Not before noon

(or Francis and Nadine get a drink in Stockholm)

With God’s own grace, Francis sat at the bar on a stool, working his nail under the seal of a bottle he had climbed up on the counter, reached above, and stolen. The bartender had been on the toilet or something for at least half an hour.

It’s alright before noon as long as the bottle’s square, or, it’s alright before noon if it’s not a screw-off, to have a drink. He couldn’t remember.

Nadine sat next to him and watched with her head down. Once he had scraped the seal off up to the cap, she wrinkled up her nose.

“Forget that one, let’s try another.”

He climbed the stool again and then the counter, and stretched his right arm high, as high as he could. He wrapped two fingers around a dusty blue bottle of Curaçao. Nadine wrinkled up her face again.

“Try the green one, next to it.”

Francis pulled down a heavy, green, expensive looking gin. It was dusty as well, but he didn’t worry about the dust. This time, in only a second, he worked his nail under the metal seal, peeled it open, and found a metal screw-off cap.

“This is nice.” Nadine sipped first, straight from the bottle.

“English, like Beefeater, or something like that. Fancy.”

Francis had a sip as well. Nadine was worried the bartender would notice and they would be in trouble, so she asked Francis to put the green bottle back.

Francis wanted a real, proper drink mixed for him, anyway. And he wanted a real, intellectual conversation, over a proper drink. There was nobody else in the bar, and still no bartender.

Francis got up off his barstool and stepped outside in to the cold. Nadine followed him. Francis was glad he had on a good jacket. Nadine had reminded him to wear his. They walked together, just around the corner. In the next place, they sat down, Francis in the stool to the right, Nadine to the left. Francis took off his jacket.

Two bartenders ran back and forth, bringing water, nuts, sweets, and what looked like hand made tiramisu to guests. It was impossible to get their attention, they were moving so quickly.

Nadine asked Francis,

“What’s up, wanna talk?”

Francis was frustrated. “Nadine, I can’t talk to you sometimes. I want to have a proper, intellectual conversation. You miss the cultural references, I don’t think you know about America or France or the World. You laugh at the wrong things.”

Nadine was a bit smarter than Francis, actually, but she didn’t want to start a fight about it. Nadine liked to keep the peace. She would find someone else nice to talk to, about something more practical, if she could just get a beer or something.

“Not before noon, sorry” replied the bartender nicely. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other guests.”

Back in to the cold they went. The sun was nearly as high as it could get, but it didn’t do much to warm anything up. Francis was no good at guessing the time from the position of the sun anyway.

Francis and Nadine shuffled together in to the next place. They couldn’t find two barstools next to each other, so they sat on either side of a young lady who looked dressed for work, Francis to the right of the lady, and Nadine to the left.

Francis was still aching for an intellectual conversation, so he started with her. “Hey, where are you going, dressed like that?”

This lady wore a lot of makeup and good shoes, and Francis thought she must have a good job, working in a department store or a bank. She was on her phone. She looked up at him.

“I’m going to work.” She looked back down in to her phone.

Francis had a pretty great job too, doing maintenance at the university and fixing machines in the small cafeteria where everything always seemed to be breaking. The university put two soda machines, two buffets, two mocha drips next to each other, since one or the other would stop working so often. Almost as soon as Francis fixed one, the other would break again. Nobody knew why. They were glad they had two of each, and Francis to fix them before they both broke. He was really good at fixing the machines in the cafeteria, really good with his hands in general. At least one of each machine was always working.

Francis was proud to live in a country where he could make an honest living doing honest work like that, fixing machines with his hands. He didn’t read too much and wouldn’t have said he was a smart man, but he liked doing good, honest work and was proud that he could do something smart people couldn’t, fixing things right then and there with his hands. He read that his university had a good reputation internationally. Poeple from all over the world ate in that cafeteria and used the machines he repaired. He listened to them talk, while they ate.

“I’m going back to the states the day I graduate. Do you know how much they’ll pay an engineer in the US? Guess how much my old job offered me to come back with a master’s degree?”

“A hundred grand?”

“More.”

Francis waved down a bartender and asked for a proper drink, mixed.

“Not before noon, sorry,” said the bartender nicely. It wouldn’t be fair to the other guests. The kitchen is open, we’re serving starters, mains, and dessert.”

This place was not so busy, so the bartender had time to chat.

“What do you think about all of this impeachment business in America?”

Francis smiled.

Nadine perked up, wrinkled up her nose, and interrupted from the other side of the lady who was on her phone.

“I reckon it will never happen. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a President out? You need something like 70% of senate votes, and the senate leans Republican,” Nadine said.

“Besides, Americans hate a liar more than an idiot, and they couldn’t even get rid of red-faced Clinton.” She laughed.

The bartender smiled.

Francis looked at Nadine unhappily.

“I heard on the news that they’re going to get him. He’s in clear violation of the law, of the constitution, it’s a very gettable offense.”

“Where did you hear that?”

Francis shrugged.

“Every week somebody thinks they’re going to get him. I reckon it will never happen.”

The bartender took pity on them.

“Who do you work for?” he asked Nadine.

“I used to work for the alcohol permit agency, actually, inspecting places. You’re supposed to serve a starter, a main, and a dessert, if you’re serving drinks, you know. What are you serving now?”

The bartender handed her the menu.

“Everything you see on the menu, we serve.”

Nadine looked at the menu, carefully reading each section, but just out of curiosity.

“How’s the tiramisu?”

“It’s pretty great. It tastes fresh, but it’s actually frozen, from the Italian restaurant around the corner there.”

Nadine thought.

“That should be illegal.”

“It’s really good, I promise. We have fresh fruit and other desserts, if you want something fresh instead.”

She thought again.

“I love tiramisu, it’s ok. I’ll try it.”

The bartender smiled, and took pity again.

“Well, it’s noon now, would you like a proper drink?”

Nadine ordered a beer.

“And you, man?” he asked Francis.

“A martini, stirred, please. Do you have anything international on the menu?”

“I think tiramisu is Italian. It comes from the Italian restaurant just up the street there.”

Francis thought for a moment. He watched the bartender slowly stir the martini he had ordered, and listened to the gentle clack-clacking of the metal against the glass. His nose and his eyes wrinkled up.

“Anything french?”

“We serve croissants for breakfast, but breakfast ended at noon.”

Francis looked around, at some of the other guests, who were finishing croissants they had ordered minutes ago. They were ready for proper drinks, now.

“I’ll have the tiramisu.”

The others started to order their drinks, and the bartender served Francis his martini. He took it and smiled. Nadine sipped her beer, and smiled when she noticed herself in the mirror against the wall, under the shelves full of bottles. Francis was really, really glad to have a proper drink.