Free Zero II by Jonathan Yanez

1
Present Day
    “Another drink, sir?”
                “Yes.
In fact, can you just bring the bottle over? I think that will be easier for
both of us.”
                “I
certainly can, sir—would you like to be informed of the price? I mean
before I go get it?”
                He
knew she was trying to be polite. Deep down he understood what was going
through her head. She was doing the math on how much he already drank,  adding
that to the cost of the bottle. “No, I don’t need to know the price. Just bring
the bottle please.”
                He
caught the surprise in her eyes even as she tried to hide it from him, turning
to go. The waitress bobbed with a bounce of her blond curls and was gone.
                He
smirked to himself and brushed a dark blonde strand of his own hair behind his
ear. He could feel the expensive fabric of his tailored shirt press against his
muscular chest and arms as he reached across the table for the book that lay face
up in front of him.
                Reading
the book alone looked out of place in such a high-end bar, even he realized
that. The book reminded him of how he had felt as he made his own transition
from plain and ordinary to, something else entirely. Something he was still
trying to understand.
    He could feel eyes on him from the
female patrons in the bar and the staff. He witnessed his waitress murmuring to
her coworkers while grabbing the requested bottle of 1939 Macallan.
    The pages in his book gently ruffled,
his fingers touched familiar passages. The pages were like old friends. He
couldn’t help but smile as he remembered exactly how many times he had read the
book.
    The lighting in the bar was dim, which
would have posed a problem to anyone else but him. He could see the words on
the page as clearly as if he were sitting at a bench in the park with the sun
on a cloudless sky.
    He heard her before he saw her. “Here
you are, sir. The most expensive bottle we have. I had to convince my manager
that this wasn’t a joke but when I told him who ordered, it he practically ran
to fill the request.” She placed the newly dusted bottle of whisky on the
table. “You come here often?”
    He put the book down, blue eyes making
contact with her own. “From time to time. Usually there’s a different waitress
working.”
    “Oh, I’m part of the day shift. I’m
just picking up extra hours.” Her eyes fell from his, hesitated too long on his
muscular torso and rested on the book that was placed on the table. “Spartans,
huh?”
    He nodded, “Spartans.”
    An awkward silence filled the space between
the two as the attractive young woman grasped for a follow up line. The line she
never had to use before, men had always felt obligated to fill the silence in
an attempt to please her. “Ummm… can I pour the whisky for you?”
    “No, that’s fine you can leave the
bottle.”
    She cleared her throat, once again at
a loss for words. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you? I mean the entire
night staff seems to know you and I think every woman in here has asked about
you since you sat down.” Her face reddened even as she asked the question.
    He looked at her, he really looked at
her. She was pretty, young and carried herself like a woman rather than a girl.
High energy and a steady smile made her not only attractive but even
approachable. He didn’t blame her for the question in all fairness it was one
that he had been trying to answer for the past four years. “I don’t know. I
don’t know if I’ll ever know. The last few years have been a blur of temporary
happiness.”
    This was clearly not the answer the
waitress was expecting. “Oh, okay. Well, let me know if you need anything. My
name is Sophia.”
    He nodded as she turned and left. Part
of him wished he had been nicer, but it was the truth. Alan Price opened the costly
bottle of whisky as nonchalantly as someone would open a water bottle.