Speakeasy’s at Night
If this story could have been written just right then it would have started n the summer. With the girl who gave me an ominous fortune in No Vacancy the speakeasy bar in downtown. I love that place but she was very drunk too.
If this story could be written to perfection then it would still start in summer, but in the year Summer Crossing to Gatsby to spoonfuls of Bleak House, till finally resting and weeping at Nightwood was all being read. However perfection is a word and there in fact happens to be nothing wrong with recollection. Recollection is a word that was discovered in eighth grade in David Copperfield, it’s the first book I ever cried over. I remember feeling so satisfied after I had finished that I sat in my tub and wept. It was my favorite book until Nightwood, where I haven’t come across anything better; though A Happy Death and Franny and Zooey sit waiting to slit its throat. If I were to give categories then I’d say: Nobody can describe like Dickens, mock like Fitzgerald, feel like Salinger, understand like Camus, and speak like Djuna. Should one day a person come with each of these traits they, in my utmost opinion, would be the greatest writer to ever live.
Since the story can’t be told just right or perfect it starts off in a large room. No, on a particularly cold night in downtown, the oceans one attempt at city life: Waking from the car parked secluded enough to leave it jaded and absently curious, is a girl. Black ankle high boots, loose pants, loose sweater, vest, and a bunch of necklaces. The longest being a Hello Kitty shape and the shortest a sliver Jewish star. Her family hadn’t been Jewish since the middle 1940’s, but she liked religion and Jewish culture and technically it was in the history of how she came to be. Respect all aspects of the life currently living.
Leather jacket-she also had on a leather jacket, hair in a high bun. On the walk to the building she heard two couples breaking up. The first was on a curb across the street the girl was crying and screaming so loud. The guy just stood there with his hands in his pockets looking. It was early night, seven to be exact. A flock of people went by. The other break up She stood right in front of making a phone call. That one actually seemed like more of a pre-game fight, one that simply meant a lot of deep talking for the rest of the night. Outside a building that was a theatrical speakeasy a guy came up to her smoking a cigarette. He made the usual friend of someone in the film business talk, “So who do you know who works on this?” He knew the director, brought her flowers. The girl knew the actress so in this aspect they were even. The guy could use a shave he was unimpressed by the girl. At the same time she was being riddled with anxiety, he walked away from her.
There were a lot of couples out. A short couple walked right by her to the door of the lobby of the “theatrical speakeasy”. The guy rang the buzzer he was taller than the girl. The girl has black glasses and straight hair.
She said, “What are you doing?”
He said, “It said ring the buzzer, but I saw a side door open when we came up.”
The girl looked a little troubled by this but followed him anyway. In their absence a tall round couple came up. Male looks at female: female looks at him: then at her: then back to him. Saying nothing they walk away. The short couple comes back for season two. Back at the buzzer the guy mutters something to which the girl huffs, turns to him, and says:
“Let’s just follow directions please.”
This time they entered a code before pressing the buzzer. They were let in. An English and American talk about their disdain of privileged people though they were the ones in suites at a theatrical speakeasy to watch a well made low budget film. The English was an actor whose wife was too sick to come, the American did something too. The main girl, whose story this is entered the speakeasy after some time. First thing she saw? Her friend lying in dirt; “Nice dirt,” she thought. A guy comes up to her.
“Sorry I yelled at you.” He said, “I didn’t want to be a jerk, it’s just my job you know?”
The girl was startled and confused, “Don’t uhm, don’t worry about it. I don’t care.”
“Oh good-yeah, I just felt bad,” he had a drink in his hands.
They smiled awkwardly at each other and his was too big and his eyes showed he was trying to be friendly but this exchange was terrible. Meanwhile the girl had a very subdued way in her eyes that said so clearly this exchange needed to be finished. It was like watching a rabbit corned by a fox. Sometimes, very rarely, she wished she had a twin so at least one living thing could relate without seeming like a tool. You know, because of the whole “everyone has social anxiety” fad going around these days. True, it is like everyone has social anxiety, that’s called being a human. But there are some who just…do.
The girl was trying real hard not to look at her phone or seem rude, but she felt the need to be doing something.
“So what’s your job here?” the girl asked.
“I’m the producer.”
“Oh nice,” she smiled and looked away.
“Who do you know?”
“…Well the drink tokens get you one for free.”
“You should go get you one.”
“Okay I will.”
More standing till finally the producer mumbled something that was kind of like a laugh and walked off. The girl, now alone, deeply reviewed the conversation, having been on autopilot and vaguely aware of the conversation. She squeezed the wooden poker chip in her pocket. So this allowed one free drink? Well she was already feeling apprehensive and it was probably only going to get worse. A spot of liquid courage might do her some good.
The bar was a literal corner and one bartender had long black hair and said things like honey and sweetie. It was obvious that key places were lit by something but the source was never found. In front of her was the English and American, now talking about crazy tales they used to find themselves in. The American looked back at the girl and showed his American white teeth. He was tall; looked like everyone else in the world.
He said, “Glad to see you made it too.”
After the last conversation blunder the girl tried really hard to perk up this time.
“Yea that was crazy.”