I quickly diverted my attention to more important things, like the two well-dressed young men who just sat down at the bar near the first cluster of beer taps - customers. One of the men caught my eye as he loosened the knot of his brown paisley necktie, taking a moment to unwind after a long day at the office no doubt. I had seen him once before in the pub, and now he was smiling brightly at me.
I let out a tiny sigh while waiting for the stream of amber beer to fill the glass mug in my hand. My fingers gripped the large wooden handle, and with a quick flick of my wrist, I cut the flow from the beer tap.
I slipped the ten dollar bill out from under his fingers and went on with my day.
“He’s cute,” Marie muttered privately.
I punched the keys on the register to ring in the sale. “He’s married.”
Marie looked back at him. Her eyes examined my assessment.
“No ring,” she whispered, appearing slightly puzzled.
She obviously didn’t look hard enough. “You can see the indentation.”
I carried his change back to him. Marie looked astonished that I noticed that. What she didn’t know was that the last time this particular man was in my pub, he was wearing a gold band around his left-hand ring finger. Poor man… somehow his wedding ring must have accidentally slipped off before he sat down.
While I mindlessly washed some dirty glasses in the sink, the setting sun beamed its final rays, casting beautiful hues of pink and purple through the large windows that dominated the front of my pub.
My pub – I could say that now with absolute authority, although the heartache that I was put through to be in this spot would never, in a million years, be worth it. It was not worth the personal loss. But then again, when has life ever been fair?
I had prepared myself properly… college education with honors, plans for a Master’s Degree to follow. Still, despite my best efforts, fate apparently had some other future in mind for me, and it wasn’t to worry about other people’s financial situations.
I gazed at the windows, imagining that the view of the evening sky over the Atlantic Ocean was even more breathtaking. I thought about running upstairs to the rooftop to watch the sunset over the water but I couldn’t; customers were already filtering in for happy hour.
Even though there was an enormous influx of new people in our little town of Seaport, Rhode Island recently, my customer count oddly remained the same - probably because all of the mayhem was located at the other end of town.
It had been almost two months since the tractor-trailers loaded with expensive cameras and filming equipment first rumbled through our streets.
An extensive production crew immediately followed. They came in droves.
In the blink of an eye, police barricades blocked off selected roads, and huge, white tents were erected in the empty parking lot next to the vacant warehouse by Pier Seven. Towering lights were brought in to illuminate the entire lot and several large mechanical cranes were parked on stand-by near the new fence.
Long, white camper trailers were arranged in rows and it reminded me of the times when the carnival would come to town. The only thing missing was the Ferris wheel.
Everything, for the most part, was calm; that was until the big-named Hollywood actors arrived. With them came the news crews, photographers, and mobs of obsessed fans. It was like having wild, rabid dogs unleashed in the streets. Everyone was in a tizzy.
The biggest commotion, however, was caused by a twenty-six year-old actor turned mega-star overnight… Ryan Christensen Six foot two, dirty blond hair, blue eyes, incredible body from what I’ve seen in the magazines that Marie keeps stuffing in my face, and reportedly single again.
Oh, how they all swooned - everyone, except for me.
Marie and several of my female customers were completely flustered just from getting a quick glimpse of him on TV. I was relieved that they didn’t behave like the mob of screaming fans that was shown on the news.
I could never understand what drove women to the point of hysterics when they saw a famous singer or movie star. I remembered seeing video clips of women going out of their minds from seeing Elvis or The Beatles - screaming, crying, and passing out from getting their glimpse. I knew it was thrilling, but there has to be a limit before you lose control of your emotions and behavior. I just couldn’t relate.
Growing up, it wasn’t in my personality to hang pictures of teen heartthrobs on my walls. By the time I was in my teens, I had discovered fine art instead. My bedroom was covered in the classics with my own artwork dotted in between. That was more my style, more… realistic, tangible.
I slid a fresh pitcher of beer over to my current customer. “That’s five-fifty please.” I smiled in return, dancing slightly to the song playing off of my iPod over the pub’s sound system.