8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Kai Moreno
“Okay karaoke. It’s in the name.”
The last note hangs in the air longer than anybody wants it to.
I drop the mic back into its stand like I meant to do that the whole time.
Be cool. The room claps, a little too loud and a little too drunk for my liking.
Someone whoops while a group of newcomers bang on the table like they’re trying to wake the actual dead.
“Thank you, thank you,” I say, already backing off the stage. “I’ll be here all week. Unfortunate for all of us.”
Every night there’s a different host for the karaoke machine.
Tonight, one of the newcomers volunteered.
He gives me a look that says, “I know you’ll be back up here before the night is over.
” And, he’s probably right. I blow him a kiss and slip behind the bar where I belong. Where I get paid to belong.
The cellar smells like citrus peel, spilled beer, and the faint burn of whiskey that never quite leaves the wood of the bar. I grab a towel and start wiping down the counter like I didn’t just bare my soul to a room full of strangers via an overly dramatic power ballad from the 80’s.
A regular named Thomas slides onto a stool in front of me. He’s an older guy with kind eyes, who must’ve transitioned a lot later than most in here did. Beau says this place is for everyone though. Thomas always drinks rye and soda like it’s his own moral stance.
“Hell of a set,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply. “I like to remind people that I contain multitudes and at least one of them involves me being loud.” He laughs as I pour his drink without him asking. Muscle memory is a beautiful thing. Bartending is new to me, so I’m learning as I go.
“You always do that,” he says, nodding at the glass.
“Consistency is sexy,” I say. “Or, so I have been told by absolutely no one.”
He takes a sip and sighs like the world might be tolerable after all. “You ever think about doing that professionally?”
“Singing?” I ask. “No. I enjoy both eating and sleeping indoors.”
He chuckles. “So how’d you end up here, then?”
I slide the drink toward him and lean my elbows on the bar. “Long story or medium tragic with a little mystery?”
“Dealer’s choice.” Thomas grins and holds his drink up to me.
“I used to work retail,” I say. “Nearby place, actually. Folding shirts and trying to smile through my soul leaving my body. You know. The American dream.”
“Ah,” he says. “Say no more.”
“I will say more,” I continue. “Because, then the store downsized, which is a polite way of saying I got kicked out of the capitalist lifeboat. Rent didn’t care and neither did my student loans.
Things got weird fast.” He nods slowly, listening while trying not to look like this is the most agonizing conversation of his life.
“Then, this guy, Beau, had this bookstore,” I say.
“He needed help. Bookseller position. Part time at first. I said yes so fast I almost sprained something.”
“And the bar?”
“Side quest,” I say. “Also, rent. Also, I like talking to people who won’t remember it tomorrow.”
He lifts his glass. “Well. Thanks for the song and the fantastic as usual drink, Kai.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “Please forget this conversation by tomorrow.” He laughs and wanders to one of the pool tables. I turn to grab a clean shaker and nearly collide with the woman from earlier, who has appeared like a particularly stylish ghost.
“I’m Kalevala. What’s your name?” She questions. I pop open the shaker to fill it with new salt.
“Kai. You’re new here. You gotta be careful around Beau. He has a temper, ma’am.”
“Pshhh. I have no issue with a temper. Besides the point, you were incredible,” she says, leaning against the bar. “Truly. I felt emotionally manipulated in the best way.”
“High praise,” I reply. “I aim to destabilize. I think that’s the word.”
She smiles, eyes bright. “You really do have a great voice, Kai.”
“And you have excellent taste,” I say. “Clearly flawed, but excellent.”
“I like it,” Kalevala purrs.
“That makes one of us,” I reply smoothly. “What can I get you?”
“Whatever you think suits me.” She throws a wink at me. I’m suddenly both uncomfortable and intrigued.
I look her up and down. “Since you’re into things that you will 100% regret later, I know just the drink!”
“Perfect.” She smirks. I watch as Kalevala makes her way to nearly every corner of the speakeasy.
She sits down on one of the velvet couches, drags her hand across the curtain that lines the walls, and scans the patrons like she might be about to set off a bomb in here.
She acts like she’s never seen one of these places before in her life.
Which is odd because no one is ever that bewildered by this place.
I make the drink, slide it over, and rest my chin on my hand. “Careful though,” I add. “I have a habit of disappointing people.” Good one, Kai. You fucking idiot.
Taking a sip and flashing me a grin, she says, “I have a habit of not learning my lesson.”
“Then, no worries. We’re on the same page,” I say. The tall woman laughs, shaking her head, just to wander off with the drink. I pick up the towel again, wipe the counter, and hum under my breath. I am so glad that’s over.
Another song begins. Another drink to be made. Another night where I am exactly where I am supposed to be. What I consider my home and who I consider my family.