Martinis and Memories

by A. L. Michael

  I released the breath I’d been holding. ‘Why didn’t I make you the manager years ago?’

  ‘You tried, but I cannot be tamed. I am an artiste, and I must be free to come and go as I please.’

  ‘But you never go.’

  ‘No, I never go.’ Jacques smiled, crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He held out a hand to pull me up, and I accepted. ‘And even when I’m too old to be jumping around onstage and doing backflips, I intend to be standing at that bar making women fall in love with me, and giving the chefs shit. So, onto this whole regrouping thing – get dressed, we’re going out.’

  ‘Out?’ I blinked. I had planned to sit at my kitchen table and pore over my paperwork, coming up with ideas for how to fight back, then try and ignore my mother when she arrived and hide in my bedroom.

  ‘When was the last time you had a night out, Bel?’ Jacques asked. ‘When was the last time you had fun?’

  ‘I have fun at the club!’

  ‘Fun at work is not the same.’ He marched into my bedroom, and I followed him out of sheer surprise. ‘How are you meant to stay on top of the competition if you don’t know what they’re doing? How are you meant to know what people want if you aren’t out there being an actual person?’

  I shook my head resolutely. I even crossed my arms like a defiant teenager, ‘Jacques, I am not going to go to another burlesque bar and see what they’re doing. I can’t face it.’

  ‘No, I absolutely agree. In fact, I think we need a night off from being those burlesque people anyway.’ He reached into my cupboard and pulled out a pair of jeans, a black sparkly T-shirt and a pale pink cardigan that I didn’t even know I owned.

  ‘What… what are you doing?’ I looked at the clothes in surprise. Arabella Hailstone didn’t wear those clothes. I bought those jeans years ago, and used them when I was doing DIY or running to the shop in the winter. Sometimes, I wore them when I snuck into a cinema bundled up in a big hoodie to watch a romantic comedy by myself.

  They were my shame trousers.

  ‘We are going incognito.’ He grinned at me. ‘We’re going to do things we wouldn’t normally do, we’re going to have fun, get out of our bubble, and we’re going to get good and drunk.’

  I felt the panic rise up, and I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps simply that my mask was being peeled away. ‘But you look great! Why should I look like dog meat whilst you still look like you?’

  I could hear what Euan used to call ‘the princess tone’ – one of indignation and slight disgust. Like when he used to say he was taking us out for a lovely meal and we’d end up sitting in our bedsit eating 99p burgers. But back then I’d been so hungry it almost didn’t matter.

  Jacques looked down at his checked green and blue shirt, fitted jeans and boots. ‘Hey, I took off the fedora, and I’m not wearing eyeliner.’ He pouted. ‘Fine, you pick. But nothing vampy, nothing that draws heads. We’re being invisible today. I would have thought you’d want that.’

  Low blow, but not wrong. I thought back to that line in the review – a cheap sexualized attempt at Morticia Adams – and sighed. ‘Okay, for tonight I’ll go back to Plain Jane. But don’t expect me to be happy about it, darling.’

  ‘Oh I don’t, I expect you to be entirely unhappy about it. But don’t worry, we’ll be far too drunk to be completely inconsolable for long.’

  I help up the pink cardigan, tilting my head. ‘You promise?’

  Jacques grinned. ‘I absolutely guarantee.’

  Chapter Seven

  For some reason, everyone seemed to think Jacques was a party animal, but I had known him for years now. I knew that when he finished a late shift he made himself a cup of Earl Grey, put on his reading glasses and did the crossword.

  That night, however, was about forgetting our sorrows. We weren’t going to drown them; we were going to burn them. I knew he felt guilty for bringing the reviewer to our door, but there was nothing I could do to make him feel better.

  Besides let him buy me drinks and tell me how pretty I was.

  We ended up in a pub, something so out of character for us. When we’d gone for business lunches to discuss the club, it was always something classy where we’d critique the cocktails and snort that we could do better. This was a sticky-floored old man pub that smelled of weeks-old beer and football rage.

  I grinned at the bartender and waited until she smiled back before I ordered. It was always the way. I had to do something to make sure the staff member felt valued. Jacques often settled for tipping even when the situation didn’t call for it. I just remembered all those years where I’d worked in a bar or a restaurant and no one all day would look me in the eye. I didn’t want anyone else to feel like that.

  ‘We will have two of your finest ciders please!’ Jacques announced.

  ‘Pints! We’ll have pints!’ I added, nodding at him, as if to prove how un-Bel I was. He didn’t look impressed. In fact, Jacques looked vaguely scandalized.

  ‘So are we doing the pep talk before or after we’re wasted, darling, because I don’t want to miss the thirty-piece orchestra and the sky writing by being too drunk to see.’ I plonked down onto an uncomfortably padded chair and put my chin on my hands like a child.

  Jacques raised an eyebrow then sat back, taking a sip of his drink.

  ‘I think before you get too drunk, you’re going to stop being my boss, and start telling your friend all about your long-lost husband.’

  ‘Rude to eavesdrop.’ I twitched my nose. ‘Good bartenders never repeat what they hear on the job.’

  ‘And good friends don’t stay quiet when they think there’s a breakdown on the horizon.’

  ‘Pshaw!’ I waved the idea away, gulping at the cider and wincing. Good God, had I really drunk this as a teenager? Did I have taste buds back then? ‘Euan’s not a problem.’

  ‘He looks like a problem. He looks like someone in search of a payday.’

  I paused. ‘Well, that’s always true. But he’s not a bad guy, he’s just… not great.’

  ‘You sound like Aria.’

  ‘I was Aria.’ I laughed. ‘I was a little heartbroken over someone else, and Euan was kind and… well, he just sort of grew on me.’

  ‘Like a fungus,’ Jacques said.

  ‘Like poison ivy.’

  We sipped our drinks quietly for a moment as I searched for something else to say. Jacques and I may have been friends, but we were work friends. We talked about the club and the performances and bitched about bad food and crappy customers. We didn’t do real.

  ‘How’s… Richard?’ I breathed a sigh of relief as I remembered Jacques’ partner’s name. That would have been bad. It was embarrassing enough that this felt like hard work.

  ‘Good, wonderfully boring. It’s our fifteen-year anniversary next month.’

  ‘Woah.’ I wasn’t sure I knew anyone who had made a decision that lasted that long. ‘Did you know? That this one was gonna be the big one?’

  Jacques smirked like he was going to say something inappropriate, so I held a hand up.

  He relented. ‘Did I know Richard was the one straight away? Well… I met him four times before I remembered who he was.’

  ‘Bet he loves you telling this story. Such romance!’

  ‘Actually, it’s decent. Because it involves fate.’ He wiggled his fingers in front of his face. ‘When we finally did have our meet cute, all these signs kept popping up everywhere. We’d been going to the same takeaway for years, and we ordered the same dish. We just went in on different days.’

  ‘Okay… but…’

  ‘We had been previously set up by mutual friends, but had never met because the friend went into labour and never passed on the contact details. That was three years before we met.’

  I felt my features shift in surprise. ‘Okay, so yeah, that’s pretty strange…’

  ‘The year before we met, he’d found my library card on the floor and returned it. We didn’t realize this until we’d been together for about six months, and h
e saw that I’d decorated the back of the card with Sharpie designs.’

  ‘Woah.’ I held up my hands. ‘That’s scary.’

  Jacques grinned, pleased he was finally getting the response he wanted. ‘Yeah, right?’

  ‘You have a library card?’

  ‘Oh, fuck off.’ He snorted. ‘What I’m trying to point out is that… without being a patronizing smug arsehole… it’s nice to have someone to come home to. Someone you don’t have to put on an act for.’

  ‘Oh really? I thought you were trying to point out that fate loves you and brought you the love of your life whilst it gave me the she-devil that is my mother and a dickhead ex-husband in the same week that it tanks my business?’ I downed the remainder of my drink. ‘Can I ask you something, seeing as we’re all about the honesty tonight? Why are you still here? At the club, with me?’

  Jacques seemed to consider the question, staring beyond me to the door.

  ‘I don’t like to admit this,’ he whispered, looking around him as if there were people listening, ‘but I’m getting old, darling.’

  I made an argumentative noise but he shook his head. ‘Look, the truth is, I’m not going to be back-flipping forever. I’m not saying I’m giving up on the acting; I love it, but I’ve been doing it a damn good while and it never feels like I’ve had my moment. I’m not sure there is such a thing as a big break any more, but if there is, I’ve probably missed mine.’

  ‘That’s not true! You’re so talented!’

  ‘But let’s not pretend talent is the only thing that matters. I think… I think I want to be brilliant in another way. I’ve got a good mind for numbers, I’ve been helping you run this place for years. I just…’

  Oh God, please don’t let him tell me that he wants to leave now.

  ‘… it’s my home too, and I want to be more involved. I want to help you as it evolves and grows.’

  If it survives long enough to grow.

  ‘Of course, you know I see you as entirely necessary.’

  ‘Stop with the flattery, you’ll make me blush!’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘You know what I mean. I need you.’

  He was satisfied, nodding his head. ‘Good. Wouldn’t hurt you to say it a bit more.’

  ‘I assure you, it would.’

  We went on to another pub after that, where we could sit in the fading sunshine of the evening in a beer garden and listen to other people’s conversations. What they’d done with their weekends, what their stupid co-worker had said, or what their mother-in-law had done now. I let the alcohol fizzle through to my fingertips as I looked at the bright pink flowers amongst the foliage. Someone had a dog, and I watched it in fascination. I’d always wanted a dog. Mum hadn’t wanted one. Why didn’t I have a dog? I didn’t go anywhere; I was responsible.

  I mentioned this to Jacques and he snorted. ‘Maybe worry about the business first, we can get you a Dobermann later.’

  ‘I thought this evening was to stop me thinking about the club.’

  ‘Yes and it worked, didn’t it? But don’t you think we need a game plan before tomorrow?’

  I supposed he was right, but really, I just wanted to slither away and hide. Now that the ultimate lie had been founded, that we closed for ‘private events’, I could hide out as long as I needed to.

  Jacques seemed to read my mind. ‘What would we tell the staff?’

  ‘Okay, okay… well, what do you think we should do?’

  He had been waiting for me to ask the question, that much was clear. I was surprised he didn’t suddenly produce an Excel spreadsheet and a clicker for his PowerPoint presentation.

  ‘We give the staff anonymous feedback forms, to see what they think.’

  ‘But they love us,’ I said immediately. Too defensive, damn, Bel. Let the man finish a sentence before dealing with your insecurities.

  ‘Yes, but they are also out there on the front line with customers – if certain dishes have more complaints, if there have been suggestions or issues and they have possible solutions, we should hear them.’

  ‘So why anonymous?’

  He looked a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away from me. ‘Because… everyone knows the club is your baby. And no one wants to tell someone there’s something wrong with their kid, do they?’

  I had to concede that point. I nodded and said nothing.

  ‘You know it’s going to be okay, right? We always bounce back, there’s nothing different this time.’ He was so certain, and I felt comforted just by the assured tone of his voice, and the fact that it was Jacques who said it. Jacques, who knew every business decision I’d made for years, and had stood by my side whether they worked or not.

  But I couldn’t shake this feeling. It was the smell of the cologne that those business types wore when they sat in my club, offered up money like it was nothing, offered me a pat on the head and suggested I take their offer. It was feeling small and out of my depth, with those sharks out there trying to take my business.

  Mostly, it was that nibbling suspicion that I might just not be good enough to make it work this time. Razzle and dazzle took a certain something, and every day we haemorrhaged money, the more I lost it.

  * * *

  The night finished early, really, considering its beginnings. We walked back to the station, lazy and relaxed, before passing a bar with music spilling out into the street. Before I realized what was happening, Jacques had grabbed me by the hand and pulled me inside, right up to where the DJ was.

  God, it feels good to dance.

  To move my body in time with something, and smile and twist and jump. It felt like what we were made for, what I was made for. We only danced for about ten minutes, working up a sweat and grinning wildly at each other, before Jacques pulled us back out into the street.

  He nodded at me, like he’d achieved something mighty. And perhaps he had.

  We said our farewells at the tube station, and I felt better than I had in months.

  * * *

  That feeling of euphoria and wellbeing lasted just until I reached my front door. Or rather, Sam’s front door. I knocked, just to say thanks for dealing with my mother yesterday. His usual gruff call to enter rang out in the corridor, but when I walked into the living room, I was surprised to find my mother there. She was sprawled out on the sofa with a cigarette, her head back, lounging.

  ‘Mum? Are you smoking?’ I blinked.

  ‘Oh, hello, darling, yes,’ she replied, smiling at Sam. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Okay…’ I looked at Sam, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Your mother was worried about you, you didn’t leave a note,’ he recited simply, his eyes telling me how ridiculous he found that.

  ‘I was terribly lonely, in London by myself, my daughter disappeared off God-knows-where. So Sam very kindly invited me in.’ My mother’s voice was forceful, but there’d clearly been a couple of glasses of wine tonight.

  We both knew Sam hadn’t invited her anywhere. My mother was a bulldozer.

  ‘Jacques took me out,’ I supplied. ‘Work stuff.’

  My mother sighed dramatically, and Sam’s eyes crinkled in sympathy. ‘We saw the review.’

  ‘Everyone reads that shitty rag now?’ I couldn’t help myself. Bad enough to have been dressed down by both a critic and my mother in the same day. Worse that she should think she’s right.

  ‘He agreed with me about the chicken,’ she said, triumphant.

  There was no way I was going to get to talk to Sam now, and I felt a pang of loss. Strangely, even a tinge of jealousy that my mother now got to occupy that space that was once mine. I used to sit on that sofa at this time of night, chatting about my day, sharing my news, listening to music on the record player. It was never a hug, or a kiss on the forehead, but it felt like a goodnight routine. One that was ours.

  ‘Okay, I guess I’ll go to bed then.’

  Sam gave me an inscrutable look. It could have been an apology, a cry for help, or a reminder to
buck myself up and get the hell on with it. I ignored him.

  ‘I talked to someone about you today,’ my mother said suddenly, looking up at me. ‘I told him about your club.’

  ‘Right…’

  ‘He said he was a fan, he’d heard of the place and how great it was. He said you’ve got an excellent location.’

  ‘Who was this man?’ I blinked, suddenly exhausted.

  She shrugged, ‘Derek, I think he was called. We got chatting and he asked why I was in town, and I said I was here to see my daughter who ran a club. And how surprised I was, and what it was like.’

  ‘That’s nice, Mum, I’m glad you shared your disappointment with a random member of the public.’ I smiled too widely, baring my teeth.

  She shook her head, irritated. ‘Always on the defensive. Didn’t I teach you that criticism was power?’

  ‘Yeah, the person who criticizes has the power!’ I yelped. ‘Look, it’s been an eventful few days. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.’

  ‘I’ll be down later, darling!’ Mum called out behind me, and I winced a little at how clear her intentions were. Sam was way too smart to fall for her bullshit. But I still felt a little guilty.

  Chapter Eight

  That afternoon in the club, the staff were like schoolchildren, heads bowed over pieces of paper at the tables. Some scribbled furiously, others tentatively. A few wrinkled their brows and bit the ends of their biros, struggling to write anything at all.

  Aria looked up at me and grinned, giving me a cheeky wave before returning to the anonymous questionnaire Jacques had printed out. Smart arse. I liked her more and more.

  I was busying myself checking stock and wondering whether I should taste that blood orange Martini for the hundredth time to see if it really was as boring as the reviewer said. Well, that and looking over at my staff every five minutes to see if they had finished writing.

  The door creaked open and a gentleman walked in. He was tall, older, wearing a grey suit with his jacket still pristine even with the weather outside. His head was bald, not shaven, and he strode in with the set of his shoulders trying to tell me he was somebody important. Instead, I didn’t even need to wait for him to get across the room before I smelled the cologne. Another suit, another offer, another day.