Cut Off, Part 2
A short work of fiction
(In case you haven't read it, here's Part 1)
Dave finished his water slowly, the cold sinking into stomach. As bar patrons filtered out, he watched them say their goodbyes, making connections with friends on the way to the damp evening outside. Hugs, handshakes and the occasional arm around the shoulder were those gestures he noticed particularly, feeling a slight pang of envy with each held hand or stolen kiss. And as each couple or group passed through the front door, his glance returned to Suzy, wiping the bar, occasionally bussing a glass or tossing an empty food basket’s wax paper lining smeared with ketchup into the trashcan.
She was avoiding him now, not making eye contact. And as he felt the awkwardness grow, he knew he was going to have to confront this bitch. The vodka in his belly had stoked a nice warm glow of confidence inside of him. He was slowly coming to realize that he was going to do it.
"Finally" he thought with a grin.
With a quick look around, Dave realized he would soon be the last in the bar, and he didn’t want to be. Raising his hand to get Suzy’s attention, he asked for a cup of coffee to go. Suzy, with her face almost expressionless, went to the coffee pot and poured it into a Styrofoam cup.
“Cream or any sugar?” she asked hesitantly as she extended the coffee onto the bar in front of Dave. Her opposing hand drifted below the bar, presumably to the coffee condiments hidden somewhere below.
“Black is fine, thanks”, Dave said as he picked up the cup and took a sip. Grimacing slightly from the bitterness of the burnt brew, he asked, “How much do I owe you?”
Suzy laughed slightly “That coffee is pretty old. It was gonna go down the sink soon anyway, so don’t sweat it.”
“Well, thanks” he said as he stood and stretched his legs, placing the coffee down and turning to get his jacket from the back of his barstool. In his head he was chanting, “Be cool” trying to maintain, not give any outward signs of his excitement of what was to come so soon, so very soon. He suppressed a giggle.
Dave slowly put on his jacket, zipped up the front and grabbed his coffee off of the bar. He sipped one more time and raised the glass saying, “It’s not too bad really”.
As he began to leave, Suzy told him “You be careful out there”.
“No problem” Dave said over his shoulder on the way to the exit. He turned his butt to the door and cocked his hip to open it while he took one long last look at Suzy, his little tasty treat, memorizing her size, her hair. He took a quick look at John sitting at the door, mumbled "Later," and proceeded on out into the night.
Dave turned from the front door of the bar and assessed the parking lot. He’d cruised by this place at least a dozen times over the past week. The parking area was large, but the side and back sections were unlit.
Directly in front of the bar, bright lights attached to poles extending straight up from the corners of the building adequately lit the first two rows of cars. Five rows deep, where Dave’s Firebird was parked, the shadows grew very long and a large fence, with an evergreen hedge about six feet high in front of it served as a noise barrier for the adjoining neighborhood.
The side lot was across Redding Drive, a two-lane street that served as a back way into the neighborhood beyond, the spaces for cars facing a vacant lot. There had been a restaurant here before, some sort of steak house or fish place. Dave couldn’t remember, but it had burned down four months ago and all that was left was a foundation waiting for new construction. A mud caked backhoe sat on the backside of the lot, its tracks sunk into the ground thanks to the recent stretch of rain.
Dave walked directly to his car, momentarily dodging a patron in a Toyota Corolla on his way out of the parking lot home, keeping his face down and out of the car’s headlights. Dave quickly opened his car door and plopped down into the driver’s seat. He felt good, he felt anxious, and he felt under the seat for the pint of vodka he knew was there. Taking a big pull from the bottle of Smirnoff, he looked in his rearview mirror at the front of the bar.
The straight vodka warmed his core, stoking the fire that wanted to consume a cute little bartender named Suzy.
Some places you say he drinks water, then its vodka? Is he drinking water because its the end of the night? Then she gives him some coffee and its to go, but he lifts his glass... is he finishing the drink? Its little but makes the reader flinch. I don't think you need the last line, we get the idea, and you weaken it by exlpaining. In a couple places--the ketchup basket description, it might be neat if she actually ate one of the other people's leftover french fries before tossing it, to give her character some shape, in a the same space you describe the basket. Interesting beginning... and.... !!! He better not hurt her!! Is he a punk?
You could set the bar up inside more, too. Make us smell it, see the floor, the tables, is it dark, carpeted, what kind of shirt does she wear, are the buttons buttoned low, is there a t shirt on instead, is she wearing make up, has he kissed her? What does he wear, what is his relationship to that car --men in a word or two talk wonders about cars. (Comment this)