Caught in the Rye
10.45 RYE NO. 1
After turning down a side alley, Carol sauntered through the swinging doors of the first bar that didn't look like a pick-me-up. After walking she was weary, bitter and cold. Slouching on the corner bar stool, she cautiously flicked her hand:
'I'll have a rye please, straight.'
'Sure, lady.'
The barman looked around, only his usuals were slumped across the out-dated bar possessively trading their drinks, curiously eying-up this new customer, perhaps envious, but willing to ostracise her all the same.
Carol was past caring, she was alone and honestly had never felt more at ease amidst the tempestuous storm in her mind.
Enveloped from the haze of the alcohol and shrouded by the mist of threatening tears, she couldn't care less if people were looking at her. After all, she had been stared at, objectified, almost every day of her life. From being the pride of the family to the trophy wife and the perfect career mother, and incessant and well practised demeanour of perfection. It was as though Carol was a porcelain doll, trapped behind a glass with everyone gawking at her. There was respect, there was awe, hell, there was even jealousy from most spectators, but their worshipping eyes were bearing a weight on Carol and cracks were beginning to emerge on that powder white surface, and even if the viewers hadn't seen them yet, she knew they were there.
When the stares didn't falter or drop, she became agitated. Why should people look? Why should people expect?
She hastily put out a note, downed the amber liquid and stormed back out into the cold night air.
The rye was cheap anyway.
12.04 RYE NO. 2
Therese hesitantly turned, pretending to fill in the order sheet whilst trying to suppress a yawn. She took her time in rotating back, buoyed by the charming instrumental of Billy Holiday's easy living in the background, - at weekends the bar always had a live jazz band and she had almost volunteered to take on this extra shift just for it.
The polished mahogany surfaces, the decadent chandeliers, the plush leather seats, - Therese could hardly believe she'd landed a job in a place like this. Granted, she was covering for her friend Phil, but a foot in the door and she would be out of Frankenberg's in no time with any luck. Of course she was used to the high society, her parents had been insistent on showing her off in their fierce, standoffish social circles, didn't mean that she wanted to encourage, or act in any part of it though. To Therese, it seemed selfish. How could people waltz in here, laughing their cares away after stepping over the homeless on the street to get here? How could they pick up bills of hundreds of dollars a time when there were thousands living on the poverty line?
Shaking away her thoughts, they would have to wait until her law paper, she shuddered at the memory of it and its fast approaching deadline, - would there ever be time to sleep? With classes and dashing between here and the department store two jobs to sustain her bills, she didn't know how much longer she could cope. Sighing, she caught on to the man giving her a demanding nod and replenished his crystal glass.
01.37 RYE NO. 3 (sort of)
After walking in full circle and getting nowhere, Carol was now leaning her head dejectedly on the side of the train window. She must have been on for at least half an hour, staring out into the obsolete, wishing and hoping she could be devoured up too. She pulled the trench coat a little tighter and absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair, each golden curl separating and framing her face in a totally different, but eternally beautiful way. Slumped into the first chair she found, Carol had her back to a group of young men making their way home from a party. Still rowdy and hiding liquor bottles in brown paper the obnoxious men cheered and were now playing drinking games, swinging fro the poles and support bars. Contrary to the grumbling from a few other night travellers Carol didn't mind, - it was refreshing to see people having fun and being happy for once, - it made a change from her motley and oprressive surroundings anyway.
As the train eased into the next station Carol got up to get off, she had no idea when or what the time was but she knew that trains would become fewer and she'd need to get home at some point. Besides, she could do with a breath of fresh air anyway. Clinging to the pole for support Carol collected her things and advanced towards the door.
Before she knew what had happened she was on the floor.
The boys had tried to push past her and the biggest, celebrating his unrivalled victory in the last round of shots had turned round, wavered, then toppled and took Carol with him. After a tangle of clumsy and unresponsive limbs (on his part), he stood, retrieved his scotch bottle, or what was left of it, given that a damp stain was now bleeding itself into Carol's coat and quickly offered a hand which Carol ungraciously took so they could both rush out onto the platform.
'Jesus. Fucking. Christ.' She muttered under her breath, rubbing the wet patch on her Burberry in vain, with the ridiculous notion that it might just vanish.
'I'm so, so sorry,' the man slurred, in his desperate, yet whiney attempt to apologise. 'If there's anything I can do when I'm sober, please call this number.' He produced a card and thrust it towards her.
'It's fine.' She tried to dismiss his appeasement and hurried on with an exasperated sigh.
At this point she comprehended he was making no attempt to catch up with his friends on the platform.
He was now the one jogging, rather ridiculously to catch up with her.
'Please let me do something, you look so dressed up, like you're going to meet someone. There must be a launderette or something that's still open.' He reached for her hand in a futile attempt to regain her attention.
Carol was too quick and snatched it away, acutely aware that the guy was becoming louder and his friends had stopped, observing.
She stopped, squaring up to him. Willing to let the coat incident go, - she could get another, and honestly, it wasn't like he could ever understand it's value anyway...
'Look.' She spoke forcefully, able to distill the alcohol causing rage within her with composition, 'Don't worry about the coat, it's not your fault. It was an accident. Please leave me alone now.'
Sensing a confrontation, Carol was saved by a shout:
'C'mon Richard leave the little lady alone.' To which he begrudgingly walked away and bounded up to his friends like an ignorant puppy.
'...Or we could bring her with us' another one taunted, the dim lighting at the end of the platform a perfect façade for their cowardice.
'Don't be stupid Jack, she's too old.'
'So? She's still hot as fuck!'
Their voices were not subtle, there was no one else on the platform and Carol had no choice to approach them, she needed to get up the stairs.
She was like a deer, caught in the headlights of their hungry eyes.
02.15 RYE NO.4
Wishing for 4 O'Clock to roll around, Therese leant on the bar. She was exhausted, her charm was fading and her conscientiousness was leaving her. Who cares if a customer got their drink slower? She certainly didn't. Would it really make a difference as they were all so smashed anyway?
She'd found a friend in Genevieve, the colleague she was on with, she found herself talking to her about most things, even Richard. She rather regretted telling her she could go at 12 now though, as she rather missed her company. It wasn't a big deal, all she had to do was close up at four, she'd done bar work before. After all, it would give Gen a rest before her shift tomorrow and her independence would impress the boss.
A woman approached the counter and Therese was mesmerised, she confidently ordered a rye and Therese stuttered, feeling the achievement of her transaction was comparable to climbing a mountain, the way she was feeling in the presence of this woman. She smiled demurely at Therese, and winked before sauntering over to join a group of friends.
Therese sighed, feeling as though she had just experienced a loss? What was that? Attraction? It was like a new disease that she had never even encountered before.
02.27 RYE NO.5
Still running Carol, paused and doubled over, taking a minute to get her breath back and clam down. The fog in her head was beginning to clear ever so slightly, she missed it's encompassing ignorant presence as she began to process the train. She looked round, relieved to be on a busy sidewalk and calmly looked for another bar, telling herself it would be the best plan, despite her inhibitions.
Captivated by the bottle green exterior of Employees Only, she made a path towards the old-fashioned looking door. Dimly lit, she realised it wouldn't be very busy, people would probably be closing up soon, but Carol thought it looked warm, inviting
and safe.
The parallels of the art deco ceilings directing her toward the bartender, Carol walked up, determined to feel the comforting embrace of a good rye once more, in France it was rare she'd be able to drink neat spirits, the functions nearly always requiring the host to advertise a new wine or boast a vintage bottle of Dom Perignon. Exhaling, she coughed, now ready to order a triple, feeling guilty for fostering an unfair impatience with the mixologist who was probably drained anyway.
Employee 645A turned around.
Carol gripped the arm of her bar stool tighter as all frustration evaded her.