Some people have game

Yes, I guess I will tell you one of her stories.

Not if you make a big deal out of it. Yes, that was a threat. Yes, I did mean it. Now, hush

Where was I? Right. This is one of her stories.

I was behind the bar, that night, mixing and pouring and wiping. Rinse, repeat. This was in…oh, I don’t remember which city it was. Except, I guess I do. This was in Ballaret. A nice place, if you can handle the heat.

She walked in around nine. 9:09, actually. Dave had just told me to make a wish. She sat down in front of me, seconds later.

She was dark. Her eyes, her face, her hair. Coat, shirt. Tight black pants. Of course they were. I’d like to say my first few thoughts had nothing to do with her beauty but, well.

She was just… I mean. Beautiful.

In a way that demands worship. Militance. Sacrifice.

What can I get for you, I asked. She smiled, perfect dark lips glittering under the lights.

Guess.

Dancing eyes. She had dancing eyes. But then, they weren’t, were they, because her pupils never stopped staring into my soul. She was perfectly still, wasn’t she, and the world danced around her.

Oh? What do I get if I guess right?

What do you want?

She laughed. I wondered what my face had done.

I will leave you this book of poems, she said, pulling a small blue thing out of her purse. You’d be getting quite the deal, if you accept. This little thing tells of the whole wide world, doesn’t it. Yes, and all its mysteries, too, down to the littlest bit of nothing. You will hear the piper’s song, in here, and will learn to play it, too.

The piper’s song? What is the piper’s song?

That glittering smile.

Guess my drink and you’ll find out.

Sounds like too good a book to just give to the bartender of the moment, I said.

I stared at the thing. I couldn’t—

Well, I couldn’t keep from thinking that it was mighty blue, wasn’t it?

Oh, you’re not just any bartender, she said, winking, black lashes brushing against gold dust, and I’ve already read it.

How do I know you won’t change your drink of choice?

What? A minute in and Bartender of the Moment is already calling me fickle? Fie, fie. Give me that pen.

She wrote something on a napkin, then. Folded it up, gave it to me.

Guess my drink, barkeep.

The place around me blurred as I thought, wove in and out of its sharp lines as sour smells and sweet drinks and dark walls rolled around and around and around.

Bourbon, I said, plunking the top shelf bottle up onto the bar, orange bitters.

Ginger liqueur—just a half ounce, mind—

a splash of apple cider.

Squeeze of lemon. Sprig of rosemary. Slapped, not muddled.

Her eyes glittered, too.

I just lost myself a good book of poems.

They kept glittering as she looked down at the napkin. I unfolded it.

2 oz bourbon or rye, it said,

Over fresh juiced apples and lemons.

Ice and bitters

Dash of domaine canton

Stir with a clipping of rosemary

I stared up at her, wondering whether she was a witch

She slid me the book of poems, a fifty dollar bill poking out from the cover.

I have a special favor, she said, leaning over the counter. The angle was anything but fair.

Anything, I said, anything at all

This is for my first drink, she said, flicking the fifty with sharp, sparkling fingers. It looked like she had painted her nails with diamond dust.

And for filling all my other glasses with soda water, she went on. I’m meeting some people here tonight and

Well, I’d like water

I nodded. Not the first time I’d been payed to not give people liquor.

I handed her the drink. She took the drink. Took my hand, too.

Every space inside of me bent towards her touch.

For your trouble, she said

Pressing her glittering lips against my palm.

Worlds exploded. I blinked away the dust.

Trouble me all you want, I said, if that’s the price you’re willing to pay

She smiled. Released my hand.

The world dimmed a little.

Good luck, Josey, she said

Enjoy the book.

She left the bar. I did not.

Anyway.

That’s her story. Or, one of them.

No, you can’t have another, not right now.

Why?

Because I shouldn’t have even told you that one. But I was sad, and it got late, and there’s nothing but you and me and ghosts, out in this place.

And everyone knows if you name a ghost, it can’t hurt you.

Did you know that?
Yes, child. Name the ghost and it can’t hurt you.