The beer mug was foggy with chill, the head of the dark beer frothy and thick. Johnnie slid her fingers around the glass and inhaled. She loved the smell of a good beer almost as much as the taste. She took a long, slow sip and tried to relax. Then she closed her eyes and prayed. Please let it come today. Please. She opened her eyes and stared at the sign hanging behind the bar. Keep Calm and Ain’t it Grand. An Irish flag was next to it, along with several beer ads. Guinness, Harp, Smithwick’s. She loved them all. But for her ritual it was Guinness. The frothy head, the deep, dark, rich flavor. The way it slid down her throat and warmed her from toes to tip-top. Yes, Guinness was the one. The magic maker.
“Any luck yet, Johnnie?” Sean asked, pushing a basket of fresh soda bread her way.
She shook her head and stared into her pint. “Nothing.”
“Today will be the day. Don’t you worry now.”
He moved off to another customer and she sat in silence, hoping he was right. That was the thing about Sean. He always saw the bright side, and yet he knew to leave her to herself. Artist’s brooding was what he called it. She was glad she found the place and lucky to have him instead of a chatty bartender talking her up. She’d gone through several of those. But finally, yes finally, she’d found this place. A small Irish owned pub in the back of a deserted shopping plaza. It was the perfect hole-in-the-wall. One so dark her arm shot up automatically to protect her eyes when the door opened. And the smell of it. The smell of it was perfection. Spilled beer, warm bread, wet shoes from the street, and must. If it had smelled clean, she would’ve split because a real true hole-in-the-wall didn’t smell like roses and lavender and cleaners with bleach. And what she needed was real.
She took another sip and turned to make her way to the back booth. She chewed on a piece of bread but left the basket on the bar. She needed to feel the Guinness, and the bread would hinder that. She sank into a well-worn booth and opened her sketch pad to a blank page. She readied her charcoal pencil and sat back to wait. She noted only a few other people, most of them sitting alone like her, lost in their drink. Coming in the early afternoon had its advantages. Lunch goers were gone and happy hour hadn’t started yet. She had about two hours to sit and drink and think before that lot came in. She ran her fingertip along the etched names in the tabletop. Warmth from the beer began to spread through her, and she wanted to dissolve into the old seat.
The drinking was new to her. She’d always liked beer, but she never had been a big drinker. Hard liquor was out of the question; she couldn’t get past the taste, no matter how many ways they tried to hide it. So she stuck to beer. A sip here and there to savor it. Not to get fucked up. No, normally, she would come in, order a pint, and sit and sip and draw. She’d barely finish one, and she’d never order a second. Inspiration had just been there, sitting right across the booth, grinning at her, giving her all she needed. But lately…inspiration was nowhere to be found. She had no ideas, no images, no dreams. Just a tree.
She took another large sip and sighed. She flipped to the previous pages in her pad. Tree after tree after tree. One lonely tree on every page. Nothing else. Every day it had been the same.
Why was she only seeing a tree?
She’d had weird images come to her before, but they usually evolved. This one did not.
“Damn it.”
She tossed her pencil and pushed away the pad. For now, she would sit and drink just as she’d done the previous two weeks. At least the beer was good. Beer number four would be even better. She took another sip.
The door opened in the distance, and she recoiled at the bright desert light. Spots remained in her vision even after it closed, blocking her view of who entered. She heard Sean speak. Heard the reply that was unmistakable.
Fuck.
She’d been found.
“Finally,” Eddie said as he approached. “You know how many of these dumps I’ve been to?” He wiped at the seat as if were covered in filth and settled in across from her. He hesitated to put his elbows on the worn table. He decided to keep his arms at his side.
She blinked at him and did her best to focus. He had shaved his shadow and cut his hair. The earring was gone too. Good-bye, bad boy; hello, good boy. He was so fresh and crisp, what the hell was he doing hopping bars looking for her? “What do you want?”
“Well, nice to see you too, sunshine.”
“Aww, don’t start with the guilt trip. Please, Eddie? I don’t need that right now.” She knew she should’ve called. Should’ve clued him in.
He stared at her then eyed the beer. “Are you drinking that?”
She gave a shrug. “Yeah.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.”
He rubbed his face in obvious frustration. “I take it you still haven’t been able to paint?”
“Does it look like it?” Again, she shoved the pad away and took another sip. A big one.
“You think that will help?”
“Lots of artists drink.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t. And you shouldn’t start. What happened to just ordering one and staring off into space?”
“It’s not working.” She looked beyond him, unable to hold his gaze for very long. He looked concerned and a little upset. She knew she’d been a right shit lately, and she deserved it. But still, she didn’t want to deal with it.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, trying to brighten the mood. “Let me buy you dinner.”
She squeezed her beer and shook her head slowly. “I don’t want your charity.” True, she was headed for financial disaster, but she didn’t need handouts. Not yet.
“Charity? Fuck you, Johnnie. It’s dinner. You’re my best friend.”
“Still…I’m not in the mood.”
He sighed. “You look like a meth addict. You should eat.”
She laughed. He was always so dramatic.
“A few months ago I was too heavy.”
“Yeah, you were. Now you’re scary. Stop it.”
“You know my weight fluctuates. I’m fine.”
He rolled his eyes and they sat in silence for a while. He was like a brother to her, and they often squabbled and pissed each other off. But they looked out for each other. There was no denying that. After another long moment, he straightened and placed his palms on the table.
“What if I told you I had something that might help?”
She looked up at him. His eyes sparkled. He had the flame of life in him. Eternally.
Her flame often burned low, so low it was hard to see, to feel. It caused him to worry.
“Eddie, I don’t think you can help. There’s just nothing there.”
His fingertips drummed the table. “I think I can.”
He stared at her with a mischievous grin. Eventually, she rolled her eyes and asked, “What?”
He dug in his back pocket and slapped a business card on the table. When she didn’t speak, he pushed it forward.
“This.”
She took it, looked at it, and then looked back at him. “There’s just a number.”
“Right.”
“I don’t get it.”
He reached for her hand and held it warmly in his own. “Remember Pedro?”
She searched her mind. Pedro. Pedro. Pedro. Ah, yes. Pedro.
“The guy you raved about for six months nonstop? How could I forget?”
“Remember how I said he helped me through so much?”
“Your emotional baggage and your incessant need to be with somebody, anybody?”
“Yes!”
She looked at the card. “I don’t need a shrink, Eddie. I need inspiration.”
“He wasn’t a shrink. He was…inspiration.”
She felt her eyebrow raise.
“Just call.”
“Eddie, Pedro can do little to inspire me. Trust me on that.”
“No, silly.” He paused, then glanced around as if nervous. “You wouldn’t get Pedro.”
“I’m not following.” She searched his eyes and saw the blush. “Eddie, what the fuck are we talking about here?”
“Just call.”
“No.”
“Please. It will help. Promise me you will.”
She refocused on her beer. “I just want to sit here.”
“And drink.”
“That’s the idea.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Johnnie, you need to paint.” He held up a palm. “I know you don’t need pressure, and I’m not trying to add any. I’m just simply saying that there is inspiration out there. Sometimes you just have to know where to look.” He watched her closely to see if he’d gotten in. “How much money do you have?”
“Enough.”
“Enough for a few sessions with someone special?”
She eyed him. “A few sessions of what exactly?”
He looked sheepish. “A little creative inspiration. A much needed match to light your flame.”
“Are you talking about sex?”
He blushed again.
“Eddie, you want me to pay to have sex with someone?”
“No, it’s not like that. It’s…”
She stared at him, searching for answers. He gave away nothing.
“Just call. Please.” He stood and pushed the card toward her. “Tell them you were referred by Pedro’s client.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to lose.”
She touched his hand. “Thanks. For caring I mean.”
“You know I do.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Call me,” he said as he walked away.
He pushed out into the light, and this time she didn’t recoil. She let it burn.