A Second Chance On Marriage

Knickerbocker Bar & Grill

Charlie's Pov:

Outside the air has a bite to it. I glance beside me to see men on the sidewalk. Clothes were merely draped, ripped apart at the seams. That explains the smell. New York, like many cities, is known for its infamous population of the homeless. I usually toss any spare change I can dig into my pockets for in front of their feet. 

What time is it even? I check my watch, it reads 3:30. Damn, I've wasted my time in that office for over two hours? I called off rehearsal for the day since I had my appointment, it wouldn't hurt to grab a drink.

I raise my hand for a taxi, the cars passing leave a slight breeze grazing my cheek. A cab pulls over and the click of the door means I can now enter. I bend down, my knees are pressed against the passenger seat.

"Where to?" The man asks me, cigar smoke escapes his mouth. "Knickerbocker," I try to get the name out before I start to choke on the smell. It suffocates me as I take a deep sigh. 

Car seats have always made me feel more relaxed. Chairs force a posture upon you that is aching. Chairs, at least to me, mean that you're possibly in a professional environment listening to people and conversations that don't really interest you much. But car seats give me a feeling of relief. They make me feel like I'm almost home. Especially late night drives. But now I'm starting to remember that this isn't my car, and the unsettling silence settles in. 

After around ten minutes, the cab stops, and I'm confronted with the difficulties of having to reach into my back pocket to pull out my wallet. I hand the man his money and exit the vehicle. I approach the bar and push the door, it's not budging. "That's odd," I mumbled to myself. A young lady next to me taps my shoulder. "Excuse me sir but I believe it says Pull." I feel the heat cross my face as I become embarrassed. "I do believe you are correct, Pull it is." I step aside and hold the door open for her. She chuckles and thanks me. 

Inside I am hit in the face with the smell of warm hamburgers and alcohol. Ketchup and salt, beer and fries. These aromas remind me of simpler times. The sounds of laughter and orders being taken fill the air like nostalgia. I took a seat on one of the leather bar stools, my head was hung low. 

My theater comes here after opening nights and closing nights but something about watching families enjoying a meal together knowing that they have many more to come pains me. Nicole would put her head on my shoulder, we'd order our favorite wine and Henry would stab his teeth into fries and pretend to be a Walrus. If I had known that nights like these would come to an end, I would have paid more attention to small talk instead of bringing my folder of notes with me.  

"What can I get ya," a familiar voice came to my attention. A second wave of embarrassment washed over me as I realized it was the young lady who assisted me with the door. Of course, my luck curses me like this. Of course she works here as well. I lifted my head with trepidation. "Oh, hey. Mr. Push-and-pull." she smirked at me, the dim lit bar made her lip gloss shine. I tried to hide my uncomfortable demeanor with a snicker, but anyone could tell just how uneasy I was. 

"Don't worry, it was kind of cute," her hand quickly shifted to a notepad flipped open. Her pen clicked, "Anyways, you obviously came in here to order something, not just sit around and reminisce on awkward situations." My throat became dry, she exudes such a charm. 

Her complexion was so smooth, her hair framed her face in such a way that even the messy wisps enhanced her features. "I'll have a red wine." She hesitantly glanced up, "You come into a bar, sit in a stool with IPA taps in front of you, and you order red wine?" Her teeth seeped through her grin until it became a laugh. 

"Too formal?" I chimed in between her gasp of air. "It's just, no one ever comes in and sits at the bar for red wine. Usually a couple comes in, maybe friends, and they order red wines for the whole table. But you, all by yourself I'm assuming, barging in here and just asking for red wine?" She paused, her smile faded. On my face was a half-hearted grin. 

"My apologies, I didn't mean to lose my bearings like that, one red wine coming up." She turned around to make her way to the wine glasses. "Hey, don't sweat it. It was very humorous, I understand. My day has not been the brightest so please, let me do the apologizing." Her eyes beamed up at me, they were such an engaging color. Brown, maybe hazel? Specks of blue maybe? This bar lighting makes it too difficult to tell. At this point, I was feeling bold. Obviously the ice had already been broken so, why not. "Forget the red wine, what do you suggest?" 

The spark she had not too long ago reignited within her, "Really? You want me to pick?" I nodded, she had enough energy to power a generator for a whole skyscraper. "Well, if you're new with IPA's, I would suggest Samuel Adams." She quickly dashed over to the taps, white fizz bubbled over down the glass and dripped onto the counter. 

"Here you go, the tender's recommendation!" She grabbed a cloth and vigorously wiped the remaining fizz off the counter. I held onto the glass and looked at the bubbles. "Come on, it's not going to hurt you." She joked. I reluctantly took a sip. My immediate reaction was to spit it back into the glass, but I managed to swallow it. 

"It tastes like piss." Did I really just blurt that out in a restaurant? Parents with children eating a nice meal and that's what they have to hear? Nicole would've laughed but she wasn't necessarily like other parents. She was more carefree, more ill mannered. The bartender belted out a cackle. It was somewhat appealing. It fit her personality. Customers dining turned around and glared. As if she was the only thing disrupting their peace when there were other elements. Elvis playing, the sounds of knifes and forks hitting plates, children fighting over crayons from the kiddies menu. 

"Wow, we are on two totally different pages then, aren't we?" she jested. "I am so sorry, I'm just not used to such a pungent taste." I mumbled underneath my breath. Without a word she walked away. She soon returned with a full glass, "Maybe you should stick to red wine." She slid the glass across the bar to me.  

"You seem friendly enough," She started to call out trying to overpower the crowd of families that had just piled in, "what's your name?" 

"Charlie," I stated. 

"Charlie? Charlie...." She began to create a tune to herself while picking up a tip the man next to me had left her. Her hums sounded heavenly, so delicate. 

"I'm sorry, sometimes I create tunes to remember people's names." She uttered. 

"Well, aren't you going to tell me yours?" I questioned.

"Y/N" 

"Y/N? Sounds lovely."

"Really? It was after my great grandmother. My family always point out similarities between us." 

I glanced up at her, even her name could just roll off your tongue effortlessly. That's what she was, effortless. 

She tried to fill the awkward silence with small talk, "So....Charlie," she began, "what do you do for a living?" She shouldn't have asked, I could talk her ear off for hours if I really wanted to. But I won't, not now at least. "I'm the theater director for Exit Ghost." Her expression was bare, "I wish I could just lie and say I know what or where that is, but I'd feel guilty." she declared. She pitched in with, "Theater isn't necessarily my thing. Or my cup of tea. Acting has never clung on to me as much as it has to others." 

"I understand," I began, "theater isn't for everyone. But with a personality like yours, why isn't it for you? You exude this charm that is made for an actor." Her eyes were kind, she stared at me with such admiration. "It's great to know that some people in this world still find passion within their jobs. Just by this conversation, I can tell you truly love what you do." 

I opened my mouth to speak but was soon bombarded by a constant buzz from my phone. "Mary Ann," I curse underneath my breath. I press the automatic options given to you by the iPhone: Can't talk right now. I feel another buzz, I look down to see Mary Ann's name pop up. The message is only regarding towards a blue print for set construction. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wouldn't want to interrupt you." Y/N backed away to serve another customer. 

"Don't worry! I'll be back, I'm always here. I'm surprised I haven't seen you sooner." I reach into my back pocket to pull out what I owe for the unfinished Samuel Adams, red wine, and a tip. Upon opening my wallet I see an Exit Ghost business card I've been keeping around in hopes I'd bump into the right person. Business inquiries maybe. Yet an opportunity hasn't come by. I place the money plus the business card on the table and exit the establishment.