| "You have to come work for me, Manny." He doesn't slur when he says this; perhaps because he's been saying it over and over during the course of the evening. You are sure you've already made yourself quite clear upon this proposal - you're more than happy to take the job - yet there's something in the way he says it, time and again, that forces you to say it aloud. So you do. Time and again. "I will Bernard, I will." "Good. Good! Because - " Bernard's head wobbles as he thinks - "the, the shop needs someone that smells nice." This comes as some surprise to you. It is unlikely that the shop has ever had anything in it that smells nice, save perhaps for the odd properly groomed customer. In any case, Bernard has not thus far struck you as one alert to such attributes. You nod conversationally. "Well, that's... good, I suppose." He's looking over at you with hopelessly unfocused eyes, quite brown they are really, and as he slumps further over the table he grabs you by the arm, looking for all the world as though he's about to reveal a state secret. "It's good!" he hollers, in a curiously high voice. "You, you know - you, me... books! What could be gooder?" He pauses to light a cigarette. "Now! What do you want?" "Sorry?" "Whaddayawant?!" Bernard, now reeling unsteadily on his feet, gestures towards the bar. "Nother... créme de.. lager?" "Oh - yeah, thank you, but.. but no, I really should go home, get some rest. Got to work in the morning, haven't I?" You smile sheepishly in spite of yourself. It is more than a little confusing suddenly finding oneself with an employer who doesn't seem too concerned about you being fit to work, let alone himself. "And anyway, it's nearly closing time," you add, causing Bernard to squint at the clock on the wall in utter disbelief. He insists on leaving with you, but only after he's had one more. It's odd walking with Bernard, and oddly comfortable, too; he's stumbling along by your side like a walking ink blot, half-talking, half-humming something nonsensical, or possibly Irish. As he trips over a cobblestone he grabs your arm again, wrapping his fingers around it, and by the time you've reached the shop he still hasn't let go. "Well, goodnight," you chime uncertainly, eager to get home, to bed, somewhere safe and warm and preferably dark, to contemplate this new acquaintance. Bernard blinks at the door in recognition. "Oh yeah yeah yeah... this is me. This is me. Manny! You..." the grip, already quite firm, tightens as he staggers closer towards you. Really close. So close that you could probably determine the brand of cigarettes he smokes, provided you could think clearly. "Come work for me. Hm? What say... it'll be good. You have a... lovely self, Manny." Lovely self. You decide to store that pair of words away in your mind, to be considered at a later time when you're alone, and just go for the answer once more. "I will, I already said I would." "Huh?" He blinks again and lurches, clinging to your arm. How on earth can he still be on his feet after sixteen thousand pints in less than four hours is beyond your comprehension. "I said I'll come work for you, Bernard." "That's more like it! Now. Now. Listen," he breathes, addressing your mouth. Definitely Marlboro. Or Bennies? Could be Bennies. "Why don't we go in I'll show you around, we can shag a bottle of nightcap, how about it?" "No, I'm sorry, I -" he didn't just say shag? - "I really need to go home. I'll be here first thing in the morning." "Would you?" "I will." There's suddenly something wrong with your throat. "So - see you tomorrow?" Bernard lets go, grunting something you suppose is in the affirmative, and slouches in through the door. Confident that he can make his way to a safe spot now that he's inside, you finally head home. The strange little knot you've had in your belly for most of the evening grows tighter as you walk alone and smile and think. It might be a good idea to dress sharp for tomorrow. Maybe get a bottle of wine, too. |