Cocktails and Dreams

by A. L. Michael

  I put the vase of yellow roses out of the way, and plonked down two plates of cheese on toast with two mugs of strong tea.

  Dad took a large bite and sighed. ‘You know, I don’t know how you make the most basic things taste delicious. It’s bloody cheese on toast and it’s one of the best things I’ve eaten. Always said you should have been a cook!’

  ‘It’s just sundried tomatoes and some chilli flakes, Dad. And some different types of cheese. It’s not rocket science. And we both know I’d be crying and running out of a stressful kitchen within minutes of being shouted at.’

  I took a bite and he was right, it was pretty damn good. The flavours merged well, balanced out and the addition of the mozzarella really added texture.

  ‘Surely not every bloody restaurant in this country is run by Gordon Ramsay?’

  I shrugged and shook my head.

  ‘So…’ Dad pushed back his plate and attempted to look serious. Which wasn’t always possible. He had a permanently round, slightly red face, a cheery disposition, and twinkling blue eyes. His hair was getting whiter and thinner, and he still insisted on wearing all black, with some ancient band T-shirt. That day, it was the Clash. I always teased him that he only wore those T-shirts so he could tell some story about being their roadie. Dad was full of stories of his time on tour. Now he was a cabbie, and taught guitar lessons on the side, usually at a ridiculously cheap price. He lived two streets away from me and Jen, a choice he’d made to be near to me.

  ‘So…?’

  ‘How are you doing?’

  I smiled. ‘I’m doing fine, Dad. How are you?’

  ‘You know what I mean, Savannah. I just… you know, I don’t want to crowd you. And we never talked about this stuff before. And you’ve had your heart broken and I’m your dad, and I can’t tell whether I should be bringing you chocolate or punching the bastard.’

  I patted his hand; his forehead scrunched up with concern as he leaned in, really earnest for me to know he cared. My dad was one of the best people I knew.

  ‘Dad, I want you to know… you should always be bringing me chocolate.’

  He rolled his eyes and sat back. ‘All right, smartarse. Tell me about this website thing then, maybe I should sign up?’

  ‘Dad, I couldn’t even make you leave a review when Arturo’s cocked up your birthday and brought you out a cake with nuts in it. We spent your birthday in the hospital because they picked up the wrong box.’

  My dad frowned, shaking his head, ‘Now, they are good people, and they made a mistake. I’m not going to have a go about that. Is that what this is, ranting and raving at people in cyberspace?’

  ‘No. I go, I have my meal, I write up about it afterwards, sending a picture of my receipt to prove I went, and I get some points. The more helpful, and longer, the review, the more points I get, until eventually I get a free meal voucher!’

  ‘I thought you were meant to be working less.’

  ‘It’s not work, it’s for fun,’ I kissed his cheek, ‘And as soon as I figure out if it’s worth doing, I’ll take you out to dinner. To somewhere that is not Arturo’s.’

  ‘You judge, but you’ll never find a better spaghetti bolognese-’

  ‘-outside Naples, I know.’

  Dad wriggled his eyebrows and shrugged. ‘Oh well, I guess your poor auntie will have to put up with me coming around, begging for scraps after she’s made me go to that bloody dancing class.’

  I frowned. ‘You’re doing swing dance classes with Jen? Why?’

  Dad shrugged. ‘She asked, and I thought it was good to get a bit of exercise. I’m terrible, of course, but it seems to make her happy, me bumbling around like a moron whilst she grins and dances like a professional.’

  ‘I wonder why she didn’t tell me you were going too?’

  Dad shrugged again. ‘Probably didn’t want to embarrass me. So… seeing as we’ve both got nothing to do today, fancy going to the cinema?’

  ‘Abso-bloody-lutely.”

  * * *

  ‘Are you kidding me? This place is bloody fantastic! Look at it!’ Mia whooped, her eyes wide as she took in the chandelier in the middle of the sunken bar.

  ‘Stop looking so fucking impressed,’ I laughed, holding her arm, and smiling at the host. ‘What are you talking about, this place is epic!’

  ‘Sure,’ I shook my head and nodded hello as the host took our details and led us through to the bar.

  ‘I’ll come and get you when your table is ready, okay?’ She tilted her head with a chipmunk smile, and disappeared. Mia stuck her tongue out and grinned at me.

  ‘I think this is fabulous. Why don’t we go out in town for dinner more, we should?’

  ‘Well, look at how much a cocktail costs and see if you still think that,’ I grinned, shaking my head as we hopped up on the bar stools, resting our hands on the oak bar.

  A bartender immediately came over, smiling at us. ‘Good evening, ladies. Can I get you some water whilst you’re deciding?’ We nodded and looked back at the menus, trying to decipher what half of the ingredients were, as nothing was described.

  We suddenly heard the bartender hiss at his colleague across the bar, ‘Milo! This isn’t Tiger Tiger, okay, mate? That’s not appropriate here.’

  The other bartender, Milo, had been throwing the cocktail shaker up in the air, twisting it around behind his back and grinning at the customers as he did so. He shrugged and poured the cocktail, looking across the bar to see me watching. He grinned and winked at me, before gesturing at his colleague in a ‘What can you do?’ kind of way. I bit my lip and looked away.

  ‘So… what are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking my life is crap and I should be in Greece,’ Mia sighed, chin on her hand.

  ‘Um, I meant about the cocktails,’ I said, aware that the bartender would probably return within 30 seconds, and I wanted to quiz him on the ingredients. The best reviews on Bottoms Up! contained lots of details, and I was taking this seriously.

  I never should have brought Mia with me, but I thought she deserved a treat. In fact, we both did. The problem was, Mia didn’t really eat. She got distracted halfway through eating, she’d push at it, not really sure what it was. Once I asked her how her steak tasted, and she looked up, frowned, and said, ‘Like steak.’

  She was also not great at focusing, and was not really into detail. Unless it was a beautiful dress, or some obscure historical artefact that no one else gave a crap about. Then, she had lots to say.

  ‘Oh, a Bellini,’ she shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Ladies.’ The bartender called Milo came over, grinning at me, his dark hair flopping across his forehead. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Can you tell me what this is?’ I pointed at the menu, and he smiled, crinkling around the eyes.

  ‘My personal favourite. It’s like a posh gin and tonic, but we use infused elderflower tonic, plus a mixture of herbs, a twist of lemon. A basil liqueur as a base. It’s refreshing, light, but a little bit special. Perfect.’ He winked again, and I blinked.

  ‘Sure, sounds good. She’ll have a boring Bellini.’

  Mia looked around at the other customers and the beautiful glass drops hanging from the ceiling, making everything sparkle. The bar we were seated at was dipped, and following a grand spiral staircase, we could see people upstairs on a wraparound balcony, sitting at tables, enjoying their food.

  She sighed deeply. ‘I want what they have.’

  ‘The sea bass is excellent.’ The bartender nodded as he focused on brushing the herbs up and around the glass. I watched him furrow his brow slightly in concentration.

  ‘Not the sea bass!’ Mia rolled her eyes, pointing up at them. ‘Happiness, connection, purpose!’

  The bartender stopped. ‘You got all that from a bunch of people sitting at a dinner table?’

  ‘Yes,’ my friend said seriously.

  ‘Mia, this nice man is a real bartender, not one of those ones in movies who are there to give you advice ov
er a shot of sarsaparilla.’ I pursed my lips, turning back to the bartender. ‘Sorry!’

  ‘Hey, if I could be one of those wise bartenders who slides a shot of something down a long bar and tips his hat, I would love that. Sadly, I’m only good for cocktails and food recommendations.’

  The accent became more evident, the more he spoke.

  ‘American?’

  ‘Yes, my apologies,’ he smiled. ‘Feels like I should be saying that more than ever now. Except for the drinks, because these are the best you will get in London, I guarantee.’

  ‘That’s some big talk,’ I said.

  ‘Where are you from, in America?’ Mia said, leaning forward, looking at him with something like desperation.

  ‘New York.’ He paused. ‘But I’ve been travelling around Europe for a while.’

  ‘New York!’ She sputtered, ignoring the second part of his sentence. She turned to me. ‘See, Sav, I need to go to New York.’

  ‘Sweetheart, I have a feeling if the nice man said he was from Tallahassee, you would say you needed to go there too. If you want a holiday, just book a bloody flight and stop going on.’

  ‘Hey lady, I listened all week to you about getting dumped. You can’t hear about my wanderlust for five seconds?’ Mia rolled her eyes and stared at me.

  I felt my cheeks redden as the bartender, Milo, placed the drinks on coasters in front of us. I felt his eyes on me, and stayed silent.

  ‘There you go, ladies. I’ve been told you’re dining with us this evening, so I’ll put the drinks on your dinner tab.’ He nodded, stepping back. ‘Hope you enjoy your meal.’

  And he was gone, back to the other side of the bar before we could thank him.

  ‘Thanks for that! Mentioning getting dumped!’ I hissed sideways, staring down at my drink. It was beautiful, a work of art. Served in a Champagne coupe, with slices of cucumber floating on top, stems of herbs, and a little sparkle somehow. Mia’s was simpler, a pale orange colour in a Champagne flute, with a slice of peach on top. Well, if it ain’t broke...

  ‘Didn’t want the hot bartender to hear, huh?’ She shrugged, grabbing the cocktail stick. ‘Fair enough!’

  ‘Wait! Let me take a picture!’ I knew that she wouldn’t be able to remember what that cocktail looked or tasted like five minutes after it was finished, let alone by the end of the night. I put my phone away. ‘Cheers!’

  We clinked our glasses together. She sipped, pressed her lips together and nodded.

  ‘It’s good.’

  ‘What does it taste like?’

  ‘Um… fizzy, and kind of… like… sweet?’

  I growled a little, and took it from her, sipping delicately. The peach puree was sweet but had a sharp edge, topped with a dry Champagne. I remembered reading that the Bellini was created in Harry’s Bar, Venice, by Ernest Hemingway. Maybe I would go to Venice and drink cocktails. Mia wasn’t the only one who wanted a holiday. I wanted a holiday from my life. And why didn’t we ever go to nice restaurants? Perhaps because Mia was always working, or supporting Rob used up any spare time – and money – I had. Usually, after temping and working at the bar, I just wanted to eat toast and pass out. It felt special to be all dressed up for a meal out in the city.

  ‘Yeah, fizzy and sweet.’ I handed it back, and picked up mine. My immediate thought was that it was like a garden. The first sip made me think of walking barefoot on the grass in summertime, in the back of Jen’s garden. There was the sweet elderflower, the sparkle of wine, the bubbles lifting the drink. The cucumber had a luxuriousness to it, it tasted like indulgence and spa days. The herbs were subtle, kicking in after, the gin sat at the bottom, waiting to knock me over the head if I didn’t eat something. It tasted like a memory felt, like I was walking through a photo album trying to remember a moment that tasted like this, and I closed my eyes to savour it, pressing my lips together. It needed something though, a little edge, a drop of citrus, or something darker and naughty, like the spice of rum, summer nights in the garden after smoky bonfires, hoodies worn over shorts.

  I opened my eyes and caught him watching me, a small smile playing about his lips that looked like pride. I nodded, as if to say, ‘Yes, you were right.’ He nodded back to say he knew.

  We were led to our table not long after that, and Mia, typically, ordered the sea bass because it meant she didn’t have to look at the menu or think too much. I took my time deciding on my food, asking questions about the dishes, and then became distracted as I watched the diners around me, wondering what their stories were.

  ‘Hello?’ Mia huffed, tilting her head as she looked at me. ‘Anybody home?’

  ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m here. What’s going on?’

  Mia’s features softened and she flicked her black hair. I was easily forgiven.

  ‘The usual. I hate my life, everything’s awful, woe is me. Blah blah blah.’

  She grinned, her perfectly straight teeth gleaming, and I knew that anyone who hadn’t grown up with Mia, who hadn’t seen everything she’d been through over the years, would look at how beautiful and confident she was, wearing that gorgeous deep blue dress that seemed to accentuate her tan, and wonder what on earth she could possibly complain about.

  I steeled myself, hands on the table. ‘Hit me. I’m ready for it. Complain away.’

  She took a deep breath, ‘I think my dad is sick again. No one’s saying anything, but Marjorie is flitting about like a blue-arsed fly, getting shitty at me when I breathe too loudly.’

  I reached across the table and squeezed her hand briefly.

  ‘And I know I’m not allowed to be annoyed, but I moved back for him, to help look after him, and she’s annoyed I ate the last of her vile crackerbreads. Like, it’s an ongoing war, the Battle of the Last Crackerbread. Who cares? I bought her a new packet, and she went on that it wasn’t the right one. Maybe she’s regretting marrying someone so much older than her.’

  ‘Okay, I know Marjorie can be a pain, but she’s been with your dad the whole way through his illness. She loves him.’

  ‘Yes, she does.’

  That fact still seemed to piss her off. When Marjorie had first come into Mia’s life, not being much older than us, it had been a tough few years. But Mia went off to study and it wasn’t so much of a problem. Until her dad got sick.

  ‘I moved back for him. I sacrificed my career, my life. I’m nearly 30 and I’m living with my dad and his girlfriend!’

  ‘It was the right thing to do at the time.’

  ‘I could have been having adventures! Doing something important! Actually using my degree!’ She rested her cheek on her hand and picked up her glass of wine. ‘One of the girls from uni is on a dig in Greece. You’d think there’d be nothing left to find in Greece, right? But no. Bitch found a cup or something.’

  ‘A cup?’

  She raised an eyebrow at me. ‘I know you zone out the minute I start on archaeology or history or anything older than the ’80s, so I’ll spare you the details. But it was important. The point is, I should be knee deep in dirt, discovering symbols of history in far-off lands. Not selling make-up in Hertfordshire.’

  Mia had always been an unlikely choice for an archaeologist. When people asked her why she chose that field (which was a lot more than anyone else got asked why they chose to do something) she said she’d played too much Tomb Raider as a kid and looked surprisingly good in khaki hot pants.

  The problem was that being as beautiful as she was, people didn’t think she was smart. And they didn’t like it when she surprised them. She’d been on a dig when her dad ended up in hospital the first time round, and she flew back, never giving it a second thought. She moved in when he was going through chemo, and got a job as a make-up girl because her dad was getting annoyed at her sitting around the house all day, looking at him with worried eyes. The make-up counter people took one look at her and decided she’d sell their brand perfectly, whether she wore it or not. And then… time passed, in that way it does.

 
‘I’m getting bitter,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t want to be bitter. It saps your life force and gives you wrinkles.’

  ‘Go and be an archaeologist!’ I said, smiling as the waitress returned to top up our wine glasses, pausing until she left. ‘At least you know what you want to do with your life.’

  I could hear my own bitterness seeping into my sentences, and shook my head.

  ‘Savvy, you have endless opportunities. You’ve lost a weight around your neck, and now you can do anything.’

  ‘Well, so can you!’ I countered, sticking out my tongue at her before noticing the bartender looking across at me and biting back a smile. Great. I win the attention of a hot guy then ruin any chance of him finding me attractive by acting like a child.

  ‘Well, maybe I will,’ Mia replied, holding out her glass. ‘To the great things we will do.’

  I clinked my glass against hers, and paused before I sipped. ‘Do you think he left me for her? Or do you think it was just that we didn’t have anything in common any more, like he said?’

  Mia pressed her lips together, and I could tell she was irritated with me. I had asked the question so many times already, but I wasn’t getting the answer I wanted.

  ‘I don’t know, Sav. Maybe you should ask him, if it’s bothering you so much.’

  ‘I haven’t seen them in any more magazines,’ I said lightly, not meeting her eyes.

  ‘Please tell me you haven’t been out stocking up on cheap gossip magazines in the hopes of seeing your ex?’

  I didn’t say anything.

  Mia pressed her lips together and pulled on her left earlobe. She did that whenever she was reaching into a well of patience and finding the bucket empty. She did it a lot at work when teenagers came to the beauty counter and tried to nick the lipsticks, then explained that it wasn’t fair that things were expensive when they got caught.

  ‘Savannah. This is your time. You have made your life about him for the last nine years. That’s bad enough when you’re in love, but it’s irresponsible when you’re not. You have a duty to live a life you’re proud of.’