Douglas Yancy Funnie

It was nearing eleven at night. The bar wouldn't stay open much longer. After all, it wasn't a real bar, really a café that served drinks. He wasn't accustomed to frequenting bars. But tonight he needed something stronger to help him sleep. Everything seemed to be falling apart again. And tomorrow night he would be taking the E train to Penn Station, then take the plane back home with his tail between his legs. He knew this would happen. He never should have left Bluffington.

Alone at the lobby bar in a not-so-nice hotel in Queens, a young man of about thirty sat in a green overcoat, fingering a rocks glass swirling with amber liquid. He took a sip and grimaced. What was he doing? The stuff tasted like gasoline. He pushed his drink away.

Dragging a hand over his sandy hair, he glanced at the bartender again. She was putting away glasses and tossing out the fruit in the garnish trays as a subtle hint that yes, they were going to close the bar soon. She was nice enough, though. He didn't want to be one of "those customers" that kept hanging around.

A slight smirk found its way upon his lips despite his mood. She was pretty cute. As she reached up to put away the wine glasses in the high rack, her back to him, he helped himself to an eyeful of her shape. Her white uniform shirt pulled taut across her back. A long, auburn braid hung down her spine, ending at a slender waste at the top of a pert, heart-shaped bottom.

A familiar pang of guilt hit him, but then quickly melted into a newfound sense of grief. Oh yeah, he didn't have to feel guilty about looking. He wasn't engaged anymore.

The bartender turned to him and smiled warmly enough. She had lovely green eyes, but they were hidden under a racoon mask of black eyeliner . And her lips were painted in such a dark red it sort of made her look ghostly pale-faced.

That was one of the many things he loved about Patti. She didn't wear makeup. She felt if a girl was confident enough in herself, she shouldn't need it. Patti didn't think much of girls who used makeup. And so neither did he.

Oh Patti…

"You finished, hon?" the girl asked.

"I-I'm sorry. Are you closing?"

She gave a husky, sort of raspy Janis Joplin laugh. She was a smoker.

"No, honey. It's early. We close at two. I was just wondering because you barely touched your scotch."

"Oh. Right," he said smiling wanely.

"Not a scotch drinker, hmm?" Her full lips tipped to the side.

"Well…heh, no. Not really. I just wanted to try something a little stronger," he said.

" Life treatin' you that bad, huh?"

Douglas laughed ruefully. "Well, yeah. Pretty much."

"Why didn't you say so? Here," she tossed his drink aside and began mixing up something in her mixing tin. She poured him a sort of greenish drink in a glass and handed it to him. "Try this. It's my specialty."

Douglas smiled warily, sniffing the drink. It smelled sweet. He sipped it and smiled. It wasn't bad. Tasted like lime cola.

"Better?"

" It's really good. Thanks a lot, um…Candace, " he said, glancing at her name tag. It was pinned above the low buttoned opening of her lovely, ample bosom. He caught himself and averted his eyes discreetly.

"It's what I'm here for," Candace shrugged, and went back to putting away the wine glasses.

She was really very beautiful, actually. Maybe not his type of girl. A smoker. Wore too much makeup. Kind of a little loose, maybe a tad on the wild side. He didn't much go for girls like that. But then again, how would he know?

He never went for anyone except Patti. She was the only one he ever learned to love.

After he finished his drink, the room began to swirl. Phew, what sort of drink did this girl make him?

"Well, I guess I'd better turn in. Thanks, Candace." He handed her his Visa.

"No problem, hon." She glanced at his card and froze, her large eyes narrowing into slits.

"Doug? Douglas Funnie?"

"Um. Yes," he said uncertainly.

She suddenly gasped, her eyes widening into large green orbs. "Oh my gosh!" She clapped her hands together, laughing. "It's me! Candy! Remember? I used to live next door to you in Bloatsburg."

"Um…sorry, I-I," he began, but stopped.

"Don't you remember, you and my big brother Reggie used to climb the trees outside the apartment building! Judy used to do little skits with my sister and me on the stoop!"

Suddenly an image of a fat little red haired girl with a runny nose covered in freckles and dirty overalls came to mind. His jaw dropped.

"Candy Adams?"

"Yeah!" she squealed.

"I remember!" he said, and suddenly, he did.