jujitsuelf

Thanks to the wonderful Peaceful_Sands for the read through.

Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended

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Inspired by the incomparable Frank Sinatra singing 'One For My Baby', find it here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD7aWI2favI

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It was one of those bars he’d only seen in movies or on TV. Old, weathered and furnished entirely in dark wood. The bar itself ran the length of the room and was worn smooth and shiny. Generations of fingers and elbows had probably polished it to something like an ice rink. A drink would most likely slide from one end of it to the other. The lights were dim and atmospheric. Whether that was intentional or down to years of ingrained dirt on the lampshades was anybody’s guess. Either way, it made the place feel intimate and cozy, with just the right amount of residual testosterone to proclaim it as a guy’s bar.

There was a pool table in one corner and a battered jukebox in the other. Pretty much the perfect place to mourn the passing of another relationship.

His Jack Daniels had vanished again, it was the third time that had happened. Maybe there was a Jack thief around. He glanced around the room. Nope. Nobody there but him. The clock on the wall said it was a quarter to three in the morning. Jesus, had he been there that long? The last thing he remembered was wandering into the place at around eleven the previous night.

He sighed. How had he managed to mess things up again? Ellie had been great. Pretty, funny, smart, she had a good job and an apartment in Manhattan. She was wonderful, too wonderful for him. He took another desultory pull at his Jack, the burn of it on the way down a nice counterpoint to the chill in his gut. He was on his own. Again. God, would he ever learn to just keep his mouth shut and be satisfied when he found a good thing?

The bartender moved to stand in front of him, one dark eyebrow raised, the Jack bottle in his hand.

“God, yes,” Jake sighed.

A tiny smile pulled at the other guy’s mouth but he didn’t say anything as he poured Jake’s drink.

“My best friend,” Jake crooned sadly, cradling the glass in both hands. “Me an’ Jack. BFFs.”

The smile grew a little but still the bartender didn’t speak. He’d seen broken hearts often enough to no longer be affected by them, Jake supposed. Bastard.

“Ellie...” He breathed as he raised his glass to his lips again. “Fuck.”

The bartender vanished from view, light footsteps on the age-darkened wooden floor told Jake the guy was behind him. The jukebox whirred into life and a smooth piano intro shivered through the warm air.

Frank Sinatra’s voice, rich, wistful and melancholy, followed the piano. ‘It’s quarter to three, and there’s no-one in the place, except you and me...’

Jake smiled sadly into his drink. The measured footsteps returned to the bar and a minute later the slim bartender was a few feet away from him, polishing glasses.

‘So set ‘em up, Joe. I got a little story, I think you should know...’

“Good choice,” Jake murmured.

The bartender shrugged. Jake snorted softly.

“Guess you can read people, huh?”

‘We’re drinking my friend, to the end, of a brief episode. Make it one for my baby and one more for the road...’

“Damn,” Jake said, feeling the knife in his heart twist a little deeper. “This song...crap, could’ve been written for me.”

“Love sucks.”

“Wow, you spoke,” Jake grinned. “Cool. I was starting to think you were a robot or something.”

The guy shot him a ‘bitch, please,’ look before going back to polishing glasses.

“Yeah,” Jake looked down into the swirling amber of his Jack again. “Sorry. My brain’s wonky at the best of times and it gets worse when I’ve just been dumped.”

‘I got the routine, put another nickel, in the machine...’ Sinatra crooned behind them. ‘Feelin’ so bad, can’t you make the music easy and sad...’

“We have sad music,” Jake said. “We even have a jukebox. What kind of a bar has a jukebox these days?”

“My bar,” the dark man said quietly.

‘I could tell you a lot, but you’ve gotta be, true to your code. Just make it one for my baby and one more for the road...’

“Obviously I have less of a code than Ol’ Blue Eyes,” Jake said. “I’d tell you everything and you’d get sick of the sound of my voice. Just like everyone else does.”

“Self pity, not attractive.”

“Thanks, dude. I feel much better now.”

The bartender shrugged again. Not his problem.

“I’m a disaster as far as relationships go,” Jake sighed. “Girls, guys, I screw things up whoever I’m with.”

“So don’t screw up next time.”

Jake frowned. How nice must it be to have an outlook that simple?

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled, knocking back the rest of his drink.

‘You’d never know it, but buddy, I’m a kind of poet and I got a lot of things, I’d like to say...and when I’m gloomy, won’t you listen to me, till it’s talked away...’

“Life’s easy,” the bartender said. “Don’t screw up, don’t fall in love and don’t spend more than you can afford.”

“I’ve broken every one of those rules.” Jake massaged his temples. “I’m a jerk.”

“Probably,” the guy agreed. “Your girl tell you that?”

“Among other things,” Jake replied. “I think she used every cuss word known to man as she threw my clothes out of her apartment window.”

“You sleep with her sister?”

“No!” Jake wondered whether punching a bartender was completely illegal. “She said she got bored of me talking constantly and never showing up for dates on time and always thinking about work and never paying her any attention and forgetting her birthday and our one year anniversary and her mother’s birthday...”

“She was more trouble than she was worth if she wanted you to remember her mother’s birthday.”

“I guess,” Jake rubbed his eyes. Damn it was late, he really needed to go home. “Being dumped sucks though.”

“Yep,” the bartender nodded, but there was no sympathy in his dark eyes, only the hint of another smile.

‘Well, that’s how it goes and Joe I know you’re getting anxious to close...thanks for the cheer, I hope you didn’t mind, my bending your ear...’Sinatra’s voice was everything Jake was feeling put into raw emotion and set to music.

“He was good,” Jake rasped, the Jack still burning his throat. “My mom loved to listen to him sing.”

“Classics never age.”

“What are you, a pocket philosopher?” Jake asked.

“Nope, just a bartender.”

‘But this torch that I’ve found, it’s gotta be drowned, or it soon might explode...so make it one for my baby and one more for the road...’

“Ya know, I think Jack is the best cure for a broken heart.” Jake smacked his lips appreciatively.

“Not broken.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not broken hearted. If you were, you’d be home alone, in front of the TV, crying into your dinner.”

“Maybe a little bruised then?”

“Maybe.”

‘The long...it’s so long....the long...very long...’ The piano wound to a close as Sinatra trailed off. Silence filled the bar again, somehow less unfriendly than it had been before.

“I’m Jake,” Jake said, feeling brave and maybe a little foolish.

The bartender looked at him for a long moment, then said, “Cougar.”

“Good name,” Jake smiled.

Cougar grinned back, white teeth shining in his tanned face. “Another?”

Jake nodded wordlessly and pushed his glass over the bartop. Cougar poured two shots, handed one to Jake, then touched their glasses together.

“I don’t do birthdays or anniversaries.”

“Good to know,” Jake smiled, and drank his Jack.