"Ah! The conquering hero!" Fletch bellowed from behind the bar. "Welcome home, my friend!"
"Home?" I muttered in disbelief. "Your shitty bar is far from my home, my man."
My hand disappeared into his giant meathook and I let him have the pleasure of crushing my fingers for a moment before I extricated my hand. "You spend more time here when you're in Philly than anywhere else," Fletch pointed out. "So it may as well be your home."
"Jesus Christ that's depressing," I winced as I slid onto the barstool and loosened my tie.
"So what brings you to the City of Brotherly Shove?" Fletch asked, chuckling at his tired joke before going to the top shelf and pulling down the bottle of Macallan 25 he kept on hand just for me. "It's been a while since I've seen your ugly face."
"Work," I shrugged.
"You sound thrilled." He poured a tumblerful for me and then one for himself and lifted it to the light. "Good thing none of these drunk shits knows what this bottle you make me keep here is worth," he noted with a growl, nodding in the direction of his regulars. "They'd rob me blind. I'm takin' a real risk having you as a customer."
I slapped down another hundred to add to the stack I'd already piled up for him. "For your troubles, sir," I noted sarcastically.
He nodded his thanks and tucked his tip into his belt. "Speaking of troubles," he asked, sipping his Scotch and chewing methodically. "What are yours?"
"What makes you think I have troubles?" I wanted to know.
"A rich shit like you? I dunno. Maybe your private jet can't be reupholstered in gold until Tuesday." I snorted. "Fuck do I know what's wrong with you," he went on, warming to his subject. "All I know is you look like shit. Tell your private brow waxer or whoever the fuck you employ to keep you looking spiffy that they're fired."
"Fletch you are probably the only man in the world with the balls big enough to tell me I look like shit to my face," I said, lifting my tumbler to him. He clinked my glass and we both took long draughts.
"Goddamn that's smooth," Fletch growled in appreciation. "Almost makes me forget I just swilled down the equivalent of my rent payment." He took another small sip. "So we've established you look like shit and we've also established you ain't got nobody else in your life to call you on the fact that you look like shit. So spill it. What's eating you, you rich fuck?"
I chuckled into my tumbler. "You remind me of my dad, you know that?"
"The General? I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should. He was a good man." I took another long draught. "Thing is though, you're actually not the only one in my life with the balls to tell me I look like hell." My jaw clenched and for a second I thought about dropping it, but the Scotch was loosening my tongue and Fletch was right. As pathetic as it was to use him as my therapist - this bartender I only saw when I blew into town every five or six months or so - he really was the only one who would give it to me straight. "The problem is that the person who'd tell me that is the reason I look like hell in the first place."
"Chicks," Fletch said, nodding wisely, his big walrus mustache bobbing in sympathy.
"Chicks," I agreed.
"She's got you spun? Pussy that good?"
I bristled a little. "Tryin' to get me to kiss and tell?" I laughed. "You're the biggest fucking gossip in this city."
"It's my job to know things, is all. And to know when to keep my mouth shut about the things I know."
I sighed and pulled out another fifty. "Your silence isn't really needed on this matter," I said, sliding it across the bar to him. "She was just a girl in a town. I actually knew her way back when. Or rather, of her. Back when my Dad was stationed in Crown Creek he had to pull some strings to get me into the Reckless Falls school district." I took another drink, warming to my topic. "And when I saw her, it was kind of like...fuck, you know? She had that feeling about her, that sort of small-town get-shit-doneness where you knew there isn't an ounce of bullshit in her bloodstream." I looked up at Fletch helplessly. "She fucking hit me with her car. And it was the best thing that's happened to me in a long fucking time." I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I mean.We had some fun but it couldn't last, right?"
Fletch's mustache wobbled and he stood straight again and knocked back the rest of the twenty-five-year-old Scotch like it was a shot. "And why the fuck would you say it can't last?" he asked. "You got feelings for this chick?"
"No. I mean, yeah, I obviously have fucking feelings for her." I was getting pissed off and I didn't know why. "We had this... connection. Like I knew her already. It was more than just that familiarity from passing her in the school hallway. It was...It was like I'd already spent my whole life with her when it was really only two days." I looked up at Fletch who was watching me skeptically. "What?" I exploded. "I know. Two days isn't nearly enough time to figure you love someone."
"Now I ain't never said nothin' about love," Fletch drawled.
"What?"
He leaned forward and braced his elbows on the bar. "You're talking love, Mr. Fancypants? Is that really the word I just heard come out of your pretty mouth?"
I stared at him and for probably the first time in my life I was completely at a loss for words. "You did," I finally exhaled. "Didn't you? But that's fucking nuts, right? I must be drunk." I slammed back the rest of my Scotch and waited for the spins to start.
But I stayed stone cold sober. Sober. And totally fucking in love. "Holy fuck," I breathed.
"Well," Fletch chuckled, standing back up again. "You're in love. No wonder you look like shit."
"The fuck do I do now?" I wondered.
Fletch let out a walrus's bellow, so loud it made my ears ring. He roared with laughter and slammed his ham-hock hand down on the bar. "Fuck, are you kidding me right now?" he guffawed. "You know how many times your lily-white, caviar-eating ass has sat on that very bar stool and lectured me on the merits of going with your gut? You're asking me what to do about the chick you fell for like you don't fucking already know?"
"She told me to get out," I blurted. "Because I told her it was just a bit of fun and she knew it was just a fling."
Fletch's laugh bubbled away and he looked serious. "Well damn son," he drawled. "Sounds like you done fucked that right up."
I buried my head in my hands. "I did," I said. "I was in love with her and fucked it right up."