Grab those last two seats at the end of the bar… no surprise the wait is 45 minutes, but we got lucky – we can at least sit with our drinks. Our favorite part about going to the restaurant is getting to wait at this bar with its well-crafted cocktails, omniscient bartenders, and eclectic crowd… half the people here have little pagers that double as coasters. Do you see the scarf of the woman behind me? It’s swirling in some slosh on the bar as she tells a story to her friend with more hand-waving than words, the chaotic pattern of liquid and light reminds me of that painting we saw at the Phillips. She met Don Henley in a coffee shop once! She had not noticed him at the window table, but he kindly called to her and returned her dropped scarf before she’d gotten out the door. Do you think it’s the same scarf mopping up Manhattan now? The pair have stopped on their way to a concert by an Eagles tribute band called Fast Lane; maybe they’ll run into the band over coffee tomorrow. Check out the golf bros at the other end of the bar, the halos of white around their polo sleeves glow against their sunbaked hues… you can tell they showered and changed into different golf clothes before coming out for drinks… they bellow to each other like they are still on the course, fifty yards apart and everything is funny… you’re probably right about their shoes. As they leave, I wonder if they’re piling into golf carts to head to the next watering hole. An older man reaches between us to grab the drink menu in its plexiglass stand… the teal script on black background probably seemed artsy in the natural light of day, but you need to see the fine print if you want to avoid surprise turmeric in your Negroni. The man is with his wife, and they are dressed to the nines, on their way to a swing dance at the historic USO building down the street… he carries himself like retired military and his wife looks like she’s on the red carpet. The man reminds me of my brother before he got sick – he would be about this age. We insist they take our seats since we don’t have long to wait now, and we lean against the wall with a narrow shelf that barely holds our drinks. A hen party giggles in wearing sashes, tiaras and little self-awareness in the crowded space – the bar did not exist before they came in, and they are the featured act in our evening follies now. We conceded a lot of great stories by eloping back in the day, didn’t we? Is the bartender trying to impress them or get them on their way? She is amazing in her efficiency, making eight Cosmos simultaneously, all served up and beautifully garnished, as intricate as any Lindy hop, as entertaining as any tribute band. Our pager abruptly shudders across the shelf, time to eat… The bartender says our tab was paid by the elegant couple who left moments ago… so instead I pay for eight Cosmos, and hand-in-hand we slip back into the night.

Photo by Crew on Unsplash