Thinking of You

by Rachel Kane

  The bartender grimaced. “Just take the damn pitcher, Charlie.”

  What was that flicker on the elf’s face—Charlie’s face, as it turned out—when the bartender mentioned the table?

  Oh, I wish I was better at faces. I wish I could read them the way Theo could. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looked back at the table with worry or fear.

  It only took a split second, but I saw him studying the table. I followed his eyes: He was looking at one particular girl, a dark-haired, dark-eyed, animated girl who everyone at the table was paying attention to.

  Was this his girlfriend? Surely not. He wouldn’t be anxious looking back at his girlfriend. Was it an enemy, someone he knew he had to destroy? Maybe normal people don’t think of other people like that.

  Also it is none of your business, I reminded myself. It really wasn’t.

  Before he left to return to the table and its worries, he tapped a finger on the bar. “One thing,” he said. “If you don’t know how a mall works, I’m assuming you don’t know how a bar works either.”

  “I have been to bars many times—”

  “I’m just saying, ask Herman for advice. Tell him what you like, and he can figure out a drink you’ll enjoy. He’s good at that. There are lots of good people in the world, who can help you when you need it.”

  Now that was what I liked in life. Simple, direct, actionable conversation. Do this, try this, try it this way.

  As he left for his table, I turned to the bartender. “Can you find me something I like?”

  * * *

  “Was that guy hitting on you?” asks Emily, the red-head sitting next to Wendy.

  He doesn’t make eye contact with Wendy, just slides into the booth and fills glasses all around. “Who, him? No, that’s the line-breaker from this afternoon.”

  “The scarf guy?” says Wendy, incredulous. “Is he stalking us?”

  “Oh god, everybody was so mad at him,” laughs Emily. “I was surprised he didn’t get punched.”

  “What a weirdo,” Wendy says, laughing a private laugh in Charlie’s direction.

  She wants him to agree. She wants him to be in her circle. Charlie wishes he could talk to her, right now, here at the table. Can you just stop? You know I don’t like girls.

  Besides, the guy turned out to be nice, which is unusual. How often in life does someone apologize? If Charlie had to guess, he wouldn’t say this was the kind of man who did that. He’s severe, if that’s the right word. He seems unapproachable. Like he’s judging everything in sight. And yet there’s something about him, something Charlie can’t put his finger on…

  “He’s all right. He actually apologized.” Charlie sips his beer and looks around to find out how his friends take that news.

  It makes them uncomfortable. They wanted to rag on the man some more. It’s been a long day, and there are aggressions that need to be gotten out, tensions that need a release, and what better way than to make fun of someone who seems a little strange?

  Charlie glances back at the bar. The man is having a huddled conversation with the bartender, his short, choppy hand gestures trying to communicate something to him. Herman nods and makes a suggestion.

  Good for him. The guy was seriously tightly-wound. Maybe Herman could make him something he’d enjoy.

  “I still say he’s weird.” Wendy insists on the point. “Who cuts in line for Santa?”

  Charlie happens to agree, but doesn’t think saying that right now is the right move. Who does things like that? Who asks for a refund on their beer? Who blurts out apologies to total strangers?

  It reminds him a little of his cousin, who is having a rough time right now in high school. Nathan is a great kid, but he’s seriously into obscure metal music, bands no one has ever heard of, and he likes to gather facts about the bands, their favorite books, their birthdays, the brands of stage makeup they wear, and every time you see him, there are a hundred new facts he’s so excited to tell you, even if you don’t like that music, even if it has nothing to do with you. People give him a hard time about it, even his folks, but Charlie can see how much joy it brings Nathan, and how his whole personality seems to flip a switch to Off whenever other topics are described. Charlie’s uncle is trying to get Nathan into a special school program, but he thinks Nathan would be perfectly happy if everyone just let him drop out of school, let him sit in his room and look up stuff about metal music all day long.

  Who is Charlie to judge that? Everybody’s got their own view of heaven.

  The guy at the bar reminds him a little of Nathan. Like he’s very deep into his own thoughts, and would really rather stay there. Now that it has occurred to Charlie, he can’t get it off his mind.

  Herman has lined up three different drinks on the bar. He’s pointing to each one, offering an explanation. The guy looks serious, he’s nodding, he likes explanations, likes facts. He’s a little fuzzy on processes, but give him a list of facts and he’ll eat it up.

  You need to stop looking at him, Charlie tells himself. It’s none of your business—oh look, he’s trying one!

  The guy used his straw to take a tentative sip of the first glass. He winced and shook his head. Herman nods and points to the next one. The guy looks skeptical.

  Charlie almost wants to urge him on. To chant, to cheer. Do it, do it, do it.

  “Isn’t that right, Charlie?” asks Wendy.

  His head snaps back around as he remembers where he is, what he’s supposed to be doing. Relaxing with his coworkers. Worrying about turning girls away. The usual.

  “Sorry, I missed that.”

  “I was saying, I’m pretty sure Gino is gay. Don’t you think he is?”

  “If anyone would know,” says Emily, “it’s Charlie.”

  Oh, that makes Wendy mad. She shoots Emily a look. “Can you imagine, Gino in black leather? I bet he’s a real daddy in the sack.”

  There’s so much aggression in Wendy, aggression born of need. Why doesn’t she hit on guys who will actually like her? Maybe she’s scared to. Maybe if she keeps going after gay guys, she never has to risk having a real relationship. But it’s twisting her up inside.

  “Gino has been married for thirty years,” Charlie says. “His wife’s name is Monica. His son played center field for the Corinth Wildcats until he broke his wrist.”

  Wendy rolls her eyes, haughty, impatient with him. “People can be married and still be gay, Charlie. It happens all the time.”

  Just in case he thought she was pushing him away with that remark, there’s her toe again, touching his shin. Her heavily-lidded eyes are on him, and she’s bringing her beer up for a sip.

  I wish I knew the graceful way out of this, Charlie thinks, just before the delighted shout of “Eureka!” fills the bar.

  * * *

  “Eureka!”

  I didn’t mean to yell. Honestly, I didn’t. I never yell, even at my angriest. It’s bad management to raise your voice.

  But I have made a discovery, with the help of my new friend Herman: A precise proportion of dark rum with diet Coke mixed with approximately a teaspoon each of cherry and lime juice, is the best drink I have ever had.

  Better than spring water. Better than hot tea. So much better than beer, which I swear to myself I will never drink again.

  “This is wonderful,” I told Herman. I set my straw aside, so I could take a real swallow. The rum made my throat so warm, but the cool of the soda balanced that out, and the sweetness of the fruits mellowed the flavor still further.

  “Now, go easy,” Herman said. “That is a good bit of rum, if you’re not used to it.”

  “I have to call my brother. He’s going to be very interested in this turn of events.”

  Then I realized how loud I was being. With a hint of fear, I turned to look at the other patrons. Fortunately, no one was watching. Except Charlie the Christmas Elf.

  I would describe his current expression as puzzled.

  You owe him a thank-you, I told myself. Thi
s is exactly what Theo was talking about, trying new things. If you hadn’t come here, you would never know how good this drink is. I should have another swallow. A sip, really. Don’t want to overdo it. Okay, two sips. You can really taste the cherry and lime. Look at me, Theo, I’m enjoying a beverage at a bar!

  The drink was more expensive than the beer had been, but I didn’t mind at all. I put a twenty down on the bar, then added another twenty to it. “In case I need another one,” I told Herman.

  “It’s your party, man.”

  I was quite sure the alcohol would not have made significant changes to my brain chemistry just yet, so the fact that I was standing up to walk over to the booth where Charlie and his friends sat was a logical and rational step, just my way of being polite, rather than, say, me being tipsy and overly sociable, the way Theo and his sales team would get during their three-whiskey lunches.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Charlie,” I said, hoping I wasn’t being too familiar, using his name. “I did what you said. I asked Herman. It turns out I do not like gin and tonics, and I do not like martinis, even though I do think I’m going to buy a jar of green olives, because they are tasty.”

  My words wouldn’t quite stay on the path I’d planned for them. I hadn’t meant to mention the olives. Charlie was looking up at me in amusement. There was a darker look on the face of the dark-haired girl. I wondered if I was interrupting something, but the words wouldn’t stop coming out:

  “But then Herman made what’s called a rum and Coke, which first of all has a wonderfully simple name, the branding is perfect, if you think about it, because it’s not rum and cola, it’s a specific cola, and you have to wonder what percentage of revenue—”

  “What the hell is he talking about?” asked the dark-haired girl.

  “Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to go on,” I said, after another swallow of my drink. “I seem to be apologizing all day today. It’s just, if Charlie hadn’t suggested it… And I told Herman, This is close, but I don’t like the flavor of all the sugar, and he said What if we used Diet Coke instead, and—”

  The red-haired girl laughed, the dark-haired one glared, and Charlie said, “Do you want to sit down? You’re looking a little unsteady.”

  “I’ve had alcohol before,” I insisted. I held up my glass to demonstrate what I was talking about, and surprisingly, it was empty except for the ice cubes. “Oh,” I said, and slipped into the booth beside Charlie.

  “Everyone, this is… Actually, I don’t know your name,” he said.

  “Val. My name is Val.”

  The dark-haired girl raised a skeptical, manicured eyebrow. “Short for Valerie?”

  “Valentinian. The Roman emperor. Well, several emperors really, but my father named me for the first.” I knew better than to go on explaining. People do not want to hear how Valentinian brought a late-era greatness to the empire, one last flame of glory before the descent into darkness.

  “This is Wendy, and Emily, and Jessica, and Albany,” said Charlie.

  “Are you all elves?”

  For some reason the table found this hilarious, and everyone laughed except dark Wendy. She kept looking at over at Charlie, and I couldn’t understand why. Like she was trying to send him a secret message using only her eyes.

  Were they together? It was an interesting question, and not one that I would normally puzzle over. People and their relationships were a perennial mystery to me. I’ve mentioned the difficulty I have now that Theo is together with his boyfriend Micah. But then, they knew each other back when we were all children, so that relationship makes a kind of sense to me. I once caught them kissing each other when we were teenagers. I didn’t like seeing that. It made me uncomfortable, to know that my younger brother had embarked on this journey that everyone thinks is so important, yet I never—

  I blinked. The rum must have been having an effect on me. I don’t normally get lost in thought like this, not about issues like relationships.

  “What do you do?” asked red Emily. “When you’re not busting in line, I mean.”

  “Nothing.”

  More laughter. “No, but really, what do you do?”

  I stared down into my glass. I could feel a silence begin to grow, as I tried to formulate an answer. Charlie was staring at me.

  “Up until recently, I was the CEO of my family’s business. You wouldn’t have heard of it, I imagine. We bought distressed companies, streamlined them, got them back on their feet, as the saying goes.”

  The silence changed character, as they shifted in their seats. I had surprised them. They were figuring out what to do with this unexpected information.

  “My brother handled the people side of the business,” I said. “He was the one who knew about handshakes and what to order at dinner to impress clients. When he left, there was a void. I am not good at talking to people. I am, in fact, profoundly bad at it, especially when talking to clients about golf, or yachts, or…” I waved my hand, gesturing at that whole galaxy of topics I had no interest in, no way of becoming interested in them.

  “You left?” asked Charlie. “Because you didn’t want to talk to people?”

  “Yes. I stepped down. Now I am unemployed. I’m sure I will find something to do with my life, but for now, there is nothing. Maybe I could become a mall elf.”

  The silence broke into hilarity.

  * * *

  Elves have to be at the mall bright and early to clean their stations, to line the ropes back up, to prepare for the next onslaught of bright-eyed kids eager to share their secret wishes with Santa. Jessica and Albany were the first to go, and now everyone is thinking the same thing, go home, find something to eat in front of the TV, rest a while before you’re on your feet all day tomorrow.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to ride your bike in this weather,” Wendy says.

  “What? No, it’s great.” Charlie is buttoning up his outer shirt. “I love this weather. It’s perfect for riding.”

  “I only live two bus-stops from here,” she says. “Why don’t you come over, I’ll make you some hot cocoa for your ride back.”

  It would be unkind to say she was lying in wait for him all this time, setting her trap. This is Wendy, after all, not some big predator. She’s just lonely. She just wants to fall for someone.

  Then he glances over at Val. Val, who looks glum that everyone is suddenly leaving.

  “I suppose I should go too,” Val says, getting up a little unsteadily.

  Charlie laughs and grabs his arm. “Are you okay? Are you going to make it on your own?”

  He’s not a big schemer. Openness, honesty, laying all your cards on the table. That’s what Charlie believes in.

  But he doesn’t want to go to Wendy’s, and have that conversation with her. He can picture it, the awkwardness, the tension. How far would she take it, before she accepted that he wasn’t interested in girls? He also doesn’t want to refuse her offer, doesn’t want to lie and make an excuse and say he has to be home early. Nobody’s waiting for him back home, unless you count the unwatched sky.

  Val, however, gives him an idea.

  “What, no, I’m fine, I’ll call my driver,” Val says, reaching for his phone. “Oh. No, the driver’s off. I’ll call a cab. Herman will call me a cab.”

  “I think I should wait with Val,” Charlie says. “It’s been a big night for him.”

  Wendy doesn’t like that one bit. She’s shooting daggers at Val. Flames are going to break out any second.

  But, thankfully, she doesn’t blame Charlie. Good-natured, generous Charlie. He feels really guilty right now. Please don’t be mad.

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. See you tomorrow.”

  She’s a little bit mad. That’s okay.

  “Let’s get you home,” he says to Val. “The night air will do you good.”

  “Was I terribly awkward?” Val asks. “Is this being drunk? Is this what it’s like? I was so…chatty.”

  In the quiet night, there’s just
the winter breeze and the soft tick-tick-tick of the gears as Charlie walks his bike. “Nah, you were fine.”

  “I can find my way home. I hate to ask for help. You’re an absolute stranger. I could be anyone.”

  “So could I,” Charlie points out. “But come on, most people are okay.”

  “Are they?” Val looks like he might argue the point, then shakes his head. “I want you to know that I never do this. I don’t want you getting the wrong impression of me.”

  “Do you always apologize like this?”

  Charlie’s never met anyone who thinks so much. There’s a pause every time Val is going to speak, as he considers his words.

  “I do not,” Val decides. “I never used to, when I was in business. Never apologize, never make excuses. Logically explain your decisions, consider objections, modify your planning: apologies aren’t required in that world. But this world is very different, Charlie. I’m not sure I like this world.”

  “Are you kidding? This world is great. Look at that sky. You can’t see it because of the streetlights, but there are a million stars up there. A trillion. Feel this air. It might snow soon. I love it. It’s a beautiful world.”

  He’s surprised to hear himself say it.

  Shocked, actually.

  This isn’t the sort of thing you can say to Wendy or Emily or Gino or Mr. Rumson. He used to be able to say things like this to his brother, back before they became estranged, back before things got too rough at home and Charlie left it all behind. But now? Who could he describe the world to? Who would listen?

  Val had stopped walking, and was looking up into the sky. “Theo’s house—well, it used to be our family home, but he bought it—has a good sky. It’s out by a lake, and at night, there is almost no other light. Theo always wants me to go look at it.”

  “Theo’s your brother? He has a good point. You should do that.”