Chapter 17
“ H ey, pretty ladies, how’s it goin’?”
Kenyon and Jessa turned to get a gander at the dude who’d sidled in-between their barstools to ask his question. True, he was gorgeous. Buff body. Natty shorts. Torso-hugging tee shirt. Tan. Movie-star brunette hair. Perfect teeth. Kenyon immediately wondered how much those pearly whites had cost.
“Can I buy you girls something more to drink?” he pressed on in a bratty staccato American accent.
Kenyon could have sworn he puffed up his chest as he said that, like a peacock making sure to be seen in all its glory.
The women looked at one another, a silent message passing between them.
“No thanks,” Kenyon said, pointing at their fresh strawberry pina colada daiquiris. “We’re fine.”
They turned back to their drinks. He didn’t move, irritating the hell out of Kenyon.
“Aw, come on. One more drink won’t hurt,” he insisted.
“We said ‘no’,” Jessa reminded him.
Not to be rebuffed – his fragile, overblown ego out of control now – he refused to cease and desist. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m…”
He cut off Kenyon with, “I’m a nice guy, I promise.”
“You didn’t let me finish…” she tried again.
“In fact,” he interrupted, “I have a friend who could join us for a nice foursome.”
“Dude!” The bartender cut in. “Go away. The ladies don’t want to talk to you.”
The “dude” scoffed, his face flushing with anger. “Fine. Shit. Just trying to be friendly here.” He skulked away.
“Thanks, Bart.” Kenyon read off his name tag and offered a hand to the bartender. They shook. Jessa did the same.
“He’s been like that all week with every woman who comes in.” Tall, thin, and blond, with a relaxed American accent, Bart shook his head. “Some guys just don’t get it that not all women want to be honored with the glory of their domineering presence.”
“We were just talking about that very thing yesterday while lounging at the pool,” Jessa said. She ate the strawberry that floated on top of her drink then took a big slurp through the stripy straw.
They’d put on their beach coverups after swimming in the ocean and come into the bar, which wasn’t busy this time of day. Jessa had talked Kenyon into having an alcoholic beverage for a change.
“I promise one drink won’t get you drunk,” Jessa insisted.
“It better not,” Kenyon snarked. “I don’t ever want to do that again. Once, the night before my wedding – well, you know, my wedding-funeral – that one night was enough sloppy, mindless, falling down drunkenness to last me forever.”
They’d been happily chilling out, sipping on their drinks that promised not to get them drunk, until so rudely being interrupted.
“Tell me, please,” Bart said now that the intruder was gone, “what would it look like for a guy to get your attention in a good way? Not like that.” He gestured toward the door where the dude had stormed out.
“Let’s say you’re in a bar in the evening and a guy wants your attention. What should he do?”
“Let’s see,” Jessa said. “For me it would have to be subtle, romantic, or funny in a good way.”
“Yeah, me too,” Kenyon said. “Like if we went to pay our bill and it was paid. We’d ask who paid and the bartender would point him out. We’d wave thanks, he’d nod in response, and then we’d smile.”
Bart’s brow furrowed. “I see. That’s very specific. Would you go over to him to say thank you?”
“Sure.” Jessa shrugged.
“Then we’d start to chat and take it from there.”
“I see. What else might a guy do?” he asked. “Say, earlier in the evening if he doesn’t want to wait until you’re leaving.”
“If there’s dancing, he could ask a lady to dance, of course.” Kenyon put out her arms in a dance posture. “But he’d have to smell nice and be a good dancer. That would be romantic.”
“At least a decent dancer. You know, not a total dork.” Jessa did a comical seated facsimile of the jerk, the spastic dance from decades earlier. “Or a fun dancer tearing up the dance floor in a good way.”
“What if there’s no dancing?” Bart asked.
“Well, let’s see.” Kenyon tapped her fingers on the bar. “He could be direct, as long as he does it respectfully.”
Jessa agreed. “Yeah, he could come up to us but not wedge himself in-between us like the dude did. He’d come over to the side and lean in a bit.”
“He’d be polite.” Kenyon lowered her voice. “‘Excuse me, ladies. I’d like to buy you each a drink. Do you mind?”
“If we pointed out we had drinks, he’d offer to pay for what we had.”
“Then he’d ask if he could sit down. If we said no, we came for girl time, he’d wish us well and walk away.”
“If we said yes, he’d sit down, and we’d chat. But he definitely would not interrupt when we’re talking like some men do.”
“Like that dude did. Hey, Bart, you don’t. That’s nice.” Jessa pointed at him with her drink.
“Thanks. I do my best. My mother taught me well. Excuse me.”
He went around the bar to a table of four that had come in and took their drink orders. After he’d made their drinks and served them, he came back.
“Bart, you’re American,” Kenyon noted. “What brought you to Mexico to be a bartender?”
He put up a finger indicating “wait a minute” and went to the end of the bar to pour a beer for a new customer.
He returned and said, “Need you ask why I came here? Look at this place. Endless beaches. Fabulous weather.” He pointed at them.
“Interesting people. And no snow. That’s a biggy for me. I’m originally from Ohio.”
“Ah, I see,” Kenyon said, nodding. “A scaredy cat who’s afraid of a few little flakes of white stuff.”
He laughed heartily. “Now that you put it that way, yes. A total scaredy cat when it comes to the white stuff. How about you two? What brought you here?”
“Well!” Jessa took her straw out of her drink, sucked out the bottom end, and used it to point at Kenyon. “That’s her story to tell.”
“Oh my. I’m not sure Bart wants to hear my sorry tale of woe.”
“Come on.” He leaned in on his elbows. “Spill. You know my embarrassing story. What’s yours?”
“Oh my, it’s so very much worse than being afraid of snow.
In fact, it’s quite pathetic. You see, it was my wedding, which I’ve dubbed a wedding-funeral.
It’s too long and sordid and pitiful a story to tell right now,” Kenyon declared, lifting her drink in a salute and draining what little remained in the glass.
“Wow. Sounds absolutely pathetic.” Bart said it with such warmth and humor Kenyon couldn’t help but laugh.
“Well, I think it’s time for us to go,” she said. “Jessa, you ready?”
Having already finished her second strawberry pina colada daiquiri, Jessa hopped off her barstool. “Sure.”
“I’ll buy.” Kenyon slipped a credit card out of her pocket and placed it on the bar. She slid it toward Bart.
He slid it back. “That’s okay, ladies. Drinks on me. You’ve made my day.”
“Oh, wow, thanks.” Kenyon put the card back in her pocket.
Jessa said, “Thanks, Bart. You’re a gem.”
They headed for the door, but Kenyon looked back. Bart was watching them walk away. She waved. He waved back and smiled. She smiled. Then she tripped. Jessa caught her arm to steady her. Kenyon looked at Bart again. He chuckled.
They left to be greeted by a gentle, warm rain.
Laughing, they twirled in delight, their wet coverups clinging to their bodies.
“What just happened in there?” Jessa asked as they headed for the pool.
Kenyon threw out her arms, lifted her face to the sky, and turned a circle on her tippy toes. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I, um, don’t know.”
“I think you do know.”
“Was Bart sort of flirting with me?”
“Ah hah. And you liked it.”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
They giggled like schoolgirls and went on their merry way to swim in the pool. Maybe they’d return to the bar later. The girl hoped the boy would smile at her again.