Old Fashioned

It was creeping toward midnight in the bar and Kurt was polishing glasses, listening absent-minded to the polemic musings of an unusually wasted Alasdair, when the door burst open and George stormed in. The look on her face spoke volumes about the day she had had.

Alasdair paused his diatribe, turning his weary gaze toward George as she hung up her coat and settled herself upon a stool. 

Kurt held a glass to the light, checking for smears. “Evening George,” he said. “Usual?”

George nodded. She watched as he put away the glass, and prepared her Old Fashioned. Rye and bitters, lemon rind and cherries on a cocktail stick, and a single huge cube of ice in a heavyweight cut-crystal glass. He placed the finished article in front of her, sat on a black napkin.

Taking the cocktail stick between two expertly manicured fingers, George swirled it around the glass. The ice span slowly in  amber liquid that caught the light just so, glittering as though lit from within. Thinking of men in sharp suits, deep leather chairs and polished chrome, George found the stresses of the day ebbing away, and, when she realised Alasdair was watching her playing with her drink, she was surprised to find herself lacking the compulsion to bite his head off.

Giving him a sideways glance, she took in his crumpled blue suit and five o’clock shadow. “Ali," she said, acknowledging his obvious need for recognition. "Been here long?”

“From Leeds,” said Alasdair, slurring his words. “Early tren. Bastards didnae need me.” He always got more Scots when he'd been drinking.

George took a sip of her drink, savouring the bitter-sweet textures. “How wonderful it must be,” she said, “to be so barely employed.”

“Here,” said Alasdair. “Have ye tried the tablet? Kurt, can we have some tablet? You have to try it. Kurt’s got some in special.”

Kurt nodded, knowing it’d be Alasdair that would end up eating it, and also that it would probably do the guy some good, even if it were essentially just sugar.  He took the lid off the big glass jar and began to extract a few cubes of white tablet, placing them neatly on a saucer.

George watched him. She couldn't help but imagine the sickly sweetness in her mouth. The lingering bitters of the Old Fashioned tightened and twisted in her mouth at the thought of it. She shook her head. “I don’t think…”

“Nae lass,” said Alasdair, interrupting. “You’ll love it.”

Kurt placed the saucer between George and Alasdair.

Alasdair took a cube and popped it in to his mouth, making a show of sucking on it before licking his lips. “Ah, tha’s the good stuff. We used t’get this all the time when we were kids. No this good though!”

“I’m not sure it’ll go with the whisky,” said George, looking at Kurt for support. The barman spread his fingers in a subtle gesture that said little about his opinion on the matter.

“Aye, that’s true,” said Alasdair. He took another cube from the saucer. “You keep the rest for later though. It’s good stuff, that.”

“Thanks,” said George. She looked back down to her drink, stirring it slowly and smiling a little smile only Kurt could see.