𝗔𝗰𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀

One

Rebecca Caruso

Fri,  Aug  31, 9:34 AM
Chris:
Got us dinner reservations.
111 W Kinzie St. 6 PM.

I stood adjacent, triple-checking the address listed on my messages.

Nestled between a corner CVS Pharmacy and an above-ground parking garage entrance, the unnamed restaurant revealed itself only through a black-painted ship-lapped door.

Christopher provided a link that allowed me to catch a glimpse of the restaurant. The place, known as The Alcove, was described as a modern interpretation of prohibition-era bars. The website even showcased tonight's entertainment lineup, which included the legendary blues guitarist and Chicago native, Buddy Guy.

On a typical work night, Christopher would often suggest Portillo's, Culver's, or the nearby McDonald's as our go-to quick pick-me-up. But this wasn't our usual post-work routine; it was a special occasion, one I had desperately tried to avoid:  An official marriage proposal.

"Fuck me," I muttered through gritted teeth, sliding my phone into my back pocket, wincing from the mental despair. There was also a hint of anger at the blindsightedness of it all. 

I should have seen it coming.

With cautious steps, I descended the stairs into a magnificent subterranean area. The space took me by surprise, bearing a striking resemblance to Union Station, yet it was adorned with diverse lighting and organic decor, effectively dividing the different areas.

There were numerous speak-easies and bars in the Chicagoland area, and I knew that many of them had some kind of retro theme. While that was cool, nothing compared to lounging on the sofa in comfy pajamas, sipping on an Old Style, and binging your favorite show on Netflix. I would choose pajamas over those two-inch black booties any day.

A captivating sight awaited me near the stairwell: a grand bar area emanating a golden glow. The bar boasted an impressive lineup of thirty or more leather stools, though only a few people were currently enjoying their drinks from the vibrant, back-lit display.

Opting for a seat at the far end of the bar, I took out my phone. It seemed nearly impossible to find Christopher amidst this packed venue. It would be best for him to come to me. I couldn't help but wish to expedite the entire ordeal.

"Massive crowd. Can't find you. I'm at the bar,"  I texted, accompanied by clinking beer mug emojis."You want a drink?"  Because, honestly, I could use one myself.

"What can I get you tonight, miss?" a nearby voice asked casually.

I glanced up to find a bartender patiently waiting for my order. He sported a hairy appearance and wore a neon Hawaiian shirt, with an almost mischievous smile on his face. 

"Can you make White Russians?" I asked, hoping he could fulfill my request. The combination of vodka, coffee liqueur, and cream wasn't a common drink found in bars around town, but I had a feeling this place would accommodate such a specific order. Plus, I needed something strong to help me get through the evening.

"It's not listed on the menu, but I can sure whip one up for you, beautiful."

Called it.

My inner palm trembled noting Christopher must have texted back. I quickly thanked the bartender and glanced down at my phone again.

Fri,  Aug  31, 5:58 PM
Chris:
All good. In the men's room, meet you soon.

I smirked disapprovingly, knowing all too well his tendency for nervous shits.

"Here's your drink, darling," a voice interrupted my thoughts.

I looked up to find a chilled glass resting on a golden coaster, its contents perfectly layered and invitingly close.

"Thanks," I replied instinctively, accompanied by a forced smile, "it looks great." My mind, however, remained elsewhere.

"Not many ladies are familiar with the dude's drink. I take it you've seen the movie?" The bartender smoothly added, placing a neatly folded beverage napkin beside the glass. "It wouldn't be right if I messed it up. For the dude's sake, you know. Only the best. Go ahead, take a sip."

Disappointing people was something I did without hesitation, and this time was no exception. I glanced down at the blinking cursor in my message box, paying no attention to the man tending the bar.

"PLZ tell me you're not proposing," I replied to Christopher.

Instantly, three small blue dots appeared.

Fri,  Aug  31, 6:02 PM
Chris:
And if I am?

"I thought we talked about this." I replied. 

The bartender, still lingering, leaned in and interrupted, "I'm curious, are you going to try this thing anytime soon?"

"Frank!" The bartender immediately turned, knowingly facing the person who vociferated his name, "What did I tell you?"

Sitting a few stools away from me, towards the center of the bar, was a man in a sensible brown leather jacket and black jeans. His worn-out face reflected deep displeasure as if he had endured a day straight from hell. Irritation shone in his eyes as he addressed the bartender, "Have Eve take over the bar. You're off for the night."

"Oh c'mon,"  Frank rebutted. "I wasn't even doin' anything."

"You're stalking the customers... again," the stranger remarked, taking a sip of his vodka on the rocks.

"Nah, we were just talking," the guy replied, facing me. "Isn't that right, darling?"

"I'm actually waiting on someone," I said, using the gold-colored cocktail straw to mix my drink, observing the unfolding drama.

"You see," the other person added.

"This is bullshit," Frank muttered, removing his black apron. "You ain't even our boss."

"Any more words out of that mouth of yours and I'll make it permanent, got it?" He turned to face me, his eyes sincere yet filled with guilt and empathy. I couldn't quite decipher whether he was about to apologize for his words or the actions that had transpired.

Before I could utter a word, Christopher intervened, stepping between us and capturing my attention with his intense gaze.

"Hey Beck," Christopher said casually, his words drowning out the conversation between the bartender and the stranger. "You ready? I've got something special in store for us tonight."