She walked into the bar for the third night in a row and didn't waste any time in getting to a stool at the counter. A thick layer of smoke circled her bobbing head like the nightmares in her defective dream catcher. The room was relatively quiet, save for the lulling music and the droning of middle-aged men trying to be suave and swoon twenty-somethings of the opposite sex into their beds. Not giving any sideward glances to the drunks who had beaten her to the bar, she shrugged off her leather jacket and set herself down in her usual chair.
"Back again?" a voice from the other side of the counter asked.
Before her was a young female bartender. She looked too young to be serving alcohol, but the bar seemed shady to begin with, and it hadn't stopped her from coming in for drinks the last couple of nights.
"Working again?" she countered, looking across the empty space between them. She wasn't a typical bartender, with her vibrant aura and chestnut streaked ebony hair. When she thought of female bartenders, she imagined either a struggling college student or a single mother trying to support the three children her ex-husband had left her after a long and involved affair. This girl was neither.
"You don't seem to be a social drink… What's the matter?" The teen leaned against her side of the bar, eyeing the blond curiously.
Not caring enough to hide any insignificant details, and also desperate for conversation whether she would admit it or not, the customer answered. "I got fired from my job."
The server looked the woman over. Aside from her hair being unkempt and the smudge of mascara under her left eye, she looked pretty wealthy. The real leather jacket and diamond necklace nestled in her bosom gave testament to that.
"Oh? What did you do?"
"I was a professor," she replied as she began studying the girl speaking to her like she had also noticed the social differences between them for the first time. Her beauty was natural, and it flowed out of her like the foam spilling from a full glass of Budweiser. Even if her black bodice and pleather skirt were replaced with one of those potato sacks that homicidal killers hide limbs in, she would still be adorable. "I taught different Calculus and Statistics classes."
The bartender pushed her hip off of the counter, and began to mix up a drink for her customer. Her conversation partner cast her a couple of glances, but didn't object.
"That doesn't sound like a job you just get up and fired from," the young beauty speculated, spraying some clear liquid into double shot glass.
"Don't piss off the Dean," the former professor retorted. The full shot glass was set down in front of her. "What is this?"
"It's called Jolt! Our new blend. Try it, it's pretty good."
"Is it strong?"
"Oh yeah."
"Sounds good already," she took the glass and was about to take a swig but she stopped herself. "Thank you, Ms…"
"The usuals call me Heartilly. But you can call me Rinoa."
The seated woman bowed slightly. "My former colleagues called me Trepe. But you can call me Quistis."
"Okay, Quistis." Rinoa smiled, and Quistis felt her heart skip a beat. They looked each other over, and as Rinoa opened her mouth to say something in hopes of interrupting the strange chemistry building between them, a gruff voice from the other end of the counter ordered another beer. Heartilly, as she was named, walked over to serve him and Quistis felt her eyes stick to the girl the entire time she was gone. Even when dealing with drunken older men, she was as calm and comfortable as could be. Rinoa would adjust a bra strap or pull down on the bottom of the shorts she was wearing underneath her skirt as if she didn't notice the hungry stares on her curves. Feeling like she was probably acting like one of those men, Quistis put her attention back to her drink and her personal problems.
Not long after, Rinoa returned back to Quistis' end of the counter with a cloth in hand. She began wiping down the beer stains on the counter, and Quistis lifted her forearms and her glass out of the way.
"You seem a bit young to be working here," the tipsy blond commented.
"And you look a bit young to be drinking here," Rinoa grinned while gently prying the half empty shot glass from Quistis' loose grasp and setting it on the firm wooden countertop. "But don't worry, I won't ID you."
"I'm twenty five, actually," she squeezed the bridge of her nose between her eyes. Rinoa let out a raspy laugh, trying to hide her amusement because she was convinced that she wasn't the one Quistis was trying to convince.
"Guess how old I am," Rinoa challenged. Once again, her left hip was resting against the counter and her hands were loosely crossed against her chest.
Quistis finished her drink, and instead of slamming the empty glass down on the table like most obnoxious drunks, Rinoa didn't hear it hit the counter. "Old enough to have a boyfriend?"
"Yeah," Rinoa spoke as if she had recited the explanation a thousand times, "he's in the Navy, away on location." A slight hint of nostalgia crept into her voice, but with the way she was playfully slapping the washcloth on the counter no one would have guessed the amount of loneliness she felt.
"Did he give you that?" Quistis lazily nodded to the silver chain with a matching ring resting on Rinoa's chest.
Like she had forgotten it was there, Rinoa quickly reached for it with her fingers and grasped onto it. "Yes. This, and a goodbye kiss."
As casually as ever, Quistis asked, "Is that a Phoenix?"
Impressed and surprised that her conversation partner could decipher the design on the ring, even at the distance and the fact that Rinoa hadn't caught her staring at it, she nodded. "Yeah. If you knew that, I guess you already know what it represents."
Rinoa began to sway, as if she wanted to stand closer to Quistis and confide some embarrassing idea to her. Her lips spoke silent words, and Quistis began to blame the alcohol for the heat she was feeling between her breasts and thighs.
Finally, Rinoa came out with it. "I was thinking… I'd like to go to school. Maybe take some classes, I…"
"Why do you work here?"
"Because it's something girls my age aren't supposed to do," Rinoa smiled back, seeming to be forgetting that she had actually felt shy ten seconds ago.
Quistis pushed her stool back from the counter and stood up. She reached for her jacket, and slid both of her slender arms into the respective sleeves. Rinoa tilted her head back and hoped that she was wearing high heels. Yeah, she probably was, with the long mauve skirt and button-up blouse. Looking down at her own military boots, she felt a blush creep up her neck.
When Rinoa raised her head, she was presented with a little white card.
"If you come upon a decision, give me a call." Quistis said as Rinoa took her card and glanced at it. "At my home phone, of course, since my office phone has been… terminated."
The young girl wiped underneath her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded. "I will, thank you."
"I still have my connections, you know." Quistis reached into the pocket of her jacket and dropped a few bills onto the counter. Feeling overwhelmed, Rinoa bit her bottom lip and slipped the card into one of her boots.
"Cheer up, young one. Worse things could happen." Rinoa caught a glimpse of four perfectly manicured fingernails before they reached around and cupped the back of her head. She had to brace herself by placing her palms on the counter as Quistis gently leaned her forward and kissed her on the cheek.
Rinoa stared at the empty shot glass as Quistis walked away, and wondered if she would be back tomorrow night.