bouncer ☓ h.s.

1. eddie's grill

Not again.

I try to suppress a cough as I pass through a cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding the front door. Inside, the bar is dark, the only light coming from the pool table. A few strings of old Christmas lights hang limply from nails in the walls. Old signs advertising different brands of beer, licence plates, and health inspector certificates cover every available square inch of wall, giving the place an undeniable character. Cigarette buds and empty bottles litter the floor, and I side step around them.

There are few people seated at the high tops. From what I can see, most people are crowded around the counter. I don't look further, trying to not meet any of the angry glares I'm getting as I continue walking. Closer to the counter, I hear the occasional deep chuckle. Glass suddenly shatters against the worn wood floors somewhere in the back, and I flinch.

"Can I help you, darlin'?"

The bartender leans against the counter, hands fiddling with an old dish rag. His dark hair is too long, probably a month past due for a hair cut. A five o'clock shadow stands out against his fair skin, though what I really notice is the thick scar running from his left eyebrow to his nose.

Of course my natural curiosity almost has me asking how he got it, but my common sense and immense fear of the answer to that question makes me bite my tongue.

I'm hesitant walking towards him, but I know I have to appear more confident than I already am. I choose to stand away from the counter, though close enough that the bartender won't notice. "I'm looking for my boyfriend. I got a call saying he was here," I say.

He mumbles something under his breath, sounding along the lines of, "Damn, the pretty ones are always taken." I know my blush is obvious. Seemingly uninterested in me anymore, he turns back towards the shelves. He moves some of the bottles of alcohol around before grabbing a glass and filling it with ice. He wipes his hands on his already badly stained apron before taking another bottle. I watch as it fills the glass with various liquids, smelling very bitter yet sweet at the same time. "So, have you seen-"

I'm cut off mid-sentence. "Here, this'll loosen you up a bit, sugar." The man slides the glass my way. Wrinkling my nose, I keep my hands at my sides. Alcohol disgusts me, such a bitter taste. The consequences have always outweighed the "fun" I could supposedly have from drinking, so I've never tried. "No, I'm not here to drink. I need to find my boyf-"

"Then get out of the bar, kid, and quit wasting my time," he grumbles. I'm taken aback by his sudden distaste towards me, and deem him unlikely to be helpful. Time to be a big girl and handle things by myself. As always.

Slowly I weave my way through the crowd at the bar, careful not to step on any of the many biker boots. Most of the men are at least a head taller than me and several times wider, and I do admit that I'd rather not have anyone look at me twice. This would not be a good time to start a bar brawl with a biker gang or angry trucker.

As I move closer to the front of the group, I can hear the cat calls and shouts shot in my direction. They make my stomach churn. I've always found it degrading to speak to a woman with such words, but I'm too frightened to say anything.

"Hey, blondie. Why don't you slide over here, doll?"

"Look at her, boys. She'd be awful fun later tonight. . ."

"Come 'ere, beautiful. I've got a place for you at the table."

Sighing, I feel relieved when I reach the back of the space. I managed to ignore most of the calls and wandering hands reaching my way. Thankfully Ray wasn't with me, or something would've went down. He's always been the one to start things. It doesn't take me very long to locate him, seeing as he's the center of everyone's attention.