Chapter Sixteen
Saturday was always a busy night at the tavern, and thank God for that. Gus earned half the week’s take on that one night alone.
Tonight was no exception. The day had been warm, and even though the summer season hadn’t officially begun, the town beach had been swarming with visitors that afternoon. According to her two waitresses, who’d spent the day at the beach themselves before checking in for work, only a few brave souls had waded into the icy water, but plenty of people had taken to the sand, reading and building castles, playing volleyball and tossing Frisbees.
A fair share of those beach-goers had chosen to end their day with some liquid refreshment at the Faulk Street Tavern. The place was packed, the noise level high, the liquor flowing and the cash register humming.
Even so, she kept an eye out for Ed. He’d said he would stop by later that night, which meant he’d help her close up and then accompany her back to her apartment for the night. She doubted he’d be in before ten, but she watched for him, anyway. She didn’t like worrying about him, and tonight she wasn’t worried. He wasn’t on a high-risk case. He wasn’t chasing down a drug dealer on a trawler. She didn’t need him to come to the tavern to reassure her that he was safe.
Tonight was about want, not fear. She wanted to see him. She liked looking at him—and sleeping with him. Nothing wrong with that.
Many of the booths and tables were occupied by Faulk Street Tavern regulars. More regulars lined up along the bar. A group of lobstermen at one table celebrated a particularly profitable haul with a couple of bottles of pricy single-malt scotch. A crowd of young couples had pushed several tables together into a long row; the women ordered festive mixed drinks but the men were mostly sticking with beer. Manny raced back and forth from the kitchen, delivering steaming platters of wings, onion blossoms, and mini-pizzas.
Gus wondered if she should improve the food offerings. People came to the tavern mostly to drink, not to eat, but if they ate, they stayed longer and drank more. Manny was skilled enough at food preparation to serve up the basics, but it might be time to consider hiring a chef for weekend nights.
Someone must have slipped a quarter into the jukebox. An old Frankie Valli song began to play: “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.” Schmaltzy, but no one ever said there was anything wrong with a love song being schmaltzy. The dance floor quickly became clogged with couples, arms wrapped around each other, bodies slowly swaying to the romantic song.
She finished filling a couple of pitchers of beer, set them on a tray, and noticed the door opening. She recognized the couple who entered. Impossible not to remember that red hair. Her own hair had been like that once—well, maybe not quite as intense a shade, and certainly not as long and wild. Now her hair was tempered with gray, and she kept it short so she wouldn’t have to pin it back while she worked.
On Monica’s friend, the long, curly tresses looked good.
The man with her looked good, too.
Champagne yesterday, she recalled. Champagne and a beer. And then the woman had stormed out of the place.
Tonight, she didn’t look as if she had any intention of storming anywhere. She held hands with the man, smiled up at him, then led him through the crowds in search of a table. Good luck with that, Gus thought.
Eventually, they gave up on snagging a table and worked their way over to the bar. They waited while a couple of guys wearing Hurley Plumbing Supplies shirts ordered Mojito’s, then took their turn at the bar. “Champagne? Gus asked.
“No. Champagne didn’t work out so well,” the red-haired woman said with a smile. Emma, Gus recalled, the woman’s name suddenly popping into her brain. She recalled the woman introducing herself when she’d approached Nick Fiore a few days back, when he’d been standing at the bar. Emma. “I’m sticking with beer tonight.”
“You still get your bubbles that way,” Gus joked, then eyed the man.
“Two Sam Adams lagers,” he ordered. “I guess we’ll go with bottles.”
Gus nodded, pulled two beers from the refrigerator under the counter, snapped off the tops and reached for a couple of chilled glasses. When she turned back to the couple, Emma said, “We’re in love.”
“That’s definitely worth some bubbles,” Gus said.
“It’s because of the song,” Emma told her. “From the jukebox.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” the man said.
Well, Gus thought, this isn’t their first argument. They’d been at odds yesterday. And they’d obviously survived yesterday’s argument, if they were announcing their love today.
“He’s a scientist,” Emma explained. “He’d like to pretend he doesn’t believe in magic. But deep in his heart, he does.”
“Deep in his heart is all that matters,” Gus murmured.
“The song was ‘True Colors,’ by Cyndi Lauper.”
Gus nodded. So many people came and went, but when a song from the jukebox exerted its magic, she had a way of remembering.
“Can we play it again?” Emma asked, waving toward the jukebox at the far end of the room.
Gus shook her head. “You can put in a quarter, but the jukebox will play whatever it wants to play. You can’t control it.”
“That’s crazy,” the man said.
“No, it’s not. It’s magic.” Emma rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
The man asked Gus to start a tab for them, which meant they planned to stay a while. Maybe they’d get lucky, and “True Colors” would pour out of the jukebox for them. Even if it didn’t, they were already lucky. They’d found each other.
So some other song would play. And some other couple would be touched by it, enchanted by it. Maybe tonight.