Bar scene blogfest

OK, I don't do a lot of writing about bars, but this is from a WIP I happened to have sitting around, where I happened to actually write about a bar. There's a bit in the middle (where the ellipsis is) where I cut part of a scene, but the whole bit in the bar is there. If that makes sense.

I got my two scenes for the 10th up really late, so take a look at them, too, if you're interested--Murder 'Fest and First Kiss Blogfest, yesterday. This one, I wanted to make sure to get up ASAP! Then check out Tara's page for links to more.

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The bar was like a trip back in time; it had a Hawaiian theme, and apparently it was “Fifties night,” part of the bar’s special. Lindsey rolled her eyes at him and grinned, as if to say, “Isn’t this all chintzy and cheap? But for a free beer, may as well take part,” and he felt again like she was someone a little different, this time, someone he could maybe talk to and think about safely.

Together, they separated from the rest of the group and sat down at the bar. There was a sad-looking paper palm tree wilting on the countertop next to a display of three empty, fake coconut cups. Austen drummed his knuckles on the counter while Lindsey made small talk, played with her hair, and brushed against his arm four or five times.

When the barkeeper came over, “Sex on the Rocks, please,” Lindsey said, and she giggled.

The man nodded. His arms were thicker than his neck, and he had “Mom” tattooed on his arm. He looked at Austen expectantly.

“I’ll have the special,” he said.

He turned around and started filling cups as others took up the stools and tables around them. Austen thought it seemed awfully full for 5:30 on a Tuesday at a crappy little bar full of fake pineapples, but then, he didn’t know what the norm was.

“I hope this doesn’t sound stupid,” Lindsey said. “I was just wondering if you’d mind telling me a bit about yourself. I mean, I know we work together—”

“But we don’t know each other?” he said, and he smiled.

“Yes, exactly,” she said.

“Not much to say, really,” he said. “Grew up near here. Went to school near here. Now I work here.”

“Are your parents still living nearby?” she asked. “My parents are miles away. It can be nice, but sometimes it’s nicer to have them close.”

The barkeeper turned back, then, with her drink and a beer for him, and slipped the glasses toward them, before moving down the bar to customers more interested in heavier drinks.

“Actually,” he said, “My parents both passed on when I was young.”

She paused, her cup halfway to her lips, and she looked over at him uncertainly. “They both died?”

He shrugged.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Then, apparently at a loss for words, she took a big gulp of her drink.

...

They sat at the bar in an awkward silence, each sipping from their cup. His beer tasted sweet, too sweet, and he felt it trickle down into his stomach. He didn’t much like beer. He didn’t much like this bar.

He drained his glass, and looked over at Lindsey, who was taking small sips and looking very uncomfortable.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked.