“Are you just out thinking about something?”
I looked over. Joe and I didn’t usually talk much. He tended to drink with Adelle and the crowd of cool kids – though we’d occasionally talk when one or both of us were drunk enough to forget that we weren’t really friends.
“Nah,” I answered. “Just sort of relaxing.”
“Uh-huh.” He must’ve noticed the way I was knocking back my cocktails. I wasn’t so much relaxing as I was avoiding the sunlight. I was also celebrating my first full year of living in the vacuum of the southwest. It’s one of those places were people go and never manage to leave; it’s not so much about planning as it is a magnetic inevitability. In a place with no memory, like Phoenix is, it’s very easy to lose track. Of your reasons for being there. Of your reasons for wanting to leave. After a while, reasons get demolished and built over the way everything else does here, and what you’re left with an antiseptic reality in which life repeats every square mile or so. Strip mall, gated condominium community, Jack-in-the-Box, a gas station. Stop at the light. Go. Repeat.
And whether I’m ruminating or in the process of trying NOT to ruminate, whiskey has pretty much always been my liquor of choice – for as long as I’ve been drinking more than contraband beer and the wine coolers that contributed to more than one teen pregnancy in my hometown. It’s still my preference, even in unbearable climates. There’s something fundamentally warm about whiskey. Something pure and purifying. Something basic. It goes well as a shot with beer or as an additive to coffee. It also does just fine on it’s own over ice. Whiskey – or bourbon as it is sometimes referred to by those who know nothing about history – is a pure Americana. What we think of as whiskey – or bourbon – was born out of the downfall of Prohibition is one of the few things that Kentucky in known for besides tobacco, coal mines, fried chicken, and accusations of inbreeding. People tend to forget, though, that long before The U.S. was a country peopled by patriots, it was a territory built up by lovers of whiskey. Before he was President, George Washington was a distiller – and when he imposed a tax on whiskey (that more or less cut out his less affluent competition) a minor insurrection resulted that is sometimes referred to as The Whiskey Rebellion. That goes to show that even at the founding of the country, people in power were always trying to get one over on the rest of us.
I looked over at Joe; he was sipping a bottle of NA beer. “What’s going on?” I asked. “You on the wagon?”
“Well,” he hedged, “I’m just taking a break. It’s good sometimes to stop –“
“Sure.”
“I, uh, like to make sure that I’m controlling It instead of It controlling me.”
“Sure,” I said. “Makes sense. It’s good to clean out every once in a while. Let your liver rebuild itself.”
He nodded. I drained my glass. The last time I took a break was the last time I couldn’t afford a drink. It was miserable. People who talk about sobriety like it’s something to aspire to clearly aren’t paying attention to the world.
We sat not talking for another half hour or so. Then Adelle came out of the back and sat down next to Joe. She ordered one of her usual froo-froo drink and proceeded to talk Joe’s ear off. She talked non-stop. She didn’t even stop to breathe. She complained about her ex-boyfriend and business partner; she whined about how the distributors were fucking her over and how the pool repairman tried to make a pass at her; she bitched about one or two of the waitresses; she complained that her drink was too weak. She harped on about how she should’ve never gotten stuck as co-owner of a bar to begin with. “This place is bleeding,” she said. “We spend more than we make. And that’s after we let a couple of girls go.” She went on and on about how her talents were wasting away. She should be an events coordinator. She had wanted to open a venue for local bands, but her ex didn’t think it was a good idea. When she ran out of work related things to jabber on about, she started complaining about the new shoes she’d just bought, and how sore her legs were and how doing the books made her head hurt.
For a second I felt sorry for the guy; but then I remembered that he asked for it. I know it’s difficult to turn down pussy, especially when it’s been thrown at you along with free booze and a cafeteria choice of drugs – but that doesn’t mean you have to stick around for it. For a while.
Joe’s eyes were glazed over. He’d nod occasionally like it was an automatic response. After her second drink, Adelle finally noticed what Joe was drinking. She wrinkled her nose.
“Why are you drinking THAT?”
Joe shrugged. “Taking a break,” he said.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she whined through her nose. “Why?”
He shrugged and side glanced in my direction.
“Oh,” she slapped his arm. “You’re not thinking about what that DOCTOR said, are you?”
Joe didn’t answer.
“You can’t let people scare you like that, baby,” she cooed. “You just need to change up. All you do is sit here and drink Chivas Regal. I told you that shit wasn’t good for you.”
He shrugged.
“It’s his fucking JOB to scare you, babe. Tell me you didn’t fall for it.”
Joe didn’t answer.
Adelle motioned Suzy over. “Hey,” she said, “Did Joe tell you about his doctor appointment?”
When Suzy waddled over, she shook her head and said no.
“Well, this doctor – this stupid quack who probably gets kickbacks from some drug company – told him he needed to quit drinking. Can you believe that? They wanna make anything fun illegal.”
Suzy didn’t really answer. Joe wasn’t saying anything either. “I mean come on,” Adelle carried on, rubbing up on him. “You’re as healthy as a fucking horse, Joe. A FUCKING horse. Believe me,” Adelle smiled a dirty smile that made my stomach turn just a little, “I should know.”
Suzy waddled off to serve another patron and Adelle kept rubbing on Joe and talking. “You’d KNOW if something was wrong,” she said. “Letting some dumb quack scare you. OOO,” she laughed. “You’ll be dead in a year. Right. What the fuck ever.” She kissed Joe’s cheek. “Let me make you a drink, okay hon? Come on.”
Joe didn’t answer. Then he sighed and nodded his head. Adelle patted him on the shoulder then stood up and walked behind the bar to make Joe’s magic drink. When she came back with it, Joe took one look at it and drank it down. That made Adelle cackle and she jumped up to put money in the juke box.
I motioned to Suzy for another cocktail and when she brought it over I asked her how business was.
She shrugged and tried to look non-committal. “It gets slow sometimes,” she said. “But it’s also summer. We’ll pick up again when football season starts.”
“Sure,” I said. It’s true that summers can be slow for sports bars – but they also had the off track betting, and if I had learned one thing over the years and numerous barstools, it was that even in a recession, people want to drink. Hell, in a recession, people want to drink more so they don’t have to think about all the shit that’s going wrong in their lives. The smart bar owners may have to adapt a bit to stay afloat; but that sure as shit wasn’t Adelle. And it was very clear that she was one who made most of the decisions at the MTP.
“How about a draft?” I asked.
“Uh, which one?”
I told her my preference.
“We’re out,” she said.
“Out? How can you be out?”
Suzy was still trying to be non-committal. She glanced over at Adelle, who was doing everything except openly dry humping Joe. Suzy had a look on her face that I’d seen before; it’s that look stage actors get when they realize they’ve forgotten a line. “It’s the distributor’s fault,” she said, a little quickly. Like she suddenly remembered the script. “They changed delivery days on us and it’s thrown everything off. I can get you something else, though, or maybe a bottle?”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll just pay out and drink this.” I set enough money on the counter to cover my tab and a small tip. Then I downed the drink I had and stood up to leave. I looked over at Joe and Adelle; she was whispering something in his ear. He was smiling. Then he caught me watching and his face went dead, expressionless like a fish. When I left the bar, the only thing I heard over the thumping of the club music Adelle was playing was the sound of her laughter.
