A siren sounds from beside me as an ambulance struggles through traffic. The loud reoccurring wail drowns out the honks from ignorant cars waiting to get to their destination. Maybe that's the twisted beauty of New York City. No matter the situation, individuals here only care about themselves. Or at least the citizens fake that pretentious lifestyle until they end up desperate for attention. So far from reality that when they try to return, they end up in a forsaken city, alone to fend for themselves. Maybe that's why I don't feel too bad about walking into this neon-lit pub at the edge of midnight. There is a way to deal with my problems healthily. But why do that when I can talk to an exhausted bartender instead?
A bell chimes at the door, alerting everyone in the restaurant of my arrival. A few heads turn as the door closes but not enough to make me uncomfortable. The sound of light conversation and soft rock makes its way to the front door. It serves as an invitation to stay. I brush off the heavy puffer jacket on my back and put it on the back of the barstool in front of me. Even though it is mid-October, it sure does feel like the beginning of Winter.
"What can I get for you, Hun?" An older man with a scruffy beard stands before me, waiting for an answer.
"Could I get a mango mojito?" I ask as I place my dead phone down on the countertop.
"You got it." The man confirms and walks away to grab rum from another shelf along the wall.
I glance at the other customers sitting at the bar. Everyone is a small distance apart, allowing small talk. The woman closest to me chats quietly on the phone, gossiping about what seems to be a coworker. A few chairs away sit a couple who mingle over God-knows-what while sipping on fruity martinis. At the very end of the bar sits a man in his late 40s, who is typing angrily on his phone, only stopping every few seconds to take a large gulp of beer.
My drink is placed on a coaster on the cold marble countertop in front of me. I move the coaster closer and take a long sip out of the thin black straw. The rum leaves a warm sensation lingering in my throat while the mint tingles within my mouth. As I take another sip of my drink, the door beside me chimes, welcoming a new guest. After a few seconds, the chair beside me pulls back. A blonde around my age hops onto the chair. Something is different about her. Black sunglasses lie on top of her perfectly straightened hair, accompanied by minimal gold jewelry. Her outfit screams wealthy, but subtly due to how she pairs a black dress with an oversized blazer and Gucci tights. Her shoes offset the rest of the outfit, plain black combat boots.
The bartender rushes over to the newly arrived blonde. "Long time, no see." He comments while pouring out a cocktail for the girl.
"I hope you know that I've been to ten different bars since the tour started, and no one can make a Manhattan like you, Ed." She admits.
"I already told you guys I would be your bartender for a pretty penny. No one has these magical hands." Ed shrugs as if the girl is missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime.
"Come on now. You know that Mrs. Jones would give you hell if you left New York." She takes a sip of her drink with the exact expression I had earlier. Maybe he does have magic hands.
"I guess you're right." He sets a handful of clean glasses down on a shelf behind him. "Make sure you tell the boys that I want to see them before you guys leave town again."
She sets down her drink and scoffs. "You know they won't pass up a round of shots."
They laugh in unison before Ed walks away. The blonde settles into her chair before she taps her phone to check for notifications. The conversation left me curious. Why is she gone so often? Why does she need a personal bartender? There is no doubt that she is famous in some way.
"Sorry to bother you, but what are you drinking?" The girl asks from beside me.
"Oh, no, you're fine. It's a mango mojito." I look over and respond with a soft smile.
"Well, it looks delicious. I've never been a big fan of fruity drinks, but I may have to give it a try." She admits.
"To be honest, I've never had one made this well before. He must be putting some sort of crack in his drinks." I joke.
We both chuckle before she responds. "Ed has always had a special talent for drink making. My friends and I always know where to go after a long day."
"Well, I know my new go-to bar." I turn back to my drink, sipping the remains of it.
Suddenly the blonde's phone rings loudly. She looks down at the phone and lets out an annoyed groan before picking up. "Yeah, it's Izalea... Just make sure my mic is working and I'll handle everything else... No, I'm not with Jameson. As far as I'm concerned, he is at the hotel with Sky and Archer... Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."
She shoves her phone back into her purse as she apologizes. "Sorry about that. I think my manager truly believes that I have no personal life."
"Trust me. I know what you mean. I just moved here from Arizona where I worked at my dad's tattoo shop. And when I tell you that every text I received was him asking if I could come in to do a quick tattoo." I reassure her.
"I feel your pain." She shakes her head and drinks from the water in front of her. "I'm on tour with my bandmates, and the crew recently decided that they would stop checking to see if my mic worked before the show. You would think that backup vocals are somewhat important."
My eyebrows raise at the mention of her being on tour, and then it clicks. I'm talking to the Izalea Winters. Background vocalist and guitar player for the internationally recognized band "The Burnt Hopes". The band started in New York, so it is a big deal that they are hosting a three-night special here.
After a moment of collecting my thoughts, I finally respond. "I'm sorry about that. It must be like talking to a wall." Ed hands us both a second round of our drinks quickly due to the rush of college students that just entered.
Izalea purses her lips at the acidity of the drink and exhales. "I'm sure they will fix their act sooner or later. Even though we make enough money from tickets and merchandise to pay our employees, my father pays the staff, so we have enough money to travel with. I hope you can see where I'm going with this..." She gives me a devious smirk before her expression changes. "I just realized I forgot to ask for your name."
I breathe out a small laugh once I swallow my drink. "I'm Rosalia Jones, but I usually go by Lia."
"Your name suits you well, I'm Izalea Jones." She holds her hand out. Maybe the alcohol got to her a little too quick, because no one shakes hands anymore. I wipe my hand on my jeans to get rid of the condensation from the drink that I was handling, and I return her odd yet bold gesture.
Izalea's phone buzzes through her purse, letting her know someone is calling her. She groans yet again and searches through her purse to find her phone. Once she finds it, she hits the green button. "What's going on Sky?... Again? I thought I told you not to let him go to the pool when he was high... That's not my problem!... Fine, I'm on my way but you're paying for drinks tomorrow."
She firmly presses the hang-up button on her phone. "It was nice to meet you, Lia, but there is something I must handle at the hotel. I keep telling the guys that getting high and exploring the hotel isn't a smart idea."
Izalea begins to gather her belongings and slips her blazer back onto her arms until she stops. "Is there any chance you're busy from 8 to midnight tomorrow? I would love for you to come to see the show."
"I would love to, but I can't exactly afford tickets at the moment." I look down at my feet in shame.
Izalea laughs at my comment, which leaves me rightfully uneasy. "What I mean was, I will add you to the V.I.P list and all you'll have to do is show up to the venue and tell security your name. It's self-explanatory from then on."
"Oh, okay. I guess I will see you after the show then!" I smile at her kind offer and wave her off.
"See you then, Lia!" Izalea waves goodbye to Ed and me before she disappears out of the door.
I smile softly to myself. Maybe I just made a new friend, and that friend just so happens to be a Rockstar that can help me out. If videography doesn't work out here, it won't work out anywhere, and I'll be on a flight home before my parents can say "I told you so".
I take a final sip of my drink and pull-out money to put on my tab. As I place down the cash Ed walks up to me. "Don't worry about it, Iza already paid for the both of you." He admits with a grin.
"Oh, that was nice of her," I pick up the cash and hand it to him. "I know it isn't much, but those drinks were the best I had in a while. I'll be back soon."
"Thank you. I like to see others enjoy my drinks. Now have a good night and stay safe out there!" He says as I walk towards the door.
I walk out of the door onto the streets of New York and for the first time since I've arrived, I feel a sense of hope for my future. I just hope it stays that way.