Hey Driver

It was 11 at night on a Wednesday in August. It was that strange midweek time in between seasons where fewer guests were visiting during the week and the current manager had sent the support staff home an hour before. By rights, she should be able to leave as well; if not for the fact that fifteen people still flocked her bar at 11 at night; all regulars and all wanting service from someone, but half of them on their phones where they could have been doing this from home, or someone else's place, or their car; anywhere not requiring Francesca Nitely to stand around while they were not formally conducting business with her and that would allow her to get home to her young family.

Sean Keefer was a successful businessman whose suit was now disheveled in the late hour of his current recreation; but was still on nonetheless. He was yelling into his phone at an employee over a huge business deal that "needed" closed; an employee who had left the office hours ago and even obligingly picked up for their boss in the late hour. As Sean shouted into his phone (partially to be overheard over side conversations, but he could have also stepped outside), Nick Rhoades was six drinks deep and wasn't handling his liquor nearly as well as Sean. Instead, Nick perched himself over the businessman's shoulder and shouted in his ear for the egregious offense of owning a cellphone and entering a bar. On paper, "Frannie" agreed with Nick about using the bar seat to scream into a phone (or even look at one for that matter) but Sean and Nick, the businessman and the homeless vagrant, were not part of the same circle and, obviously, had not arrived together. Sean was within his rights and, since Nick had settled up his bill a half hour ago and was now badgering other customers in his cups, he could be sent on his way to bed down for the night in a sheltered place that would accept him and his ways...

Don Orlando was perusing his phone of pictures of his granddaughter; Judith Orlando was harping at him loudly that she wasn't the center of his universe (It was none of Frannie's business, of course, but was or was not his granddaughter also hers? The two could admire her together!) No; Judy Orlando wanted to feel threatened by the picture and video evidence of "another woman;" who was fifteen months old and the apple of both of her grandparents' eyes. Frannie gave up on this argument then and there and scanned the bar for someone who was still there because they needed her service. She decided to settle on the amazement that a 75-year-old couple was not only awake at 11 but out and about...

Andre Munoz was alone in the center of the bar; as he always seemed to either travel alone or grift between regular cliques. That night was a lonely one and he was speaking as delicately into the phone as he could in his native Spanish. Frannie, with all of her finely honed senses for someone else's business in their small town, also recognized Spanish; "his father was in the hospital again and not doing well. ...This visit could be his last hospital stay."

Frannie slid Andre a fresh refill and give him her warmest and most genteel quiet smile and went on her way. Andre was an enigma at the bar; not boisterous and loud, never disrespectful toward the women, kind enough to clear his own plate. Hell; he brought Frannie coffee if her shift was early enough. He didn't deserve the Hell he was going through; and any man who would have been his adult role model didn't either...

Scarlett Hale was the far end seat at the bar, fresh off of her shift, drowning herself in the liquor to make her forget her earlier work shift, and burying herself in online shopping. With a young lady like Scarlett, their male regulars had, naturally, flanked her seat and were competing for her attention. Her eyes remained glued to the phone and she mumbled answers and gave half smiles. However, she didn't formally send her admirers away yet either. And why should she? She was currently in the dead center spotlight in between a ship captain, a landlord over multiple properties, and an attorney. She also had a boyfriend her own age; but Frannie hadn't heard her request an "Angel Shot" to intervene where Scarlett could get back to him.

Frannie read the room again and declared that no one was needing her anymore.

"LAST CALL!" she shouted.

In the easiest last call ever, half of the remaining bar cleared out with Sean, Don and Judy, and even a pair of Scarlett's admirers. That did leave one dangling over her seat and she switched from Amazon to her social media messenger. However, this time her eyes left her phone and, rather than floating to me, four seats away from her and waiting patiently to make sure my girlfriend got home safely, she turned her lingering gaze to the landlord and began typing without her eyes ever leaving Jordan Hemway. Jordan then collected his Summer jacket, paid his tab, and helped Scarlett with her purse.

My own phone dinged in my pocket where, out of agreement with Frannie on bar ettiquette, I hadn't been the one using it. However, this was a desperate time and I checked the screen.

• "It's Over."

I read the words and didn't know how I hadn't seen them coming before. Scarlett was always popular with the regulars; and she had chosen me; for a while. She and I had been...

"...Tom."

I glanced at Frannie, startled that she was there.

"...Did you need anything from me?" she asked. "Last call."

I glanced back over at Scarlett, collapsing into Jordan's arms. No; there was nothing left for Frannie to do for me.
"I'm good." I answered her, typing into my phone as I left my seat. "Last call."

Across the way, Scarlett's phone lit up again. She did turn away from even Jordan to read it.

• "Where are you parked; and is Jordan good for a lift home?"

I saw Scarlett turn back to face Jordan with more reticence than she usually wore on her face, only for him to shake his head abruptly. Of course; Scarlett was around him for convenience to his image, and just how convenient would be driving her home and seeing her inside? I typed again...

• "...You're not driving yourself home tonight. I'm bringing the car up in a few minutes. You can pick your car up here tomorrow."

...Without, technically, a spoken a word on the matter, I got up from my stool and left the scene with Scarlett, my Scarlett, reading the last message from me. I bid adieu to Frannie one last time and took a moment to address Andre in Spanish, promising to pray for his family. I then walked out into the night to get my car as Jordan left behind me to go do the same. Where he was going didn't matter anymore; he had rejected helping Scarlett where I had made the offer. Last call...