Going Viral
Daniel
Stuart, Jen and the younger two of their kids are walking ahead of me. Stuart, my sister’s husband is stocked up with snacks. Deirdre has a foam finger and is whacking Liam on the head with it. I snort a laugh as my sister tries to wrangle her eight-year-old twins into behaving. Not possible, they’re a pair of terrors.
Not like Elliott, he’s all about the Cubs and doesn’t care about his younger siblings on game day. He has a baseball game with his little league team tomorrow but today is about his favorite team.
Having the box here is great for business, but when my nephews and niece get to use it, it’s a million times more fun.
Elliott sticks with me, rolling his eyes as his mom confiscates the finger and scolds them both into behaving. Who needs kids when I can spend time with these three, then leave when things get rowdy.
“Hey Uncle Dan, what do you think the score is going to be today?” Elliott bounces beside me. He’s decked out in Cubs merchandise, shirt, hat, a glove, with the ball stuffed in his pocket. “Wanna make a bet?”
“Don’t let your mom hear you gambling, El. And no, because I’m guaranteed to lose and don’t feel like giving you my money today.”
“Aw come on.”
“We’re supporting the same team, kid. You forget that? Why would I bet against them?”
“You don’t gotta. We can just bet on how many home runs the Cubs are gonna get today. Whoever comes closest wins fifty dollars.”
“You have fifty dollars to give me when I win?”
“You won’t win,” he takes out his ball and tosses it.
“That isn’t what I asked. You never make bets you can’t pay up.”
He pulls a face. The kid needs to learn everything isn’t handed to you on a plate. Jen tries her best. In the past she’s given into the kids for an easy life. I won’t be doing that.
“What about if we make the deal a little easier? You win, you get ten dollars. I win, you give me that baseball in your pocket.”
“What? No way.”
“Gambling is a risky business little man. You gotta know what you’re getting into. You don’t want to lose that ball, you don’t make the bet.”
He thinks for a minute, he’s twelve but he’s a smart kid. “Okay, how about this? We do it for fun. No prizes.”
Jen looks over her shoulder at me. We’re inside the stadium in the quieter hall that leads to our private box. She smiles at her son, then me.
“Now that sounds like a better idea. And I think they’re going to get eight.”
“Eight. Jeez Uncle Dan. Do you know this game at all? They’ll be lucky to get two.”
I smother a laugh as he hurries ahead to the door to our box. At least he’s keeping it real.
We were both wrong. Not a single home run, but the Cubs win and that is all Elliott cares about.
As we’re getting ready to head out, an advertisement flashes up on the big screen at the far side of the field. It catches my eye because of the distinctive beer bottle, followed by the sign for Blue’s Hideaway.
It costs a shit ton of money to advertise at Wrigley Field. What the hell is she doing? She has a lawsuit hanging over her.
“Daniel, you coming?”
“Yeah, in a sec,” I say to my sister without taking my eyes off the electronic billboard.
People are being interviewed in the advert. On the streets, in the stands at the ball field, and inside the bar. They are all holding up bottles of 312 grinning as they talk. There is no sound, but subtitles are rolling across the bottom. Each one of them is endorsing the bar and the beer.
Holy shit.
One thing I learned about Blue and that beer, she is determined to never give away the rights, distribute or even consider sharing it outside of the bar.
Is this what it’s come to? Having to go against her uncle’s wishes to raise money for her defense?
My anger rises at Reed fucking Faulkner. What the hell does he need to sue a small bar in Chicago for anyway? He makes more in a week than Blue probably does in a year.
It’s been three days since I spent the night with her. Three days of reliving one of the best nights of my life. Sex had never been like that for me before. Nor have I ever known a woman like Blue.
It seems strange to think of her as anything other than that now. Not once did she tell me to call her by her actual name. In fact, she was more responsive when that was the name I whispered in her ear as I told her all the ways I wanted to fuck her.
I’ve thought a lot about her making me promise not to fall in love with her. What did that even mean? Has she had guys do that before? The ones who used the condoms from the opened box. Raging jealousy has never been something I’ve let get to me. My ex-wife is gorgeous and got her fair share of male attention, but I never doubted her.
Yet she cheated.
The more I think about Blue with other men, the more volatile I get. She’s beautiful, intelligent and a businesswoman who knows what she wants. She will always stand up for herself, her family and her bar. That, more than her skills in bed, of which there are many, make her attractive to me.
Something tells me Blue has more class than to ever purposefully cheat or hurt people. Her integrity and steadfast stance on holding her family beer close is one of her best qualities.
She owned my body the other night and didn’t ask for anything in return, except mutual pleasure.
And a promise not to fall in love with her.
It fucking hurts and pisses me off in equal measure she has been brought to this. It’s not something she will have taken lightly. She is being forced into an impossible choice, which has got to be killing her to make.
It makes me want to beat the living shit out of Faulkner.
One final slogan fills the screen, and I widen my eyes as I read it. ‘Blue’s Hideaway, the home of 312 IPA. Not sold anywhere else .’
Wait, what? This isn’t a campaign to sell her beer outside of the bar. Fuck, my grin spreads.
No, this is a campaign to get more people to the bar, to get the name out there and bring positive attention to Blue’s Hideaway. This is a way to fight it. And she figured that out.
Opening up my social media, I check out their recent posts. Fucking hell, over a million people are following the bar. There is post after post supporting them. #ProtectBluesHideaway is trending.
There is no official post from the bar, but people are making videos of support, calling for witnesses the night Faulkner lost his shit. There is no talk about how a multi-millionaire wants to take Blue’s away from the community. She hasn’t used the lawsuit as an excuse for this. That’s fucking smart.
In amongst all the people commenting, one or two have posted they were outside the bar and saw a man being taken out of the club, drunk, slurring his words, yelling at the security guys who helped him out. Then they say he fell over and smashed his own face into the sidewalk. The security guys were nowhere near him.
A shocked laugh barks out of me. I don’t know how she did it, but she’s figured out an irrefutable way to find anyone who saw what happened outside of the bar that night.
I’m not sure of the legalities. If enough people come forward to say what they saw, and social media continues lamenting Faulkner, this can only bolster her defense against the suit. It’s brilliant.
Faulkner is getting tagged in a lot of the posts too and not in a good way.
She might not have been able to fight them in the courtroom, but the court of public opinion, in these days of social media campaigns, might be what sways it.
Purchasing advertising space at Wrigley Field, is another way to gain support, without pulling a professional baseball team into the situation.
Thousands of people will see it. The intrigue and testimonials will make 312 so popular. Now it’s out there in the millions. It’s a touch of genius.
“Uncle Dan!” A shrill voice breaks me from my focus on the campaign Blue is running to save her livelihood. “I’m hungry, mom says get a move on.”
Pocketing my phone, I scoop up my niece and blow a raspberry on her cheek, making her giggle. There is only so long I’m going to get away with this before she’s a sulky pre-teen and a troublesome teenager.
When I get outside Stuart has tossed all their things into the car and locks it.
“What’s up?” I ask. We’re supposed to be going closer to home for some food.
“We’ve decided to eat down here,” Stuart says. “And all I’ve seen for the past few days is this place which is trending. They sell this exclusive beer I want to try. It’s only a block from here. I checked the website, it’s kid friendly till six so we’ve got time to eat.”
“Do you always have to follow these social media trends?” Jen sighs.
“It’s part of my job. Although I’m more interested in the beer, babe,” he grins. “I’ve heard it’s amazing, and exclusive.”
“You want to go to Blue’s Hideaway?” I set Deirdre down.
“You know it?” Jen asks, eyeing me.
“Kinda.”
“How?”
My sister can bring about the Spanish Inquisition when she wants to know something.
“It’s where Faulkner,” I pause and glance at the kids. Jen understands.
Stuart explains what is happening while the kids toss the ball to each other. Jen doesn’t like Faulkner for the simple fact he punched me in the face. Finding out he is suing a small neighborhood bar pisses her off. Knowing that this trending bar might hurt him, brings out her evil side.
“Now I want to go there.”
“It’ll be packed, Jen. It’s a popular place after the game.”
“I’m sure you can get us a table. You were attacked in there after all.”
“You think I can use that to get us a table?”
I don’t say there are other reasons I could get a table. I’d never expect her to do that for me. Plus, I don’t want to show up for the first time after our night together with my family in tow.
“I’ve just booked us a table online,” Stuart holds up his phone. “Let’s go.”
“Fucks sake,” I mumble.
“Uncle Dan said a bad word.”
“Tattletale,” I poke Liam in the shoulder.
“Yeah, don’t do that,” Elliott says. “One day you’re gonna need Uncle Dan to bail you out of trouble and he’ll remember this.”
“Elliott Bartholomew Gaines.”
Stuart and I share a laugh as Jen lectures her kids, ushering them to the street.
I guess we’re going to see Blue.
As expected, the place is busy, but it’s not rowdy. The Cubs winning has people in a jovial mood. It’s hot inside and the fans are going, the door and windows open. The bar staff are rushed off their feet but we’re shown to a table. It’s close to the bar. The tiny bartender who served me the first time I came in spots me and grins.
“Hey, good to see you,” she looks behind me at Jen and the kids. Her smile falls, and she glares.
“This is my sister and her kids. That’s her husband.”
Not that I need to explain myself. Blue knows I’m divorced. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t expect me to walk in here with my kids, if I had them, either.
Stuart waves holding Deirdre’s hand.
“Ah, okay. Why don’t you all take a seat. Menus are on the table. You can use the QR code to order or give one of us a shout. We have a kid’s menu too for you little guys. Can I get you some drinks?”
We put in our order, all the adults go for the beer, and she heads away. Jen eyeballs me suspiciously but can’t say anything she wants to. I ignore her anyway and look around for Blue. I don’t see her.
Our drinks are delivered amidst the chaos of getting food ordered via the QR code for the kids. Stuart tastes the beer and lifts his brows as he looks at me.
“Whoa, everything they say is true. This is good, right?”
I’m no longer looking at my brother-in-law. Blue is standing by the bar, on the patron side. She’s just passed empty glasses over to the other bartender when she sees me sitting on the outer edge of the booth.
“Yeah,” I say to Stuart without taking my eyes off her. “It’s really good.”