Joe’s Tavern was a cozy little place; it lacked the smoke-filled, unpleasant atmosphere Jeff had always associated with bars. Instead, it was the first floor of a two-story brick building in town. Respectable-looking men with loosened ties, unbuttoned shirts, and jackets draped over chairs, sat around the various tables enjoying their release from the real world. Jeff was ready for his release. He’d never been good at holding his liquor, but that was the farthest thing from his mind that night.
Scott led him to the counter, and the two occupied empty barstools. Scott called, "Molly!" and caught the attention of the barmaid whose back was turned to them. She turned around, and grinned when she noticed who had acknowledged her.
"What’s it take to get some service around here?" Scott teased as she approached them. She leaned on the counter, and Jeff could catch a whiff of her sweet perfume.
"Just put your lips together and blow," the girl said. She looked not much older than a girl, perhaps her early twenties. Curly auburn hair framed her fair-skinned face, and two large green eyes peered out from under thick eyelashes. They turned to Jeff and paused. "Who’s your friend?"
"Pardon my manners," Scott apologized, mocking a gentlemanly voice. "Molly, Jeff. Jeff, Molly."
"Hi," Jeff said awkwardly, offering a small smile. He heard a tiny voice, strangely like Hilary’s, scolding him from the back of his mind, but he couldn’t help feel attracted to the barmaid. He was infamous for his wandering eyes, though he had kept them under control during his pursuit of Hilary. Now they had reemerged, and Jeff allowed them to play unrestrained.
"Nice to meet you," Molly answered. Glancing playfully at Scott, she leaned in towards Jeff and said in a lowered voice, "You really should find new friends."
"Have a heart, Molly," Scott protested.
"Sorry, Scotty. The Tin Man got to it before me." Molly smiled wryly, giving Jeff a quick wink. She stood up straight and inquired, "So what’s it gonna be tonight, boys?"
"The usual," Scott said.
"Just beer," Jeff added.
"One sec." Molly quickly went off to work, pausing to take one more request on the way. Jeff watched her intently. She was dressed modestly in a white blouse and a flowered skirt, but she was still a sight to look at. She was rather tall, but as slender as a tree branch, and did her job with a certain air of grace - almost like a dancer.
"Your mind off Hilary yet?" Scott said, intentionally snapping Jeff out of his spell. He gave Jeff a slightly reprimanding glance, but understood completely. He had had the same thoughts the first time he had met Molly, but now the girl was comparable to Maple. Striking, but just a friend nonetheless.
"She’s twenty-three, you know." Scott thought he might add that bit of information. Whether it encouraged or discouraged his colleague, he had no idea. Jeff replied rather blankly,
"Really."
"Yeah, she’s the owner’s daughter. Bright kid. Went to college but decided to stay home and help out her dad after her mom passed away." Scott talked rather proudly of his young friend. "She’s got a strong head on her shoulders."
Jeff nodded silently. He didn’t know exactly what he was thinking. His brain couldn’t seem to process any information, as if impaired by alcohol, but his lips hadn’t touched a drop. Somehow, the girl had intoxicated him. Suddenly, Jeff was hit with a realization. Molly reminded him of when he had first met Hilary years ago. Hilary had been older than twenty-three, but Jeff felt the same old hunger rumbling in his stomach.
"Hey, there’s Joe. I’ll be right back," Scott announced, excusing himself. Jeff watched as he approached the heavily-set older man, who wiped his sweat-glistened bald head with a handkerchief. He was startled by the clunking of glasses on the counter, and turned to see Molly before him.
"Thanks," he said.
"Sure. Jeff, was it?" she asked.
He nodded in affirmation.
"What are you doing hanging around with a guy like Scotty? You look like one of those types who go home every night to a nice house, wife, and kids," Molly remarked, giving Jeff a once-over.
"Do I really look that stuffy?" Jeff replied light-heartedly.
Molly laughed appreciatively. "No offense or anything."
"None taken," he said, taking a drink. The thought materialized in his head to mention Hilary, but the point of the entire night was to forget her, if only temporarily. Jeff decided to keep his mouth shut on the subject. Instead, he asked her about college.
Molly groaned, saying, "I would have learned as much if I’d just gone to the library everyday and read a book. You know, I think college is all a scam invented by a bunch of teachers who were out of a job. Call it higher education, make it sound important, and charge a lot of money. Did you ever go to college?"
Jeff shook his head. "I could have, but I chose to pursue acting instead. Maybe I made a mistake." Recalling his less-than-stellar career, Jeff wondered if he wouldn’t be better off working as anything but an actor. But had he gone another way, he wouldn’t have many things he couldn’t live without in life. The first thing that came to mind was Hilary, but he quickly erased her image from his head. He wouldn’t have WENN. He wouldn’t have met his crazy colleagues, and he wouldn’t have ever come to this bar and met Molly. "Or maybe I didn’t."
"Don’t get all serious on me. You looked like one of my antiquated professors for a second," Molly scolded, adding rather amusedly, "You must be a good actor."
"Go on," Jeff joked, chuckling.
"I can’t act worth a cent. I tried out for a school play once. The director frowned at me and said a mime could read lines better than I could. I guess I’ll never be anyone but plain old Molly," she said, a little disappointed.
"Molly’s not a bad person to be," Jeff complimented.
Molly blushed a little. "Yeah, maybe," she flustered. She was rarely at a loss for words, and was often involved in one-sided conversations with her father, in her favor. Jeff Singer had just rendered her next-to-speechless. Luckily, Scott came rambling back to his seat next to Jeff, and plopped down in it, immediately reaching for his liquor.
"Are we all friends now?" he asked.
Molly huffed and crossed her arms, and Jeff shrugged. But both smiled as they caught each other’s eye.
"Sure," Jeff said.
*******************
The restaurant was lit with a romantically dim light. Hilary found her eyes taking in its quaint, elegant charm. Jeff used to take her places like this, and quite frequently, but that was back in the days. She missed those days. For a relationship with more downs than ups, the ups were doubly pleasant. She found herself silently reminiscing, and her gaze wandered back to the man across the table - and the mood was distorted awkwardly. It would have been perfection had Jeffrey Singer sat there, but it was still pleasing in a modified sort of way William Underwood occupied the seat.
They had been friends for a long time, though correspondence had been scarce. She had even allowed herself to think of him fondly every now and then. He had been the temporary man in her life before Jeff had come to stake his claim for good. Jeff was her life. She merely found it difficult to express it to him. It was especially difficult when she remembered the unsteadiness of their relationship. Multiple divorces and the forgettable Czech tart incident did not signal smooth sailing ahead.
Hilary found that musing over her ex-husband gave her a headache, so she took a sip of wine, plastered a smile, and made idle chat with her old friend.
"So what brings you to Pittsburgh?" she asked.
"Just to visit my family. Had I any idea you’d relocated here, I would have made more visits in the past," Underwood replied with a mischievous grin.
"Well, WENN is not exactly a household name," Hilary remarked with a touch of scorn. Underneath her unfulfilled career notions, however, she had an immense soft spot for the little radio station that could. Sometimes she wondered if she would miss any of her co-workers at all, but each in their way had carved a niche in her well-protected heart. Even Scott Sherwood.
"In fact," Hilary continued, "I’m surprised you tuned us in at all."
"Stroke of luck," Underwood said, smiling, thanking heaven that his lucky streak was still intact. He had missed Hilary Booth more than he could admit. The dimness of his surroundings had softened her features, almost to the point that she looked as she had when he’d first met her. Proud, tough, refined, and always beautiful.
Making a point to verbalize his thoughts, Underwood commented, "You know, Hilary, age hasn’t seemed to touch you with its stick. You’re as stunning as you were years ago."
Hilary puffed up with delight as his compliment. No one else seemed to recognize that fact lately.
"You still act now and then, don’t you?" he queried.
She hesitated. With added years, her looks had overshadowed her enormous talent - and therefore making her nearly untouchable to directors. She knew she could still act the socks off even the best of the younger crowd, but they had one big advantage on their side. Youth. And she was as seasoned as pepper.
"They think they own me over there...my work at the radio station doesn’t allow me nearly enough time to do such things," Hilary said, being choosy with her words, inserting just the right amount of disdain to be convincing. In a way, everything she had said was true. She merely chose not to mention the flip-side. "What about you? Do you still write?"
Underwood shook his head. He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. He could make women’s hearts melt with his troubled-artist look, though unintentionally. Hilary had met his father once and it was a wonder Woody had developed so nicely. Perhaps his looks came from his mother.
"I miss it, sometimes," he answered, his drooping lips suggestive of a melancholy pout. "I really did want to be a playwright, Hilary, but it would have been years before I got any kind of break. Anyway, I’m glad I’m a doctor. The patients aren’t too easy on the eyes, but I didn’t expect them to be."
He smiled wryly. Reaching over and laying his hand gently over hers, he stared earnestly into her eyes. "We didn’t reach the stars, but I guess we’re doing pretty good on solid ground."
Hilary allowed his hand to linger for a while, almost relishing it, before she snatched it away and kept it safely on her lap. Underwood surveyed her with a hurt statement, and she tried quickly to gain lost ground.
"You may be content on solid ground, Woody, but I still intend to reach the stars someday." Hilary gazed meditatively out the window, for their table was conveniently next to one. White dots were sprinkled over the sky, like drops of splattered paint over a black canvas. They seemed so close, yet were so far away. Someone had once said, "I’ll find a ladder tall enough or fly up there if I have to - but I’ll gather those stars for you. You just need to say the word." Who had said that? Hilary suddenly paused with realization.
Jeffrey...when she had first met him, he made her feel as if she could reach into the heavens and pick a few stars like berries. He had been so devoted, almost like a loving little puppy. Hilary grimaced a little - the thought of comparing her Jeff to a mangy little mutt was not an appealing thought. The former was certainly more pleasing to the eye.
"Hilary?"
She looked up and found herself making eye contact with Underwood.
"Can I ask you a question?" he asked hesitantly.
Hilary froze. He was taking a tone of voice she had heard many times. Certainly Woody did not have proposals on his mind...
"Yes?" she said, almost gulping.
"What happened back at the station tonight? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t have to," he added quickly, "but that wise guy - what’s his name, John? If he’s bothered you in any way..."
"Jeff," Hilary stated simply.
"John, Jeff, whatever. I didn’t like the look of him," Underwood growled.
"He’s..." Dare she tell him? "He’s my husband. Ex-husband."
Underwood became unnaturally quiet suddenly. After a pause, he said a plain, "Oh."
"We have a little spat now and then," Hilary euphemized. "Spat" did not quite do some of their knockout battles justice, but she felt that was a personal matter. She took on the look of deep thought. "He’s bothered me at times..."
Her companion’s ears perked up.
"...with his terrible taste in wardrobe and undeveloped performances, but he’s never harmed me in any sort of way."
He regained his look of defeat. Hilary decided with a hint of amusement that at the particular moment, Underwood had the appearance of that little mangy mutt she had devised a few minutes earlier. She knew exactly what was going through his mind. After her extensive portfolio of men, she knew all their looks. Poor Woody. He was well enough as a friend, but whatever she had felt for him in the past was now all erased. There was only one man in the world for her, and he was off in a bar somewhere with Scott Wormwood. So Jeffrey had his faults.
"What’s the matter, Woody? You look as if I’ve just announced your funeral," she said innocently.
"Oh," he replied quickly. "Nothing. I’m just tired, I guess."
"Hmm." She wisely chose to say nothing more, but merely wear her excruciating look of indifference.
"Hilary..." Underwood started suddenly, as if he had had a sudden rush of hope. It faded as quickly as it had come. He knew he had no chance. "You wanna go say hi to my dad before I take you home? He’d never forgive me if I didn’t drag you to see him. For old time’s sake."
Hilary smiled and nodded.
"For old time’s sake."
*************************
Jeff was surrounded by companionship, yet felt a void somewhere within him that continued to grow. Joe’s Tavern became laden with customers as the hours passed, and the air rang with raucous laughter and drunk conversation. He had his own clique: Scott, who had quite a few rounds but was quite unaffected, and Molly, who was interrupted by drink requests but always returned to jump into their discussions.
Molly reminded him too much of her. She bit with the same sarcastic bite, and laughed with the same pure laughter. If Hilary ever needed a replacement, she had one in Molly. However, as Jeff discovered, Molly was still young. One day, something would click and she would break hearts, but not Jeff’s. He wasn’t going to wait; neither was he willing to wait. He’d already found his heartbreaker in Hilary Booth. It had taken a few drinks for that realization to materialize, but it had come nonetheless.
As Scott and Molly bickered over some petty thing, Jeff listened quietly and thought about his arguments with Hilary. They almost always ended the same way - something would happen for them to halt the fight and run into each other’s arms. Neither ever really apologized, though if they did, it was an all-out sort of apology to make up for all the neglected ones. He and Hilary had a mutual understanding about everything. Apology, to them, was a waste of words and time which could be spent on other matters, Jeff thought slyly.
Scott shook his head fiercely and symbolically turned his back on Molly. Simultaneously, the front door opened, ushering in two unexpected guests.
"Well, well," he mused, crossing his arms for effect.
"Hey, Billy!" Molly called out.
Jeff felt an icy chill run through him, and turned around reluctantly. There she was. There they were. William Underwood and Hilary Booth stood just inside the entrance. Hilary looked as if she wanted to crawl into a hole and dig her way into a civilized atmosphere. She noticed Jeff, did a double-take, and did her best to keep her jaw from dropping.
"You know, I thought that guy looked familiar," Scott remarked, rather apologetically.
Jeff glared at him. Scott shrugged, as there was nothing else he could do. "Sorry, Jeff. I guess you can’t get away from Hilary."
Scott saw Jeff’s statement soften. To his surprise, Jeff reached over to pat him on the back. Sherwood wasn’t a bad guy, after all. He hadn’t intended for any encounter to happen.
"It’s okay, Scott. Maybe I don’t want to get away," he confided.
His friend merely grinned. Underwood and Hilary approached them, with the former giving his little sister a big hug and introducing the lady at his side to her. Hilary snuck a glance at Jeff, who smiled and discreetly gave her hand a squeeze. She relaxed immediately.
Joe joined the group and said a pleasant hello to Hilary, then stole his son away, wanting to talk to him. Hilary slipped gracefully into the seat next to Jeff. Scott took a hint and engaged Molly in another conversation.
"How was your evening?" Jeff asked cordially.
His ex-wife pondered this for a bit, then replied, "Bearable. I almost got a proposal." She said this as if being proposed to was as common as going to work. "What about you?"
"Almost fell for a barmaid," Jeff remarked, just as commonly. Hilary glowered, but simmered when Jeff’s eyes twinkled.
"Philandering rat," she said with a stern statement but a light-hearted tone.
"I’m your philandering rat, Miss Booth," he reminded her, giving her a gentle nudge with his shoulder. Hilary was full of smiles, but decided to hide it. It wasn’t wise to spoil Jeffrey with good humor.
"Dear God," she said, as if his remark signaled the end of the world. She waved to Molly. "I need a strong drink."
"Hilary," Jeff protested in a hurtful tone.
But when she smiled, Jeff relaxed. Life was beautiful at that moment, even if it was in a bar on the corner of a Pittsburgh street.
One day, he would take her to the stars.
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