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 Posted: Tue May 05, 2009 8:09 pm
Here we went again. People who knew people who were on some sort of list of prestige. Reed could only watch with no chance to boast back, he wasn't here to impress but to cater to those who did their best to impress someone else. Reed suspected, as he set before Jon something absolutely clear as diamond in a glass equally as clear and gave a little smile as if to say "You want to get hit in the head with a diamond hammer, my lovey? Well, how about this little number? I hear rockets are fueled with this these days."
Just then, another woman who seemed to be Mindy's companion sat right next to Jon from the opposite side.
"Did you say Blaine Vardaman? I know I heard someone talking about him here," she gave Jon a little laugh.
She was a Chinese looking woman, with a long sleeveless dress. It was silky and deep blue with an embroidered feather motif in silvery white. It shimmered like little fish, Reed noted.
"What will it be, miss?" Reed interupted momentarily.
"Oh, uh..." she gave him a snotty little look of distaste. "Just some water and lemon, please."
Reed nodded and went to fetch a tall glass. Water and lemon?? Go figure, one had to watch one's figure - when it was thin as a rail, if you didn't watch it it'd slip down the grating in the street.
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Posted: Tue May 05, 2009 8:38 pm
Jon dragged the glass over like a man that was dying of thirst, finding solace in the way it nearly burned a hole through his throat and didn't so much settle in his stomach as it nearly drilled a hole through it. He stared over the rim at Reed with a bewildered, glassy eyed look and mouthed 'battery acid?' With a stomach full of liquor and something he assumed was antifreeze, the tufted eared cat began to feel the alcohol working on his system. He'd always prided himself on holding his booze, but... he blinked once, twice, and realized he was being spoken to again. This time he did sigh, a great, heaving, world-weary, Atlas-shrugging sort of sigh, swinging his gaze towards Mindy II, electric boogaloo.
"I did. Blaine Vardaman. You look like an All This Time kind of woman. If I'm wrong, I'll buy you your... water." He took another long swill of the clear liquid, one eye shutting, "He will be signing books at the local bookstore at the end of the month if you want to meet him. Vardaman's your regular Rhett Butler."
As he finished off the drink, Jon was hoping to blackout.
"But more of an a*****e," he muttered, unable to hold the PR stint for too long without gagging on his own act. Mindy made a noise of question and he waved her concerns away with a hand. What a way to relax. One slip up and you're tossed into a petri dish for inspection.
He looked pitifully into the bottom of his glass, looking for some sort of escape.
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Posted: Tue May 05, 2009 9:21 pm
Both women gave each other a knowing kind of look from across the bar, then got up and left before Reed could even return with her drink. This seemed surprising, Jon looked to be like he wanted to be surrounded by beautiful women for a moment there. Perhaps he blew it and was feeling remorseful? He wasn't going to pry, no matter how much he was dying to know inside.
"Well, so much for that," Reed shrugged to himself, leaving the drink where it was.
It was policy to leave the drink for a patron out for thirty minutes. After that, it'd be considered abandoned and he'd throw it out. It was amazing how much liquor was wasted by frivolous spenders. In this case, mercifully, it was only a glass of water and an empty martini glass. He retrieved them for the wash immediately. Reed took a fresh towel and wiped down the bar again. It was amazing how many fingerprints he could accrue if he actually wanted to. Were law enforcement to come in and ask for information, Reed need only point to the bar and tell them which belonged to whom.
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Posted: Tue May 05, 2009 9:49 pm
The moment the pair skedaddled and Jon realized he was without their presence (which was a good five minutes of self-pity time later), he straightened. It was funny - in a sort of ironic, FML sort of way - how no matter how much he tried to escape Vardaman's shadow, he always ended up with one foot inside of it anyway. Like it was a mopey cloud that hung over his head, constantly washing away his house of sticks. The slip of the tongue, the gaggle of fans, Reed's damn hair color... Jon shoved his empty glass away and cupped his hands over his nose and mouth again, counting to ten.
"That," he explained, voice not slurring but speech slowing when he finally opened his eyes. "Was enough if you ask me. You know why he had to get the hell out of Dodge? PI leak" - he spread his hands out on either side of his face, eyes widening - "like the ******** Armageddon. Couldn't buy a damn latte without being bull rushed."
Jon fell silent, knuckle grinding a slow circle on his temple, "One more of whatever the hell you just gave me and I'll have a reason to keep on living. D'you mind?"
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Posted: Tue May 05, 2009 10:08 pm
"I think the boss called it Paint Remover," Reed mused, pouring another crystal clear amount of the concoction for Jon. "Always a pleasure, sir."
It had slipped. "Always a pleasure, sir," was the line the boss required you to say at least once to each male patron. He didn't want to think of what would happen if the boss caught wind that Reed was being anything but polite to each of the customers. He'd just brace himself, baton down the hatches, and endure the storm. At this point, any attention was attention.
He looked expectantly at Jon as he pressed his hands on the bar and leaned into them with his arms locked slightly out to either side of him until his upper body formed a kind of a tired "A" shape. Reed was curious as to why Jon wanted such a potent mix of drinks and if he'd soon have to fetch him from the bathroom stalls after closing. Reed didn't have time to venture more conversation when another group of five all sidled up to the bar and started making orders.
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Posted: Tue May 05, 2009 10:34 pm
Jon actually laughed in disbelief, holding the glass out for inspection, "Paint Remover! Jesus, I think I have a new favorite. Here's to hoping I remember the name come morning."
He toasted Reed's lounging figure, arm dipping a bit gracelessly before he tossed the drink back. Oh yes, if a drink made ones eyes burn, it was definitely worth going back for seconds. This was seconds, right? Elbow resting on the counter, he held it by the rim and inspected the clear contents. Puzzling got a person nowhere when they forgot what they were questioning in the first place. He polished off the last of it and set the glass down with a sharp click.
Time seemed to stop for Jon. The entire world sharpened until it started separating. The feline dealt with his liquor like a stoned person dealt with being high: he simply sat there, staring into space. A mild panic stole across his face when he momentarily forgot where he was before taking inventory of his surroundings. Okay.
Okay.
He was Jon Gudleif.
Jon Gudleif had legs.
Said legs belonged underneath him. Hello! That is the ground and those are loafers.
Was that bass? Yeah, that was bass.
"Where's the bathroom?" sprang from his mouth in a loud whisper, and without waiting - because he decided he really needed to take a leak (after all, he hadn't eaten since morning and cigarettes and liquor were not a balanced meal) - he made a beeline for some blob that looked like it may or may not be the mens' restroom.
Wherever it was he ended up, he was gone for the next twenty minutes.
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Posted: Tue May 05, 2009 11:05 pm
Reed watched him do the same things countless others had done during his time there. He looked to the clock on the wall and started keeping count. If it was longer than half an hour, he'd send one of the off duty bouncers to check in on him. Reed wanted to go in himself, but the boss didn't like things like that.
There was a time where there were bathroom attendants at night, but there was so much vomiting and other unmentionable acts going on in the bathrooms at night that the attendants refused to work any time after 4 p.m. Reed couldn't blame them there. The plumber had been into the building so many times, he himself became a regular.
Jon had asked for something potent, but now Reed had begun to suspect he wanted to slowly fall into the drunkenness and not be thrown into the "well of drunk" headfirst. Paint Remover was the fastest way to go from Sober to Piss Drunk in point five seconds and he thought that's what Jon had been looking for. He hoped he hadn't poisoned a man to death. Particularly since he hadn't even had the chance to woo him a little.
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Posted: Tue May 05, 2009 11:31 pm
Jon was poised coolly over a urinal, and by poised coolly, I mean supporting himself on it. He'd been standing there for ten minutes straight, listening to men file in and out. Five minutes ago he could have sworn up and down he'd seen a woman walk out of a bathroom stall, but figured when a person was as drunk as he was.... Several flesh colored blobs of concern had asked him if he was all right. Of course he was, he had grunted at them (or at least thought he had grunted, because all that came out was an incoherent string of words), he was just thinking.
Just because he wasn't sitting like thinking people were supposed to didn't mean he wasn't having an internal monologue going.
When he figured out how to zip his pants back up and how to work the sink again, he cleaned himself up - with two minutes to spare! - and stared at the monochromatic picture he painted on the mirror. Bathroom lights really knew how to wash a person out. He tore himself away from his reflection and shouldered the door open, stood in the doorway. Right. Mustering up as much dignity as possible, he made his way back to the counter. There was a slight sway in his step, but his tail did well to keep him upright. Good job, tail, good job.
It took him a while to find his exact seat, but when he did, he plopped down and muttered something about 'his ******** head', riding it out, and hangman.
"Damnit. Where's my jacket?"
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Posted: Tue May 05, 2009 11:48 pm
"Right here, sir," Reed said, pulling it off from a coat rack. "Didn't want someone else sitting on it, did we? Of course, not. Shall I call you a cab or are you content to sit? I've put your pen and napkins in your coat pocket."
He handed Jon his coat from over the bar. Reed didn't enjoy watching people destroy themselves, but it conflicted with his enjoyment of serving people liquor. Reed's sense of morals were topsy-turvy to begin with before he started enabling people and their vices. It was all for an honest wage, at least. Seeing Jon in this state sent him feeling guilty for giving him such a strong drink. He thought Jon could handle it.
"Perhaps we could get you out for some fresh air? I'm due for my break, anyway?"
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Posted: Wed May 06, 2009 12:15 am
"Thanks. It's going to need dry cleaning anyway," he said, taking his coat. Despite feeling hot, he pulled it back on; it was easier than having to tote it around everywhere on his arm. Reed's words went in one tufted ear and stuck, sinking slowly like sediment in a dirty creek. He pinned the bartender beneath his fog-light eyes, brows drawn. If it weren't for the flush in his cheeks indicating his intoxication and the glossiness in his eyes, he would have looked pissed. His face cleared.
He wasn't going to go back to the apartment in such a state. Back when he lived by himself, he could stumble in a state of partial liver-failure with no one to disturb but the neighbors. But now burdened with a roommate who spent half his time mocking him, he found the idea of sleeping in a ditch far better than allowing Vardaman to see him like this. Even intoxicated, Jon was a prideful little beast.
Boy, it pissed him off that the publishing company could pour money into a television adaption of one of Blaine's novels, but couldn't afford to get him a separate place altogether. He was going to miss his solitude.
Earth to Jon! The feline gave a languid blink.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Had a crisis just now. Air sounds nice. Fresh air, I mean. It's hot as all hell in here."
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Posted: Wed May 06, 2009 6:27 am
"Come on, then, Jon," he said, finally off duty enough to be informal. "We'll go up to the patio, I've got to feed poor Wally the Third his treats, anyway."
He led the way upstairs, politely moving people who liked to converse upon the steps aside. The signs said to keep the stairway clear in case of fire, but no one really enforced it. The Paper Umbrella was so packed that people sought the staircase as a means of a little more space.
He pushed open the doors to the upstairs patio and the evening light had turned the skyline that familiar fiery orange and fading into purple. Clouds looked to glow like Reed's mixed drinks. It wouldn't have surprised him if he started seeing bits of fruit zest, slice and peels floating in the sky. Mixing drinks for a living would give anyone hallucinations from the fumes alone.
"Paint Remover really works as advertised," he laughed.
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Posted: Wed May 06, 2009 9:13 am
"Wally the Third?" Jon parroted, pushing himself up again. Who was Wally? Unable to string three words into a coherent question, he gave up and instead focused on following that long tassel of curly red hair up the staircase. The jumpy kitten in him told him to grab at it, but he refrained, bouncing his fists against his slacks.
He sucked in a deep breath when he finally hit the open air, peeling his jacket off again, loosening his tie into a noose and undoing the topmost buttons of his shirt. It was hot, but the heat he felt was belly-deep. The light from the dying evening was reflected in the mirror-like quality of Jon's eyes; he wandered towards the sky and caught himself against the railing. Leaning against it, he toyed with the buttons on his cuffs.
"It's not so much removing paint as it is the lining of my stomach," he shot back after a while, chuckling. "I can still taste that Appletini, though...."
The tip of his tail curled, moved with a slow sort of stiffness caused by anxiety. Jerking back up, Jon shook his coat out and began sifting through the pockets again, frantic. He fished out a crumpled packet of cigarettes, retrieved a stick, and lit up. Ease filtered through his body as smoke trailed from his nose.
"Hey, wait-- I think you mastered a monosyllabic word other than 'sir' down there! About damn time too."
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Posted: Wed May 06, 2009 9:48 am
Reed moved to a little bamboo perch where Wally (whom he thought was a female this time) was pacing back and forth with boredom. From time to time, Wally would squawk but the noise of the music would always drown her out. She instantly recognized Reed, though, and started to act excited.
"Look what I've got for a good birdy, who's daddy's good bird? Good bird?" Jon cooed, pulling out a little stick of parrot treat for Wally from his pocket.
Wally cooed back and held out her foot in a "gimme gimme" kind of way often seen in a toddler. Jon gave Wally her treat and started scratching her atop the head. Wally looked contented. With another affectionate scratch on her foot, Reed returned to Jon's side. He took breaks, but not for cigarettes, so he usually just stood for a few minutes to collect his thoughts.
Reed resigned himself to watching over Wally and Jon this time around. It seemed all he could do was watch. Sometimes he'd wish he could mingle with the crowds on his break, but he knew better. People were gravitating towards him by default, however, and asking for drinks. He had to keep reminding them that he was on his break and that Fletcher would be the one serving them this evening on the patio.
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Posted: Wed May 06, 2009 1:42 pm
Jon relied more on nicotine for life than he did the air he breathed. He seemed to personify the cigarette: slender, pale, the smoke curling into the air above his head, if opaque, would have bore a remarkable resemblance to his hair.
It was shame that in his drunken stupor Jon began an evaluation of his rather dismal life. Would he be able to get by in Augustine without entertaining homicidal (if not suicidal) tendencies? He pulled the cigarette from between his lips, smoke spilling from the corners of his mouth. Not likely. With all of his focus on one client, not to mention the most obnoxious on the market, he'd probably end up murdering someone. Couldn't be Blaine, unfortunately. He was a walking paycheck. Maybe that white haired youth he'd run into earlier. For some reason, the idea drew a breathy - bordering on sinister - laugh from the gray feline. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and rubbed an eye, nearly poking it out with the filter.
"Fan favorite, huh?" he said, making a faltering motion to the people around them that drew to Reed like moths to a flame. He was trying desperately to keep his composure despite lapsing between keeping his attention and simply toppling over. Jon pushed himself up and turned to Reed, resting his hip against the railing.
"You're too easy," he noted. He didn't know why he was talking, but his brain was telling him to keep his mouth going with something other than that lovely little cancer stick of his. "To read, I mean. I thought bartenders were supposed to be, I don't know... stoic, cleaning glasses, listening to drunk cowboys and - what is it - cheap therapy sessions. Is being subservient a part of the job description or do you just enjoy it?"
He tapped ash from the end of the cigarette, watched it float past the railing. After it successfully disappeared into something past his vision, he leveled Reed with an expectant stare.
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Posted: Wed May 06, 2009 2:02 pm
Reed didn't know whether or not to find the opinion insulting or refreshing. He chewed it thoughtfully as Jon spoke, aware that he was drunk and letting hm try to stand on his own.
"Is that the liquor talking? Or the truth?" Reed laughed. "Maybe both," he shrugged. "I like it, I like granting pleasure to other people and I figured, 'Hey! If I can get a job doing that it'd be great.' So I did. I mean, I can't afford an education, I've got a little hole in the wall to call my own and a steady paycheck. I'm content with that. People like feeling like they're in control, when they feel that they can get whatever their heart's desire from a guy in a suit who's only happy to grant it... what's the harm in it? We all win."
Fletcher arrived behind the portable bar and soon all gravitated towards him. They said humanoids weren't herd animals, but Reed begged to disagree. Once they were in a group, they gave up individual thought.
"You know, it'd probably do you good to cut loose, find yourself a pretty thing, and just dance here from time to time. They come here to pretend real life doesn't exist and they have the money to buy their own reality."
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