In a Bar on a Tuesday Afternoon
The Lounge
Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor, as she looked down the wooden bar for an empty stool. There were many in the bar, but she selected one two spots from a man sitting alone. The only other people in the bar besides them were the bartender and two women chatting in the corner.
She could almost make out their conversation. “...Ginnie told me that this new girl never even worked in an office before.”
“Well, she’s cute. What do you, or Ginnie, expect?”
“Professionalism. That’s what I expect. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for in an office.”
Anything else they said was interrupted by the bartender asking, “What can I get you?”
The mustached bartender looked simultaneously young and old. He looked young in age, probably his late 20s, but old in experience. She guessed the man had a lot of stories if he chose to tell them. Assuming he made a good cocktail, he probably was good at his job. “I’ll take an old fashioned.”
He nodded and set to making her drink. Rather than watching him, she took out her gold cigarette case and plucked out a slim stick. She put the case back in her purse and dug for a lighter, but before she found it, there was a flame in front of her.
The man who’d been sitting two stools down had gotten up and offered her his lighter. She leaned forward to light her cigarette. Her green eyes met his blue ones. He was a handsome man. His dark hair was slicked back and his pinstripe suit was immaculate. She leaned back. “Thank you.”
He nodded in response. She noticed he only sat one stool away from her.
The bartender set her drink down in front of her. She handed him cash and he walked back to the register, staying on the stool there and picking up a newspaper as all the patrons had drinks in front of them. She almost wanted to ask him if he preferred a busy bar, but the man clearly didn’t want to chit chat, so she let him be.
She moved an ashtray closer, so that she could tap her cigarette. With her other hand she took a drink, leaving a red stain on the glass. It wasn’t the best old fashioned she’d ever had as it was a bit on the bitter side, but it was serviceable. She had guessed as much when there was no orange peel in the drink but instead an orange slice on the rim. The bartender did his job, but he didn’t love it.
She supposed it was silly of her to expect a great bartender to be on duty on Tuesday afternoon.
The women were still chatting in the corner. “...is what Ginnie said. The boss is talking about bringing her with him to Cincinnati. Can you imagine?”
One of the women snorted, “What does his wife think of that? Has she met the new girl yet?”
The other woman waved her hand. “Oh, she never comes to the office if she can help it.”
“So what’s your deal?” The man’s voice was soft, but could still be heard over the chattering women. She turned to look at him.
“Whatever do you mean?” She knew what he meant.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners but his teeth not showing. “Why are you alone in a bar on a Tuesday afternoon?” He motioned to the women in the corner, still talking as if no one else was there. “They are clearly airing out some workplace drama. But why are you here?”
“Do I need a why?” She tapped her cigarette into the ashtray. She wondered why he wasn’t smoking despite having a lighter on him. “Maybe I just wanted to get away from the kids for a moment.”
His eyes looked over her from styled head to high-heeled toes. “You aren’t dressed like a woman who's got kids at home.”
“I didn’t realize there was a uniform for housewives and mothers. Perhaps I need to start watching the news.”
He smirked and returned to his drink. He seemed finished with the conversation, but she was intrigued now. “Why are you here on a Tuesday afternoon? Are you escaping some office drama too?” She looked at the women. “Though it seems you don’t have any friends to commiserate with.”
He turned to her now. “I don’t work in an office.”
“So what do you do?”
“Ladies first.” He finished his drink and signaled the bartender for a new one. He was drinking a vodka gimlet.
Once the bartender returned to his post, she answered, “I’m a philanthropist. Begging the rich for money lets me set my own schedule and I prefer to drink in bars that aren’t busy.”
She waited for him to return in kind. He took a sip of his drink first. “I work for the government and have the kind of job that makes me…hard to fire.”
The answer made her raise an eyebrow but before she could question him, he asked, “So what’s your name?”
“Scarlett Martin,” she put out the hand that wasn’t holding a cigarette.
He got up to shake it. “Martin Scarlett,” he said before chuckling at her confusion. “Alfred Johanson. People call me Fred.” He sat on the stool next to her now.
She stabbed out her finished cigarette. Her lipstick had stained the end of the cigarette as well as her glass. She brought out another one and used her own lighter for the new one. Then Scarlett asked, “So, are you married, Fred?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
Fred took a drink before answering. “Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“June.”
“And does June know you’re talking to a woman in a bar on a Tuesday afternoon?”
He took a moment before he said, “June is miles away and a smart woman. She knows I’m not going to sit in my hotel room the entire time I’m not working.”
That wasn’t a yes. Scarlett finished her drink, wondering if Fred’s government job was a politician. “I have to powder my nose.” Scarlett got up, taking her purse with her.
Scarlett bent over the sink to get a better look in the mirror as she reapplied her lipstick. The door opened and one of the women from the corner stood at the sink next to her.
Scarlett put the cap back on her lipstick and asked, “Does she know anything?”
“No, she just wants to talk about office gossip. If we want an in at the company, we’re going to need another angle.” The woman adjusted her short blonde hair.
“What about the new girl she kept talking about?”
“Alice Smith. Joe tells me it’s an alias, so she’s most certainly a red.”
Scarlett nodded. More Soviet connections at the LaRange Corporation. They just needed to find out if it was stupidity or something darker at the heart of it.
The younger woman’s blue eyes met Scarlett’s in the mirror. “Who’s the guy you’re talking to?”
“No one, as far as I can tell. He says he works for the government, but who knows.” Scarlett looked away putting her lipstick back in her purse.
“You could ask Joe to look him up.”
“I think I prefer the mystery. Besides, I can handle him.”
She walked out of the bathroom again.
There was a fresh drink waiting for her when she returned. She glanced over to see the bartender was back at his spot behind his newspaper, so the drink was probably ordered as soon as she left. She didn’t touch it. Her eyes glanced at the woman sitting alone, who looked sad. Middle-aged and working in a company about to be destroyed, Scarlett guessed she couldn’t blame her for a little melancholy.
“So, are you married or engaged, Miss Martin?”
“No,” Scarlett answered, pulling out another cigarette.
“Seeing anyone?”
Joe popped into her head. They weren’t dating, but being partners gave them a closeness that nearly eclipsed a romantic relationship. “Not really.”
Fred’s eyes were keen as he looked at her, and Scarlett wondered what it was he really wanted from her. He took a drink from his glass and then glanced as her protege returned to her assignment. Scarlett already knew they would be leaving soon, she just hadn’t decided if she would follow or not. She didn’t need to talk with this guy anymore, but he was interesting enough. She longed to speak with interesting men who knew nothing of her work. Scarlett picked up the drink, swirling it a bit.
She shouldn’t linger. She should set the drink back down and make her excuses to leave, just as Marge was doing across the bar. The other woman clearly didn’t want to drink alone, meaning it would soon just be the two of them there, alone.
Three of them, including the quiet bartender.
Scarlett took a sip, watching the other women leave out of the corner of her eye. One drink wouldn’t hurt. And even a bad old fashioned was still good. This one tasted even more bitter than the last one. Luckily, she didn’t like her drinks to be too sweet.
Neither said anything for a moment, enjoying the silence and their beverages. When she’d nearly finished, Fred patted his pockets. “Would you mind if I bummed a cigarette from you? I seem to have forgotten mine.”
She pulled out her case, but her muscles twitched so badly that she dropped it along with her purse. Scarlett frowned, hating any betrayal, especially from her own body. But the spasms continued and a sudden wave of dizziness forced her to fall from her stool.
Fred stood and went to help her back on the bar, but she noticed the lack of surprise on his face, which caused the emotion on her own.
He did work for the government after all, just not the same one as her. He held her up as she continued to shake. Scarlett tried to curse at him, but it hurt too much and all that escaped was a loud groan. He held her until the spasms stopped and then let her fall.
She collapsed on the bar, dead.
“Fred” bent over to pick up the purse that had fallen from her lap. He fished out a cigarette for himself. She hadn’t smoked his preferred brand, but he hadn’t had time to grab a new pack after picking up the rat poison. He lit it and inhaled the smoke. He looked at the bartender and asked in Russian, “Are you ready to go?”
The big man nodded and left to go get the car. Fred studied the slumped over body for a moment, considering what to do with it. Then he placed the cigarette in his mouth and rearranged it before it got stiff to look slumped over with a drink in her hand. Hopefully that would delay the body being found, as a casual passerby would assume she was just going through a rough time.
After all, why else would a woman be in a bar in the afternoon on a Tuesday?
The next bartender wasn’t scheduled to show up for his shift until 6, and by that time, he and Vlad should be in the next state. Luckily, they hadn’t had to kill the bartender scheduled for this shift, as he’d taken a bribe to not show up. “Alice” had informed them about the meeting, so they’d prepared in advance. The target had been Betty “Scarlett” Martin, but Vlad had been ready with a gun if the other two women needed to be taken out as well. Marge Murray was too new to be much of a threat to the Motherland, but a dead American agent was a good one.
He finished his cigarette and almost left it in the same ashtray the woman had been using the entire time. But he realized his cigarette would stand out against her lipstick-stained ones, so he pocketed the stub instead.
“Fred” walked out of the bar and into the sun, prompting him to put on his hat. It was a perfect autumn day. As he stepped forward, a young man bumped into him.
“Sorry, mister.” The boy smiled at him. Smiling at strangers was unheard of in Stalingrad, but “Fred” had been trained well and returned the gesture with an easy smile of his own.
His ride appeared shortly after and he looked around at the people of this country. They looked happy and relatively care-free. He ducked into the driver’s seat of the car as Vlad scooted over to the passenger’s seat.
This really was a great country, “Fred” thought. It was a shame that he wasn’t on its side.