Chicago Noir (III)

The bartender notices your diverted attention. "Your friends looking for ya?"

You shrug. "Probably." He slides down the counter a bit to be more directly facing the two girls.

He starts up with, "Are you guys out celebrating or just hanging out?"

DANGER (watch yourself), cocksucker is trying to steal them!

Not that you really care. Fucking bartenders. That shit ain't happening.

Get back here. "Hey, actually, can I get a Red Bull as well?"

You're about finished with your beer anyways. You notice that both the girls are also drinking beers. Odd. Typically, birds here keep to the fru-fru martinis, coconut or something awful -- stuff that gets you drunk shockingly fast. That's the goal for these girls anyways. But that's...

"Vodka Red Bull? Jeah, no problem." He turns away from the girls. You turn to the girls.

Your turn. "You going to be here for a while tonight?" A little too direct.

Closer turns around and awkwardly leans back with her elbow against the bar trying to get some distance. You can still smell the Heineken on her breath. And, fuck her. Green Eyes peers around her friend.

Green Eyes, flirtatiously, "I dunno."

You give her a puzzled look, "Kay."

She caves. "I'm Amy by the way." You do introductions quickly.

You notice the bartender has finally gotten around to serving the chumps behind you. Too bad. You see him starting up your Red Bull. Never having had any interest in another drink right now, "Hey, um, can you 86 that Red Bull?"

He walks all the way back to you before saying anything, "Andy, and yeah no problem." The girls introduce themselves. What a fucking snake.

The bartender is tough to beat straight up. It makes no sense really, but somehow their presence on 'the scene' trumps the career card. All the wannabe-socialite scenester chicks at these places are obsessed with networking the bartenders. Probably so they can drop names.

'Blah blah I was talking to Todd at Violet Hour about blah blah.' 'Who's Todd?' 'Oh my god, he's the bartender there, he's so cool blah blah blah.'

Can't imagine a guy ever trying to drop names of hostesses -- that would be pretty fucking hilarious.

Closer is telling some story about getting hit on by Vince Vaughn at Underground. If the story is remotely true, you feel a bit sorry for Vince. This girl probably tells this story about how she shot down Vince Vaughn three times a week. Green Eyes looks amazingly bored. Andy, the bartender, looks enthralled. Fair trade.

You grin at Green Eyes. "Smoke?"

"Um, you can't." She looks very confused.

"Nah, outside."

"Um, no thanks. I don't, sorry."

"How do you feel about second hand?"

"That it's disgusting." Ouch. That's not very playful.

You roll with it. "Wow, a fan of the ban, huh?" (Smoking in bars is banned in Chicago as of January first)

"Yeah..." She goes on and on about how she likes not smelling like cigarettes every time she goes out, i.e. she says the same shit every other girl says. You play nice.

Smoking is a dangerous card to play. Chances are, in Chicago, the girl doesn't smoke. Not just that, but she probably hates smoking and, well, smokers, and you've just put up a pretty big wall if you bring it up. The payoff if she does is pretty high though. If she said 'yeah', you'd have gone outside, Alpha would have joked about how you never smoke and tell the girl that she's 'corrupting' you. You'd play along letting the girl 'spoil' you, and it's not exactly rocket surgery that having a girl getting her kicks by being 'bad' is a good situation for you.

Win some, lose some. You surrender. "Kay, well, I got to catch up to one of my friends, I'll be around."

Green Eyes looks mildly indifferent. Her friend and Andy, the bartender, are still talking. And talking.

You nod to Andy, turn your back, and head outside.