did the same thing, but alcohol was so much more fun than coffee.

The Black Cat was a fairly underground pub in London, as far as business went. We had a decent crowd most nights, the majority of our customers only frequenting on weekends. With only two barmaids, a cook, and Charlie, we managed. I kept on bringing up the idea of hiring a third bartender, perhaps somebody who could help me lifting the heavy cases of booze, since Lucy had useless twigs for arms.

In the last two weeks business had picked up significantly. Somebody had told somebody else who knew Nick Grimshaw, and suddenly The Black Cat had become a hotspot for London’s hip elite. I guess they needed a new summer spot that was “cool,” or whatever. I’d never considered The Black Cat particularly “cool,” but I also wasn’t a rich person who wore two hundred dollar t-shirts.

The clock had just ticked past ten when they strolled through the door in all their hipster glory. Nick — call me Grimmy, love — found his favourite booth and ushered his usual crowd in, eager to share his latest pub infatuation with them. Whenever he came in, there was always somebody new. I recognized Kelly Osbourne, Pixie Geldof, and Daisy Lowe, but they were joined by a few unknown faces. It was astonishing that they all fit into the booth. More people filtered in and Grimmy greeted them loudly as if he owned the place. I glanced over at Lucy, who was eyeing some of Grimmy’s gang with hungry eyes. Last week, she left me alone at the bar to go home with one of them.

I busied myself with serving other people not associated with Nick Grimshaw. Lucy could deal with them tonight.

“Gin and tonic,” I said to the man in a rumpled suit at the corner of the bar. “Easy on the tonic.”

His eyebrows shot up. He’d been sitting there looking miserable for about ten minutes, not having ordered yet. “Uh, cheers,” he said, gingerly sipping the glass. I leaned on my forearms and grinned, watching as the creases on his forehead eased.

“I’m sure your wife won’t be as cross as you expect,” I said, after a moment. The man stared at me, jaw slack. “Women aren’t really that complicated, you know. Bring her some chocolates and she’ll listen to whatever you’ve got to say.”

“She doesn’t like chocolate,” he replied immediately.

“Who in their right mind doesn’t like chocolate?” I asked, appalled. The man chuckled and shrugged. “Fine, try flowers then.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And I’ll get you another drink,” I said. The man smiled and nodded, and I went for the bottle of gin.

A woman dropped into the stool in front of me, propping up her chin on her elbow. She had dark hair and a toothy smile, which was directed right at me. “I heard you can guess what people like to drink,” Daisy said.

“Er, yeah,” I replied. If Nick Grimshaw was telling people about that particular talent of mine, then I would be busy tonight. Celebrities loved it when you tried to figure them out. Grimmy had been delighted when I slid a bellini across the bar the first time he came in.

“Would you?” she asked eagerly.

“You’ll have to give me a minute, I’ve got a few other people to serve first,” I told her. Daisy nodded.

It was kind of a lie. I did have other people to serve, but I couldn’t just figure out what somebody needed right on the spot. I needed to watch them for a bit, evaluate their mood, then it was a bit easier. So while I mixed other people’s drinks, I watched Daisy out of the corner of my eye.

She waited patiently, the smile never leaving her face. I remembered vaguely that she’d dated Matt Smith, my second favourite Doctor — since I’d never really gotten over David Tennant. She was a model, and she had to be cool if she was hanging out with Grimmy. But she seemed like a nice person with a bright attitude, what with all that smiling. I wondered absently if it ever left her face.

When I decided what I was going to make her, I grabbed a martini glass and the shaker. Daisy watched with interest while I prepared the drink and then slid it across the bar to her. She bit her lip, took a tiny sip, then smiled widely. “You’re fantastic!” she exclaimed.

I watched Daisy go back to the booth and tell everybody about how I’d made her a Grasshopper, and then there were three more people coming up to the bar and asking me to make them a drink. Whenever Grimmy came in I put all of his friends on one tab, which they could figure out later. It made situations like this much easier.

Lucy was shooting me glares from her side of the bar, probably because I was the one getting attention from the cool crowd instead of her. I made the executive decision to take a fifteen minute break in that moment so that she could regain some of her confidence as the only barmaid available, and I wouldn’t have to keep observing the personalities of people who were trying to appear mysterious just to make my life difficult.

My breaks weren’t really breaks. I usually spent them in the kitchen with Archie, the cook. While he deep-fried up a storm, I sat on the opposite counter and ate chips. Archie was my only friend here at The Black Cat, and I suspected that I was his. He got on with Charlie alright, but they never really had proper conversations like we did. Archie’s copper hair was held back with a black bandana, and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his chef’s coat to the elbows.

“Grimshaw’s back then?” he asked, dumping a pile of chips into a basket and coating them with salt.

“With a whole new posse of models and socialites,” I replied.

“Think he’ll ever bring in anybody who’s, like, proper famous?”

I eyed him. “You just want to try and shag Alexa Chung, don’t you?”

Archie grinned over his shoulder. “I swear you’re a psychic, Zo.”

“No, just observant and bored,” I replied easily, popping a chip into my mouth. “She’ll probably come in one of these days.”

“Well? Which celebrity are you gaming for then?” Archie asked.

“I’m not. I’d rather they not come at all,” I said.

“Oh, come on, Zo, there’s got to be somebody.”

“Not really. He’s not friends with any celebrities I like,” I hopped off the counter. “I could use a ginger beer, d’you want anything?”

“Are you really asking me that, Zo?”

I ducked into the cold storage and brought out a ginger beer and a Coke for Archie. He practically survived on the stuff. I ate the entirety of my basket of chips in the time that I spent in the kitchen, and brought my half finished ginger beer back out into the pub with me.

Lucy was ignoring most of the people at the bar, so I went right to work filling orders. When it got busy like it was now, I didn’t have time for my little drink trick. So whoever didn’t know what they wanted was given a few extra moments while I served pints to somebody else. I cleared the waiting crowd and took a step back, drawing the elastic from my wrist. My hair was a dark, curly mess, and I usually tied it back. It had been looking half-decent, but if I was going to be doing most of the working for the rest of the night then I couldn’t have ringlets hanging haphazardly in my eyes.

The bar’s regulars filtered out around eleven, but Grimmy’s main gang was still hanging about their booth. My eyes drifted over to them only to see Grimmy blink at his phone for a moment before grinning enthusiastically. He whispered something to the others at the table and then slid out, headed for the door. Part of me hoped he was leaving, because his friends weren’t likely to stick around if Grimmy wasn’t here. And if they were gone, then I wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with a bunch of drunk celebrities.

A woman took a seat at the bar and sighed, her eyes drifting along the wall of liquor behind me. I uncrossed my arms and stepped up, bringing a glass along with me. She had pearl earrings and looked as though she’d just gotten out of a business meeting. Her hair was chestnut brown and looked as though the cut had been expensive. I’d observed enough people to be able to tell.

I watched her eyes flick from the array of bottles to the pint I’d just placed in front of her. “What’s this?” she asked, in a decidedly Welsh accent.

“A pint.”

“But I didn’t order a pint.”

“Sometimes you just need a good pint.”

The woman furrowed her brows. “I’ve never ordered a pint before. Figured that if I did, people would look at me funny.”

“Who cares?” I replied, and she laughed.

I listened to the woman tell me about her terrible day at the office, nodding in all the correct places. She had a terrible week all around, and had been working up the courage to step into the pub since Wednesday. I went to refill her drink, casting a side look at Lucy to make sure she was working, but I caught her ogling the door.

Grimmy was back, his arm slung around the shoulders of a lanky boy with a mop of brown hair tucked beneath a bright blue beanie. Apart from the beanie he was dressed all in black, and it matched his miserable expression. Grimmy, on the other hand, seemed delighted that he was there. Both Lucy and I watched as the boy slumped into the booth, his eyes glued to the wall. He looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but in The Black Cat.

When Lucy offered to bring them the round of chips they’d ordered, I shouldn’t have been surprised. She tried to show off her assets to the miserable boy, but to no avail. He didn’t even spare her a glance; in fact, it seemed as though he was intentionally avoiding looking at her.

I saw Daisy wave her fourth Grasshopper in front of them, and suddenly Grimmy’s head spun in my direction. I’d been staring, but he didn’t need to know that. So I grabbed the first glass in reach and busied myself with wiping it, while keeping my eyes on the cricket match on the telly.

“Grim, I already told you I can’t stay—“ said the miserable boy as Grimmy pushed him up to the bar. Lucy was bringing out fresh glasses from the dishwasher, and nearly dropped them when she saw the two men sitting on my side of the bar.

“Can I take it?” she mumbled to me while we put away the glasses. “Their order, I mean.”

I wasn’t in the mood to argue with her, but I knew she’d be wasting her time with this boy. He was anything but interested in picking up a desperate girl.

“I’ve got it.” I told her. I stood in front of them, first looking at Grimmy. I narrowed my eyes at him, overdoing the whole drink trick with the knowledge that he’d love it.

Grimmy hit the boy on the shoulder repeatedly, a grin spreading across his face. “She’s going to do it, Harry,” he said. I could smell his breath from here, laced with the alcohol I’d been giving him for the past hour.

So I went about making Grimmy’s drink, doing my best to ignore the curious look that Harry Styles was giving the back of my head. As someone who watched people for a living, I always knew when somebody was looking at me. And nobody had ever done it with as much intensity as him.

I dropped the lemon peel into the martini glass and placed it in front of Grimmy, watching as his brow furrowed.

“Ever seen Casino Royale?” I asked, and Grimmy nodded. “It’s a Vesper.”

“Fantastic,” he said, sipping the drink. “Absolutely bloody fucking fantastic.”

Grimmy skipped back to his booth and told everyone about the drink, and I could hear his bad James Bond impression from here. But Harry was still sitting on his stool, a carefully blank expression on his face.

A man came up to the bar and asked for another round for his table. I glanced at Harry. “Give me a second and then I’ll get you a drink, yeah?”

“Oh, I’m—“ Harry began, but I was already filling pints for the man.

Then I grabbed a small glass and went over to the tap. I filled it with water and placed the cup on the beer mat in front of Harry. He stared at it for a moment, then at me.

“You got me water,” he said, dumbfounded.

“You’re staying sober tonight because you suspect the paparazzi are following you, and you’ve stumbled out of bars piss drunk with a girl on your arm one too many times this year. Management is getting angry, and you really shouldn’t even be here except Grimmy is a mate and you’re not the type of bloke who lets down his mates.”

The blank expression disappeared on Harry’s face, replaced by utter surprise. “D’you read people’s minds often, then?”

“Only if they need me to. You can pretend its gin and tonic, if you like, so they won’t ask when you go back to the table.”

Harry glanced at his friends, then back at me. “I think I’ll stay here.”

As I served other people, I could feel Harry’s eyes following my every move. They traced my silhouette, ran up my arms, tickled my spine, and spent a rather lengthy period of time on my rear end. I wanted to make some comment to him about it, but every time my gaze drifted to him he met it with his own and offered the slightest of smiles.

So, officially confounded by this boy, who didn’t really seem like one-fifth of a boy band, I did my best to keep my attention on the other patrons. I knew my attempt to ignore him wouldn’t last forever, because it was my job to make sure that the customers were being served. And that small glass of water wasn’t going to last him through the night.

That was why twenty minutes later he leaned forward and stared at my face with such burning intensity that I couldn’t focus on anything but those green eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for you to offer me another drink, um—“ he paused, his gaze flickering down to my chest and lingering for a moment longer than was appropriate. “Sorry, I don’t think you told me your name.”

Usually I didn’t like to tell the patrons anything personal. They came here and it was about them, not the girl behind the bar that gave them exactly the drink they needed. I was just the short, unruly haired barmaid who was awesome, but preferred to remain anonymous.

But something about Harry told me he wouldn’t accept this. So instead of just refilling his water, I set it down and said, “Zola.”

Aside from not bringing anything personal about myself into my interactions with patrons, I also hated the first reaction people had to my name. It wasn’t a name people heard everyday and I was fully aware of that, I didn’t need people telling me so.

“It suits you,” Harry replied, gazing at me over the rim of his glass.

That made me stop in my tracks, pausing with a freshly filled pint halfway toward a waiting patron. I blinked at Harry, watching as he took delight in throwing me off. A moment later I’d recovered, and I passed the drink to the man.

“Why is that?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I dunno, it just does. I’m just glad your name’s not Sarah or Ashley or something,” Harry shrugged. “You deserve a cooler name than that.”

“Says the bloke named Harry,” I said.

“Oi, there’s plenty of cool people called Harry,” he argued.

“I don’t see any,” I replied, without thinking. Harry’s eyes twinkled, although he was too busy taking a sip of water to smile properly. I mentally chided myself for saying something that brought me close to the flirting end of the spectrum. I was not that person, and I didn’t know what it was in Harry that brought it out in me.

At one thirty, Harry was still sitting at the bar. He was in a considerably better mood than he had been when he arrived, occasionally cracking terrible jokes to distract me from my drink-making duties. The Black Cat was nearly empty, except for Grimmy and his mates. We were closing in half an hour, anyway, so they’d been on their way out soon.

Grimmy stumbled over a few minutes later and grinned lazily at Harry. “You’ve been here all night, Styles. Now I know this lady’s got a nice arse, but you’re ignoring us.”

I quirked an eyebrow, fighting the smile off my face.

“D’you need a lift home, Grim?”

“Much obliged, my good friend,” Grimmy tried to bow, but nearly toppled over.

“Let’s go then, mate,” said Harry, standing up. He and Grimmy went back to the booth and they all shuffled out, shouting goodbye at one another and giving laughter-filled embraces. Without saying goodbye, Harry half-carried Grimmy out the front door.

Then the pub was empty, and I noticed for the first time that Lucy was nowhere in sight. She must’ve left sometime in the last half hour, or else I would have been so overwhelmed with customers that I couldn’t have missed her departure. But I’d been paying too much attention to Harry, and I wasn’t able to figure out with whom she’d decided to cut out early.

I grabbed a dish tray and started picking up the various glasses that littered the pub, when the door swung open again. I glanced up, wondering why somebody was coming in for a drink so near closing, but was met with surprise when I saw Harry.

“I just wanted to thank you,” he said, crossing the pub in a few strides. I envied his long legs. “I thought tonight was going to be shit, but you made it a lot better.”

“Next time you’re trying not to get caught by the paps, don’t go to a bloody pub,” I told him.

Harry chuckled. “Thanks for the advice, but Grimmy never takes ‘no’ for an answer.”

He left after that, and I continued cleaning on my own until Archie came out to give me a hand.

“So much for not wanting to see any celebrities,” he said, cracking a grin.

“Oh, shut up.”
♠ ♠ ♠
Hello! This is a short story, only five chapters in length.
Drop a comment, let me know what your thoughts are thus far.

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