Last Call

Soft lighting that dances to the pulse of airy saxophone acoustics makes for a subdued night at Kennedy’s. The rustic bar in the SoHo neighborhood of Manhattan is often the site to be, even on rainy Wednesday nights, like tonight. But there is a notable difference in tonight’s vibe. The aroma of lemon zest garnish. The hushed tones. Even the rain droplets covering the windows. Like a puzzle, the pieces fit together and an ambiance of calm was born. Tonight, Kennedy’s is a mood.

Apart from the four loners indulging in their poison of choice, the only other guests are a young couple sitting at the secluded corner of the bar. Their timing couldn’t be more perfect, the conditions are screaming romantic date night. Luckily for the couple, the usual roaring after-work crowd collectively seemed to skip this evening’s festivities, which frees them to enjoy some occasional public displays of their affection.

The lack of customers is providing an opportunity for someone else here. Jack the bartender is having no qualms with the rare and mellow atmosphere. In fact, he longs for an early night. For over three years, working at Kennedy’s has given Jack his fair share of excitement. But tranquil nights like this bear their own appeal. For Jack, he welcomes this energy shift. With his mind overloaded on thoughts of tomorrow, remaining focused today is presenting him with some challenges. Unluckily for Jack, his anticipation for the day ahead will just have to wait. Right now, Kennedy's requires his presence to perform. Like always, his charisma meets the moment. Jack turns on the charm with a dazzling, white smile and trots over to the cuddling pair.

POP. The bottle of champagne opens, eliciting a jumpy reaction from the starry-eyed duo. Something in their demeanors suggests new love. Perhaps it’s the way the young lady giggles with every spoken word or nervously twirls her hair around her finger. Or maybe the way her companion’s eyes remain glued on her while maintaining the brightest smile. His cheeks rest on slight instances with a subtle turn of the head before resuming the infatuated stance. It seems the world’s ills faded into the void, and for the moment, their story is one of infinite possibilities.

Like a sixth sense, the bartender in Jack discerns the moment calls for some enchantment — a showcase of the flair he brings to Kennedy’s. An opportunity to enhance this date and fill the intimate soft-spot he has for romance. So he places two champagne flutes together, stacking another at the top. He drizzles the champagne into the top glass until the stunning show of invigorating bubbles overflows, filling the flutes at the base.

"Et Voila..." Jack says with a smile, then sets the glasses before the patrons.

Fascinated, the young couple claps, thanking Jack for the show. A sneaking, quick kiss follows and Jack pats himself on the back.

"Celebrating tonight? Jack asks.

"I'd say we are," says the sturdy young man, lifting his glass to toast his companion.

“We sure are, it’s our first date and it couldn’t have gone any better.” The young woman raises her glass. The pink in her cheeks deepening when she reveals a beaming smile.

CLINK the glasses sing and with the tickle of light bubbles on their noses, the couple giggles with their first sip, their eyes never once escaping each other.

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

Jack places the bottle of champagne in the nearby ice bucket, then walks away to engage with the other guests. Brief conversations, a few laughs, and cocktail crafting keep Jack occupied as time drags on. One by one, the loners leave and the bar empties slowly.

“Have fun in Bordeaux.” The last loner yells out as he bids Jack goodnight.

This leaves the young companions as the last remaining guests at the bar. An early night is within reach and Jack intends to get there.

“Last call!” He announces. Walking over to refill their flutes with the remaining champagne.

Though his presence is at Kennedy’s, his mind is again wandering the port city in the southwest region of France. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

“Bordeaux, huh? I visited Paris once. What’s in Bordeaux?” The young woman asks as Jack pours. She sits upright, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Jack smiles knowingly, it’s a story that never gets old. One he never misses an opportunity to share and a fitting tale for the young admirers. He leans over the bar top, and drama fills his stare. The curious couple faces each other, then fixates their attention on Jack. He begins:

In Bordeaux, I hope to find an answer that will dictate the shape of my heart. It all started with a remarkable encounter I had no longer than a year ago. On a night that resembles tonight. An experience, I can only identify as bliss. It was around 1:45 am and I was alone here at the bar. The rainy skies outside drove the crowds away soon after I’d announce last call. After such a busy shift, a warm shower and my bed were most appealing. Two glasses left to polish. Lock up for the night. The end is near, or at least that’s what I hoped. A full moon on a rainy night had other plans in store for me, however.

There I was. Barely awake. Polishing away. Swaying to an unknown beat just to keep my body going. Just my luck — with the last glass polished and stacked away, in walks a drenched figure shivering from the cold. This is not happening, I thought, nothing or no one is keeping me from my cozy covers. Am I right? So with obvious annoyance in my tone, I yelled out we’re closed for the night. It wasn’t their fault. Locking the door had skipped my mind. Truly, I had no impulse to deal with whatever would drag itself in at that hour.

Then it came right at me, "please may I use your restroom? I won’t be long, I promise." A simple ask in the gentlest voice and I was unprepared. If there were ever a sound that lowered your inhibitions in an instant, or buckled your knees without cause — I had just heard it.

What’s a few extra minutes to end my night with a good deed, right? Besides, only a jerk would turn this young lady away with such a modest ask. I agreed and pointed out the direction. Using her time in there to gather up my belongings.

Moments later she returned, dried off with her hair tied in a ponytail. Her glowing skin complimented the moon in the night skies and her eyes locked me into a trance. Something was happening to me right then. Maybe a credit to my lack of sleep. What else could explain a sudden rush of adrenaline, and the feeling of my heart beating in my throat? Her face radiated past the dim lights and the sight of her virtually took my breath away. I had no words, just an awkward stare as she thanked me and turned to leave. I couldn’t just let her go.

"You can stay, if only to fend off the rain." My trembling voice captured her attention. "I can get you a drink to help warm up. Anything you want — on the house." That was it — all the words my brain computed right then.

She smiled and agreed, showing off the deeply sunken dimples in her cheeks. “Only one drink, then I’m calling a car,” she insisted.

Here go my knees again. With a nod, I swallowed the hard lump at the back of my throat. Internally doing cartwheels. In disbelief, she actually said yes. Now sinking into her daring eyes as she sits poised against the bar. "What’ll you have?" I asked.

She points just over my shoulders. “Let’s go with the Merlot. That should warm me up.”

With the bottle and two glasses, I pulled up the seat next to her. I’m usually partial to brown liquor with a burn, but I knew right then, that for her, I’d also try the Merlot. Maybe it’s the way the word rolled off her tongue. I filled our glasses with a little extra, just to allow us more time.

Polite introductions led to more meaningful conversations, hearty laughs, and feelings of comfort and connection. That desire I had to be home had quickly dissolved. Much like the drink in her glass.

With her last sip, she placed her hand on the rim to remind me she’ll have no more. I sat in disappointment. Wishing only to make the moment last. The rain had also passed and with it, my excuses to make her stay. My time was up and I blamed the Merlot.

That’s when she reached over the bar, picked up a napkin where she scribbled down her number. She pressed it against my chest and held her hand there. With certainty, I knew she felt my heart skip beats, and it’s why she briefly held a gaze on her hand.

My hand rested over hers, and our eyes met. Her exact words were, “this was a gratifying, accidental, first date. Call me and maybe we'll have dinner first on the next one.”

“Sure, of course.”

There was nothing left to say. The promise of a second date was all I needed to hear. A jolt of courage and the voice in my head propelled the next move. I leaned in slowly. Without hesitation, she grabbed me into a kiss. Like I said, pure bliss. I recall nothing ever tasting as delightful as her Merlot stained lips.

As suddenly as she appeared, in an instant she departed. I held the bottle of Merlot in my hand after she left. The label was a picture of an ornate vineyard and read 'Made in Bordeaux.'

In that moment, I knew — I could picture it clear as day. The backdrop of a lush vineyard in Bordeaux is where I can ask her to stay with me forever. To bid me the honor of becoming my wife. And if she says yes, we’ll mark the rest of our lives the way it all started. With a kiss, the taste of Merlot.

Jack takes a deep breath and looks up at the young couple. Their arms interlaced and awe in their eyes, seduced by Jack’s story and hopeful to make a grand memory of their own.

“I’d sure like to try that Merlot,” says the young woman, looking at her gent.

Jack looks at them with a coyish grin and says, “I guess it’s champagne kisses for you two. I already did last call.”