A Damn Fine Martini

The night was starting to wind down and Jim was feeling the hours. He had gotten to work at 10:30am and would be wrapping up business around midnight. Most of his patrons had trickled out at this point. He was hunched over his faithful three-tiered sink, diligently cleaning and stacking glassware to dry. Once his prodigious pile of dishes was cleansed, he’d make a sweep of the tables and set to polishing. It was about an hour before last call, but the time was moving steadily.

The bar stools were empty and the tables of guests had mostly been cleared. Everyone was sitting comfortably with a drink, water, and no pressure. Jim made his rounds, checking on his guests and their temperaments. All was well. As Jim made his way back behind the bar and to his awaiting glassware, he heard the door open. He glanced to the entrance of his little basement bar and saw a welcome and familiar face. Emma, one of his many old bosses.

Emma walked to the bar and pulled out a stool. Jim had not seen her for close to two years and he was almost taken aback. Without the moniker of authority, he realized how beautiful she was. You don’t look at your boss that way. Gets things all muddled. She wasn’t his boss anymore, though. She was a pretty woman who came into his domain, his home. She smiled as Jim approached with a menu and water.

“Well hi.” Jim greeted her with his classic, congenial warmth. “This is nice.”

Emma smiled wide and gestured to the dimly lit space that was cautiously and conscientiously decorated. “THIS is nice! So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

“I like to stay in my little hole in the ground. I feel safe here.” Jim smiled as he lied. He had grown to detest his little hovel of booze. Not all the time, but some days he could really do without the people and the culture and the restaurant industry as a whole. “It’s great to see you. Do you need a beverage?”

“Ah yes, down to business.” Emma opened the menu and glanced quickly. “Classics, huh? You don’t make your own cocktails down here?”

“That’s an on the fly, on demand situation, which i would be happy to oblige.” Jim pulled a worn down notebook out of his back pocket and tried to remember Emma’s beverages of choice. Though they knew each other pretty well and worked adjacent for years, Emma was a higher up. That was the past, though. Emma’s truth was that she had wandered into the bar looking for Jim. She needed a bartender tonight.

“I need something light and refreshing…” Emma mused. “It’s been a long… life.”

“I feel that.” Jim grabbed his shaker and started on an old cocktail from his memory. “Let’s go with a Cool, Cool Water. Aquavit, chamomile bitters, honey and club soda.” Jim quickly and methodically built the drink, shook the ingredients and poured into a highball glass. He topped with club and presented the concoction with a beverage napkin and a trademark smile. “To your health.” Jim stated. Emma took a sip.

“Oh yes. Thank you. It's just what I wanted.” Emma was delighted with the simple cocktail and ready to get to the heart of the matter. “So!.”

“So?” Jim repeated as he paced to his glassware and grabbed a polishing rag. The tower of glassware was daunting, but Jim barely noticed. Emma had all his attention.

“I need your help with something.” Emma admitted.

“Help? From me?” Jim's surprise was real.

“Advice. Or just your ear, really.” Emma corrected herself.

“Ah-ha! That I can do.” Jim relaxed. “What’s the story.”

“Jeff and I broke up and I’m starting to really, really burn out at work.” Emma sighed as she ran her finger along the condensation of her glass. “I don’t know. I feel like the direction i had in life is just changing. A lot. Too much.”

Nodding as he cleaned his tools and resituated his cocktail station, Jim listened as Emma shared the tale of her recent affairs. Not much had changed in her work world, which was honestly a terrible thing. She was really the person running everything while the owners did their own projects. She hadn’t been alone in so long that she was struggling with it. The break up itself had been the standard “let’s stay friends” heartbreak that eats away at the soul.

Emma was two thirds of the way through her beverage and getting weight off her chest. Little moments throughout the past few months that were nagging at her. Big decisions like if she wanted to move or change companies/industries/careers. Family matters were good as always. She saw her siblings a lot and they supported her throughout the break up in a big way. The guests in the bar were happy to ride out the clock. Jim hadn’t been paying attention and missed his normal last call. He pardoned himself from Emma and made his way ‘round the room.

Emma had every intention of staying for another drink. She was starting to feel a good relief. The booze was kicking in and all the words were getting out. She thought back to the few times she was able to sit at Jim’s bar when they worked together. He was new and green and eager to please. She was young and bright eyed and always on the move. There were a handful of stand-out, slow nights where Emma had finished her office work early and sat with a glass of wine or a cocktail while Jim wrapped up and cleaned his bar. 

She resented him when he left the company. He left without notice due to a heavy argument with the owners, and he had no trouble finding work after. Emma had been in a tough spot because of that, but she ultimately let it go. Jim, in his heart, had never let it go. As he changed the music, checked on tables and resituated the space for closing, his guilt was running circles around him.

He made his way back to the bar and set to the task of prepping the crowd’s final round. Two manhattans. An old fashioned. A French 75. A Tom Collins and some glasses of red wine. Wine first so the glasses had time to breathe. He set a large tray to the side and began building the cocktails.

“Can you still talk and cocktail?” Emma leaned forward and watched Jim work.

“With the best of ‘em.” Jim confidently stated.

“It was fun watching you cocktail back in the day.” Emma counted out the drinks as Jim built all 5 at once. “4?”

“5.” Jim smiled and gestured at the stirring glass with the manhattans. “There’s two in there.” He dashed some bitters in the glass with the manhattans and the glass with the old fashioned. It took him a long time to learn it, but he grabbed a stirring spoon for each hand and, with his obsessive, frenetic energy, he stirred the Manhattans with his left for 30 seconds and the old fashioned with his right for 20. The Manhattans were divided into two coup glasses with cherries dropped in them. The Old Fashioned went over a couple large rocks, got some orange zest, and received a cherry as well.

“Well I know what those two are.” Emma smiled when she realized she had been silent while he worked. “What’s in the shakers?”

“French 75 and Tom Collins.” Jim pulled the gin from his rail and measured out an oz and half for the French 75 and 2 oz for the Tom Collins. Lemon juice. Simple syrup. Ice. SHAKE. Double strain with a fine mesh strainer. First the '75, topped with Champagne. Then, the Tom Collins, topped with club. A classic, standard spread. Jim stopped timing himself years ago. His anxious mind was always counting seconds but he did his best not to watch the clock. Either way, he was fast and before long, the other guests were pleased with their fresh beverages and Jim was starting to feel that close to closing drag. Emma’s glass was nearly empty.

“I do hope I can interest you in another,” Jim turned on his bar charm and flashed his devilish grin. “Please, what else can I get for you?”

“You crushed it the first time. Surprise me with something I’ll like.” Emma let herself grin back. Jim would usually balk at the idea of surprising a guest, but he knew exactly what to make. First, he filled a coup with ice water to chill. He tossed two dashes of house made orange bitters into a stirring glass. Then, a full oz of dry vermouth. Followed by two oz of a London dry gin. Ice and 30 seconds of stirring and the Martini was chilled to the bone and ready to go. 

He zested the cocktail with lemon and dropped the peel into the drink. Emma was delighted as one of her favorite drinks was presented to her. Jim made a damn fine martini. The night felt good. 

“Can I tell you a truth?” Jim asked as Emma sipped.

“Please.” Emma said.

“I carry a lot of guilt for how I left.” Jim admitted.

“Left where?” Emma looked confused.

“You guys. The company.” Jim went on. “Like, I don’t regret it. I needed to get away and I wasn’t doing well, but I never wanted to put YOU in the position I put you in. I don’t know. I’m apologizing. You were always amazing to me and, in the end, I’m guessing you were the one who had to bear most of the weight of my disappearance.”

Emma looked sad. “Jim, that was years ago and I understood back then. I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t have some hate for you when it happened, but I know you. I knew what you were going through. Also, that last month, you really started to do a shit job. We saw it coming. I tried to stop it as best I could, but I knew you didn’t feel supported and needed to get away. Besides, it wasn’t just the job. I don’t know much. People didn’t mention you to me for a long time. Still, I heard that you were going through a lot. I don’t hold anything against you and you don’t owe me an apology.”

“Well shit.” Jim sighed. “That’s a weight off my chest.”

“You shouldn’t carry stuff like that, Jim.” Emma said. “You know how the industry is. Everyone burns out. Everyone freaks out. Everyone is crazy. I’m sorry you held onto that guilt so long. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Jim let himself relax and let his past drift away from him. The night carried on and the guests left. Emma confidently stayed perched at the bar. She was allowed to stay. She took in the basement bar again as Jim cranked up some tunes for closing down. It looked like Jim as a bar. He belonged there. She felt comfortable, too. There was warmth to the space and the company.

Jim counted his register on the sly. He ran to the office and did the closing paperwork. He locked the safe. He turned off the lights in the kitchen and the office and locked the back door. Then, he was back to Emma.

“You disappeared.” She feigned annoyance. “You’re supposed to be entertaining me.”

“I don’t mean to disappoint you, but we closed 45 minutes ago and i’ve been here since 10:30 am.” Jim put his hands on his hips defiantly.

“Do I have to leave now?” Emma asked sheepishly as she reached for her purse.

“Whoa, whoa.” Jim put his hands up. “No, no. You are good to stay. For as long as you want. Forever.”

Emma laughed and put her purse back down and drained the last of her martini. “Ok, good. Well… another round?”

Jim was more than happy to oblige, but he did not feel like cocktailing. He poured a glass of white wine and grabbed himself some tequila with a splash of club soda. The doors were locked, half the lights were out and all but a few final closing tasks were done. Jim stepped from behind his bar and sat down next to Emma. 

“Thank you.” Emma said. They toasted, tapped their glasses on the bar and each tasted their respective libations. Emma was happy with Jim’s choice for her and Jim was always happy when tequila was involved. “Really. I needed tonight. This is good.”

“It is.” Jim smiled. “I needed it, too. Otherwise i would’ve been stuck with an empty bar and shitty guests all night.”

“Were they shitty?”

“Just bland. Uninteresting. Boring drink choices. Kind of annoyed when i checked in on them. The usual. Tipped ok but that’s only half the battle.”

“That’s why you're good at this.” Emma pointed at him.

“Because i don’t care about tips? Other bartenders i’ve worked with would disagree with you.” Jim could remember so many guests who had stiffed him, but he didn’t hold it against them. It’s not that he didn’t care about money, it’s that he didn’t WANT to care about money. Life would be easier without it.

“But when you’ve got passion and love for what you do, that’s what makes the difference.” Emma said.

“Who says I still have love and passion?” Jim responded. “I could just be so depressingly stuck in my ways that I just shake and stir cocktails all day cause I got nothing better to do.”

“Hey.” Emma nudged Jim. “At least you’re good at it.”