Tarot

The Bar

The warm summer wind was on the brink of turning to the crisp fall breeze. Hang 10 stood dim and quiet nestled between two other bars with brighter neon and louder music. Once the place to be, and the thing to do, but now just another dying business. One that failed to keep up with the latest demands, and trends. The going out of business sign seemed so new compared to all the faded specials signs.

Summer crowds used to pack into the tiny bar, made to look like a tiki hut, for their cheap fruity cocktails and premium view of the beach. Locals and students from the near by university kept it open in the off season with their need for a good Karaoke stage, a trend that died with the fruity drinks, and the owners home grown bud. The bud was long gone as was Bucky. Bucky had been warned that the island vibe was no longer wanted by the crowds. They wanted big town club scenes with craft cocktails and gastronomy not bought in bulk and thrown in a deep fryer.

For a Thursday the run down beach bar was dead - the others down the strip had some business, but not this one. Not a single person other than the bar tender and the bachelorette party for Marie occupied the place. That was the case on most nights anymore since the summer ended and the bar was getting ready to close up for good- going out of business - Bucky died and the sons fought over it till it was in the black. Little stickers on all the generic beach memorabilia said a price adding even more tack to the place - they were trying to sell whatever they could to make more money. Most of their booths and tables had sold, and the Karaoke stage was already disassembled and stacked against a far wall. What was left for the few customers they get daily were the broken or wobbly pieces of mis-matched booths and tables with splintered chairs. The place was desolate and depressing. Perfect for a funeral - or a funeral themed bachelorette party anyway.

Even so, Marie insisted on having her bachelorette party here.

She found it fitting to have her last whore-rah, as she was calling it, in the place she bonded with her now dearest friends- Me, Amanda, Kathy and Jessica, and also where she met her future husband. She found it even more fitting that the establishment was going out of business after the summer- her last summer of being "single". Kismet as she was calling it. She liked feeling like the world was revolving around her. . . and it usually did. She just has that personality that draws everyone in and makes them bow to her.

Her wish was to have the party before the wedding planning even begun, and before the summer was completely gone. She wants a winter wedding but - before she stressed and went Bridezilla- something she admitted she would be, a funeral for single days was a must. A bachelorette party that is funeral themed with sexy black dresses, and dark makeup that would smear as the night passed. She wanted the pictures of the end of the night to look like a emo dream. My Chemical Romance's Helena meets the newest Melissa Mccarthy movie.

The plan: get drunk one last time in the bar her and her best friends (present company included) occupied every summer, walk down to the sand and sit and talk till sobered up- preferably around sunrise, and have the time our of lives in our best death attire.

Not the typical bachelorette party, but her ideal-and fucking brilliant if you ask me. And we, her best friends, made it happen. The owners of the bar had planned for this to be the last night to be open, since the depressing, and obvious, signs of going out of business warred most away they didn't even make us pay to "Rent out" the place. Seth, the oldest son of the deceased, said he was just happy to be able to sell off the liquor. . . and thanks to Kathy and her loose ways we got said liquor discounted.

A typical surfer/bar tender with the athletic muscles, okay face, and a rather grubby man bun laid the ordered shots down on the bar with a smile. He obviously worked here for the lack of drug testing, and was way too grubby to be a student at our Alma mater. Seth waved to Kathy, and she made sure to lean forward a bit more than necessary when picking her glass up. Ignoring their show completely and focusing solely on Marie in her black "Bride To Be" sash with red Gothic letters, I wink at her and hand her the tequila. Amanda clears her throat and we all look over to her. Dressed in our best funeral attire- if the deceased was a gothic stripper- makeup still intact, and with our planned out toasts in mind, we pick up the shots and lift them in the air facing Marie trying our best to look somber in the middle of an almost condemned beach bar with 'Island in the Sun' blaring way too cheerily.