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Just Another Saturday

Taggerty’s bar was filled with people. The local band was playing an old John Cougar Mellencamp tune about Jack and Diane. Half of the people in the bar were singing right along with the musicians, and Trevor Hale was no different. Frocked in a white a apron, towel thrown over his shoulder, he flitted in between the patrons dispensing beers, shots, and an occasional bottled water for the poor souls who would have the duty of driving all their inebriated friends home for the night.

Placing the last bottle of Evian down with a flourish, Trevor through an arm over the shoulder of the man standing next to him and continued to sing. The man, not even fazed by the display of affection, kept on singing along. Soon, Trevor and his new friend started to sway to the song and held up lighters to the band, as if they were watching a rock concert.

All too soon, the song ended and the bar lit up with the cheers of the crowd. Patting the man on the back and smiling, Trevor worked his way back to the bar where a line had quickly started to form. Standing there at the front was Claire, arms crossed, foot tapping to no rhythm that was being played out by the band. Noticing her, Trevor walked a little faster to the bar.

“Hiya Claire. What are you doing out and about on a Saturday night? I thought you had a hot and heavy date set with Mr. Pulitzer this weekend?” he asked.

“Not like its any of your business, Trevor, but the plans fell through. Alex had to go to London on an unexpected business trip.”

“Oh well. You win some, you lose some. And this time Alex definitely lost some. What do you want to drink this evening?” he asked, grabbing a glass and waiting for an answer.

“A good man who is planning on not moving away from Chicago and forgetting about me the first minute he is in another city.” She said smiling.

“I tried that with you but I have a list of others that are chomping at the bit to get you to be there own personal Doctor of Love.”

“No, Trevor, I don’t need a replacement for Alex. I am just having a bad day is all. Besides, I came here to listen to the band. And in saying that, can I have a bottle of Evian.” Claire asked.

“Evian and the fact that you are wanting to get a little jiggy with it, live a wee bit la loca, shake your body and do the conga…”

“Enough, Trevor. I will take my water now please.”

“Okay, I will give you your water if you promise me to get out there and have a little fun. Get a little crazy. Get up and do the mambo.”

“What is up with all the Miami Sound Machine references? Never mind, don’t answer that.” She said, taking her water and grabbing an open bar stool.

Looking at Claire for a split second, Trevor frowned, and then went back to serving drinks. As the line dwindled and the music played on, Trevor made idle conversation with the people sitting near the bar. Taking down names, numbers, and pieces of trivia of all the singles he met, he round filed them in his whicker basket.

“Still forsaking all things modern?” Claire asked, noting what he was doing.

“Just the personal computer aspect of it. I find that its much easier to match people when you have a certain system going. I don’t need a computer to keep track of all this.” He said, picking up the whicker basket and running his hands through the slips of paper.

“There are advantages of using one, you know. You can back up your information, set up tables, make pie charts. Its definitely a timesaver with a few things, Trevor.” Claire remarked.

“Why would I need a pie chart or calculate statistics with the couples I match? Hello! I am a god, not an accountant!” he quipped, sounding like the doctor from the television series, “Star Trek”.

“No, you are a man with personal computing issues. And a delusion to boot.” She commented as she slid the empty bottle of Evian down to him.

Sticking out his tongue, he grabbed the empty bottle of Evian and did a little dance. “I may be a man here on earth but believe you me, Sister, I am ALL god on Olympus.” Pausing, he turned around and did the Michael Jackson dance, the Moonwalk, and through the bottle of his shoulder. The plastic bottle hit a bottle of cognac, ricocheted off the tap of Molsen Ice beer, jumped back to bounce of a brass rail and fell with a flourish into the garbage can. All the people watching the spectacle clapped and laughed as Trevor took a bow.

“Its nice to be loved and appreciated.” Trevor said, coming back to stand in front of Claire.

“You know, I should have treated you for being an egomaniac. By now, you would be cured.”

“Hang on a minute, Echo. I am in no way, shape or form, as in love with myself as Narcissus was. Let’s get one thing clear. He was a mortal. M-O-R-T-A-L and I am god. He had it coming.” Trevor said, taking a pint glass down and filling it with water.

“Oh, so you agree in his punishment?” Claire asked, losing all attention to the band that was winding down there last set of songs for the night.

“In his case, yes. In mine, no way.” He said, shaking his head.

“Care to talk more about this in our next session?” she asked, getting off the bar stool and hopping to the ground.

“Not particularly, but I know you are going to write it in your little palm airplane or whatever you call it so you don’t forget about it.” He said, taking the washrag out and wiping down the counter.

“Of course. And they are called Palm Pilots, Trevor.” She said, as she put her scarf, coat and hat back on.

“Whatever, Sparky. Leaving?” he asked.

“Yes, have an early morning appointment.” Before he could even ask, Claire had thrown out the hand to stop him from asking. “No questions, Trevor. I’ll see you next Tuesday?”

“Sure thing, Sparky.” He said, smiling.

Waving, Claire walked out of Taggerty’s and into the night. Trevor stood watching her go. Waiting until she was out the door and way out of earshot he frowned.

“No way am I giving up my whicker basket personal organizer for that over-rated calculator.” For reassurance, and for good luck, he picked up the basket and started to run his hands over the pieces of information. Sighing, he went back to tidying up the bar and closing down the shop, making it ready for another day’s work.

The end.