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"Hmm?" Reed turned and looked at Jon from over his shoulder. His cascade of red hair falling off and dangling towards the small of his back.

He gave a blink and a bit of a shrug. "Anything that's got a beat you can dance to. Though, mind you, Kent never plays anything slow. But if we get Lady tonight, she'll be easily persuaded into something slow if the guy asking is good looking enough. I haven't checked to see who was playing tonight, sir."

He slid back behind the counter to get the dry erase, blacklight responsive markers to use on the black marker board. The boss had left a fresh list of weekly specials and he'd almost forgotten to update the sign at the door.

"Appletini's are two for one tonight, sir," Reed gave a wink and went to rewrite the specials at the front door. "And how do I know? I saw a man die of it."

"Oh, no, not in here," Reed waved it. "We're obligated to refuse liquor to a customer when we see he's had enough. And by enough I mean when he can barely walk to the lavatory. Don't fret, sir, drink to your content. I'm watching you."

Yes, he was most definitely watching. Alas, all he could do was watch this young man move. In his mind, he was fantasizing. Even after all roads pointed to "Not Bloody Likely" he held onto that one thread of hope that was attached from his heart down to his pants with a little red thread. Now he had visions of saving a blue macaw and traveling to a deserted island with a man named Jon to live the rest of their days living off margaritas and making a small fortune selling articles of fetish clothing. His eyes were starting to glaze over.

He cleared his throat and started writing on the black marker board.

"Understandable, sir. Perhaps you'd be best to find a pub, though I've worked at one and there are considerably more older gentleman and fewer women. There's only one pub intended for family, but it sells more hot teas and pastries than mixed drinks. You're more likely to find ale and lager there, sir. But it's good to get a change of pace."

He'd tried putting in an application there not two months ago. The boss here at The Paper Umbrella was kind enough, but the sexual frustration was getting more unbearable day by day. Reed has been met by a rejection, although polite. It essentially said he wasn't the type of people person they were seeking to hire. What a lie! Any more of a people person and he'd be the owner of a harem!

"It's entirely up to you at this point, sir," Reed gave his writing a critical once over.

He started adding squiggles and confetti dots to ensure the sign looked "festive', as his boss put it. He wondered how tacky it would be to dance on the dance floor of the building where you worked. Hmm, perhaps too tacky.

Reed stopped as he saw the DJ enter, it was Kent and looking as though he just woke up, as per usual. He gave a loose wave at Reed as he had his young groupie girlfriend (current girlfriend, Reed noted, he went through them like anyone else would go through deodorant) assist with dragging in the equipment on wheels and matte black boxes.

Reed gave Jon a smile and went back to his place behind the bar. As he did so, people started to enter the building. It was as though it was all choreographed. At this time of day, Reed could do his job working on autopilot.

"Appletini, then, sir?" he said, unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeve.

"Something wrong, sir?" Reed said, mixing him his drink as a young woman in a slink, red sequined dress slid into a seat not two seats down from where Jon was sitting. "Mindy, I know you wore that dress just to make me stare at you all evening long. I forget, is it gin and tonic night or is was it the strawberry daiquiri?"

He lied, he knew perfectly well what it was she drank each and every night she appeared. But it did well to make the customer feel they were superior to you in some way, stroking their ego coaxed the money out with a little more ease. As she inspected her lipstick in a small pocket mirror, she gave him a giggle and said how silly of him to forget and of course, it was the daiquiri. What silly billy he was!

Reed feigned embarrassment with a bow and a laugh, "I'm not very clever, miss, I'm on it."

Other people came in, he tended to each of them with just as much attention as he gave to Jon. Compliments here, feigning ignorance there, humility sprinkled generously, a dash of flirtatiousness... mixing a cocktail of personality took about as much skill as it did mixing their drinks. Within himself, Reed knew that he'd never get as much attention back as he gave out on a daily basis. Winning them over was purely for money and never for love... or its nearest equivalent.

For nearly a year, he was not even blessed with a one night stand. Reed started to worry he was becoming unattractive. Maybe he was out of style like a leisure suit and large lapels. When no one needed a drink, his face looked lonely.

"She only bites if you ask her nice, sir" Reed leaned in and said confidentially to Jon, who seemed to appear nervous. "Harder? Let's see, if you want more bang for your buck, sir, I recommend the properly titled Mind Eraser. It's vodka, Kahlua, and tonic. Nothing more and nothing less than what you paid for. If you're here for at least three days or nights of each week, you're a regular, sir. If you come in during the day, there's lunches to be had. The Master Chef here is very good, she's very proud."

Proud wasn't the word, obsessive was more like it. When he arrived for his shift he frequently heard her screaming at her novices and cooks for their incompetence. He suspected she must have been under a lot of pressure, after critics started getting interested in the dual personality of The Paper Umbrella. Every dish was a work of art that had to be made exactly the same way each and every time per person who ordered it. Sometimes the dishes were so nice it seemed a shame to eat them. Reed got permission to photograph her food for his personal collection with the right amount of praise slathered onto her. He couldn't help it, a cat was always buttering up (no pun intended) the cook for a bit of a tidbit. Sometimes she'd even use him as a guinea pig for new recipes and he never refused. The thought of anyone wanting to use him was about as much attention as he'd ever get.

Reed looked utterly crushed, his ears went horizontal and it was as though even the flecks of reflected dance light fell from his eyes like falling stars. All those little wishes in those stars now gone to waste. He thought it best to give up.

"As you wish, I'll get one right up for you," his eyes went downcast as he mixed without even looking at the bottles. He'd had them all memorized.

Drop the sir? That was like asking him to stop breathing. Drop the sir!? That was pulling a pip from his ranking, that was like calling him the bus boy, that was taking away any sense of order he had in his meaningless life. Bartending was his only learned trade! The only thing he could ever put on any kind of resume was that he graduated from high school and then was taught how to be a bartender by a balding old professional. If there was a college for bartenders he certainly couldn't afford to attend. Minimum wages and little trifles called tips... If he thought weeping would earn him sympathy he would have.

He steeled himself instead, why did he even bother anymore? Reed tried too hard and too fast, he supposed. And it seemed that it was too hard and too fast at just the wrong people. Maybe he had bad taste in people... He worked at a bar, after all. It was rare that anyone truly decent showed up at a bar intending to cauterize their livers was what you'd call wholesome.

But he didn't WANT wholesome! Anyone wholesome would take one look at him on his off hours and run away screaming.

"Shall I bring up a list of taxi services, then, Mr. Gudleif? There are three major taxi services in Augustine."

Reed gave in. He moved away to serve the three gentleman younger than he was. They asked to buy Mindy drinks, what she enjoyed, and if any or all of them had a chance with her. Reed didn't give them any information until one bribed him with a twenty dollar tip. They were yuppie spawn, spending Daddy's money frivolously and probably working for Daddy's firm in some made up job earning well over twenty dollars an hour for sitting there where Daddy could watch you and not cause any trouble.

He told them exactly all the wrong drinks and all the wrong things to say, swearing that that was exactly what she told him two weeks prior. But to not quote him on it, oh no! He'd spoken to so many beautiful women that he couldn't possibly remember them all.

The looks on their faces were both envy and awe, and that dumb look an ox gave a book of calculus. Reed gave a bit of a smirk and went to wipe down a bit of the bar before a young couple motioned him nearer and asked for matching martinis. He gave them a knowing smile and gave them a front row performance of how one makes a Flame of Love twice in one go. They rewarded him with an "oh" and a "wow", but their eyes were soon back on each other as he handed them their drinks and moved away to give them their moment.

He rolled his shoulders and turned his back to do a quick inventory.