After work, Anabelle met her best friend Sarah at their favorite lounge, Painter's Cove in Brooklyn. It was a cozy little place with live music and murals all over the walls, which were painted by local artists. Anabelle loved the place. It was their neighborhood haunt. The drinks weren't too expensive and the people were friendly and welcoming.
Not like the places in Manhattan, where they felt the heat of condescending, disapproving looks for not being up to snuff. The two 28-year old friends had tried it once, but had felt very uncomfortable with the rest of the patrons. The women looked like they came straight of the fashion magazines they were so done up and wearing expensive designer clothes and shoes. They were also stick thin, unlike Anabelle's and Sarah's curvier forms. The girls also got sticker shock once the bill came. It was $17 plus tip for each of their glasses of wine. Way out of their budgets. Since then, they had stuck closer to home, where they fit in and didn't have to worry about being judged for their modest wardrobes and decidedly non-model like few extra pounds here and there. "Hey girls," the bartender waved, "good to see you! The usual?" "You betcha, Barry," Anabelle said.
Barry was the 31-year old owner of Painter's Cove. He was an artist and guitar player, too, but since it was hard to make a living as either one, he did the next best thing. He opened a place where artists and musicians could come hang out, leave their mark on his walls and talk about their craft amongst friends. It was a home away from home for the people who went there, and for Barry, it was his actual home. He lived by himself in the loft above the lounge.
Sarah and Anabelle grabbed one of their favorite tables, which was against the wall and half way between the bar and the small stage.
"So," Sarah said as they sat down, "did you ask boss lady about a
promotion or getting paid for your overtime yet?" She flipped her long, partially braided sandy blonde hair over her shoulder. She had pale, slightly freckled skin and a hippie vibe in how she dressed and kept her hair.
Anabelle shook her head. "No, Raquel was in an extra bad mood today. I didn't dare."
"You've got to speak up for yourself, you know," Sarah said, shaking her head. "She's never going to respect you unless you do. Especially in the advertising world, you need to sell yourself. Just like any other product you guys market."
"I'm not very good at that. It makes me uncomfortable. I don't think she's ever going to respect me anyway, I can tell she doesn't really like me," Anabelle said.
"Don't say that, she only needs to realize what a valuable asset you are.
You just need to prove yourself."
Barry came over carrying a tray with their wine. "Here we go, ladies." He set the glasses down, his thick, chestnut brown ponytail falling over his shoulder as he did.
"Thanks, Barry," Sarah said, taking her glass. "Just what we need after a busy day.
"Yes, thanks," Anabelle said.
He smiled at them, then glanced back at Sarah for just a moment. His brown eyes warm with affection. He quickly looked away. "Allow me," he said as he struck a match and lit the glass-encased candle on their table. "A little firelight for you."
"Lovely," Sarah said.
Barry looked at her and blushed. He nodded. "Your appetizers will be right up."
Anabelle and Sarah always ordered the same thing. Hummus and pita and edamame beans to start. Then they shared a plate of fettuccine Alfredo. They were both trying to lose a few pesky pounds, so they had started ordering healthier appetizers, but couldn't yet let go of their favorite pasta dish. So they opted to share it instead.
"You know," Anabelle said, leaning forward and lowering her voice, "I think Barry likes you."
Sarah looked up in surprise. "Don't be silly. He's just being friendly.
He's nice to everyone here." She took a sip of wine.
"But there's something else when he looks at you," Anabelle said, "I can
tell."
Sarah shook her head. "You're imagining things." She glanced over at the bar. Barry quickly looked away when she caught him looking at her.
"See? I told you," Anabelle smiled. "He's cute, you know, you should talk to him sometime…alone. I'd bet he'd love that."
Sarah looked over at the bar again. Barry smiled at her. She smiled back. "He does have a nice smile, and I do love that long hair of his," she said, looking back at Anabelle. "Kind of makes me want to run my fingers through it." Her cheeks reddened and she took a deep breath. "I don't know…maybe. Anyway, enough about me. What about you?" Sarah asked.
"What about me?"
"Anyone interesting in the picture?"
"I wish," Anabelle said, then sipped her wine. "But I did have an encounter earlier today. Closest thing I've had to a date in a while."
Sarah leaned in close, holding her wine glass. "Do tell."
Anabelle told her about the morning coffee incident that had happened as she made her way to work from the bodega where she'd stopped for stamps. "How embarrassing, or what?"
"But he was handsome?"
"Oh yeah, jaw-droppingly so," Anabelle said, smiling. "And rich. His family's company is Tsar Enterprises."
"What?"
"Yeah, Giorgio Tsarkopolis. Gorgeous. Greek. Rich. I almost died."
Anabelle laughed.
"But you said he invited you in for coffee?" "Well, yeah, but there was no way I was going to." Sarah flicked her in the forehead.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"What do you mean, what was that for? A gorgeous, wealthy man invites you for coffee and you just leave?" She flicked her again.
"Ouch, cut that out!" Anabelle said, laughing as she rubbed her forehead. "I had just spilled coffee all over myself, including my boob no less, as well as his expensive suit sleeve and very shiny, nice-looking shoes."
"And did he take note of where your coffee was so lasciviously spilled?" "Yeah, he did. Pretty hard not to."