By Eric Eisenberg
As Mark figured, because it was a Tuesday night, St. James was nearly empty, which gave him a chance to just be alone. The pub was dark, with only the stained-glass lamps over the pool tables providing light. The fluorescent bulb that used to be over the bar burned out months ago, but no one had bothered to replace it. The other drinkers sat at tables; small groups of old men sat quietly throughout the pub, occasionally lifting their gin and tonics and vodka gimlets before placing them back down on their coasters. A young couple sat at the other end of the bar talking with Martha, the bartender, who spent her evenings having hearty laughs between pulling taps and pouring shots. Beer mirrors and assorted bric-a-brac patterned the walls, attempting to give the pub a sense a family and homeliness, but it was a failed effort. Instead, Mark always thought that they were simply items to be damaged during a bar fight. He had been coming to St. James with Jack from the day that they turned twenty-one, eight years prior, finding it ideal because it reminded them of the places that they saw in the movies and it provided a place to hang out that was far off campus, where they wouldn’t run into former professors.
He had told Jack that he was going to show up at 10:30, but instead opted to arrive early. While they had been friends for over a decade, Jack never grasped the concept of solitude. He preferred to be surrounded by people, which always made Mark wonder why he spent time at St. James. Three beers later he gazed up at the clock. Jack would arrive any second.
As the minute-hand fell perfectly on the six, the door opened and Mark didn’t need to turn around. Jack made a habit of never showing up early and not even a second late, which seemed to run contrary to his laid-back attitude. Mark always imagined Jack waiting outside the door staring at his watch and impatiently tapping his foot. Mark had never been able to confirm the theory, as he’d never been able to catch Jack keeping an appointment with someone else. The chair next to him became shrouded in a long black jacket and thin palms thudded on his shoulders.
“How are the lucky people of St. James doing tonight?” Jack called to the rest of the pub in a fake Irish accent. Murmurs erupted and Mark could hear the slow lifting and dropping of glasses. He looked at the bottles sitting in front of Mark. “You started without me. As he sat down, Mark turned towards him and Jack’s eyes widened at the sight of a large gap in Mark’s smile. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Almost forgot about that,” Mark replied, sticking his tongue between his left canine and his incisor. “Had a bit of an accident.”
“Where? You playing for the Rangers now?”
“I got called down to the Morgan Library because there was some confusion about my plans for the new wing.”
Jack’s attention left Mark as he raised his hand and looked down the bar. “Need a beer, Blue Eyes. And might I say, you’re looking prettier than an Irish rose.”
Martha, a woman with forty years on Jack and a thick, authentic Irish accent, walked down the bar and pulled the tab labeled Guinness, filling a pint with dark stout and leaving a perfect, creamy head. She walked towards Jack, placing the cold stout into his waiting hands.
“Calling me Blue Eyes doesn’t excuse you from saying please, Johnny.”
Jack winked at her and his voice changed back into his fake accent. “Only me mother calls me Johnny, Blue Eyes. Put it on my tab.” His attention turned back to Mark. “People don’t lose teeth going over plans.”
“I was out on the sight talking with the foreman so that I could show him exactly what I wanted for the new wing. There is this thing that I am doing in the corner of the northwest corridor and I guess I didn’t make it clear enough. So we’re walking and I am trying to show him what I wanted when some guy wielding a piece of lumber turned and smashed me in the face. Doctor said I was lucky that I didn’t break my cheekbone or my nose. We couldn’t find the tooth so I have an appointment to get a porcelain tooth next Saturday.”
“Ouch. What day was this?”
“Thursday.”
“Yikes. That’s fucked up timing.”
“That is definitely a subject that I don’t want to talk about tonight.” Mark scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail, ran his hand through his brown hair and massaged the back of his neck.
“Bullshit. That is exactly why we’re here.” Jack took a sip of his drink and licked the foam off of his upper lip. “So? What happened?”
“I’m not talking about it Jack. Stop asking.”
The two sat in silence for a moment sipping their beers.
“It’s been a cold spring,” Jack said.
“I know; I hate it. It was such a bad winter you would think Mother Nature might cut us a break. It’s already April and it’s still in the 40s.”
“I could have sworn that I saw David Wright shivering last night during the game. The Mets’ bats seem to be really slow.”
“I saw that too. I think they’re going to Arizona in the next couple of days though, so it should get better. What’s going on at work? You get any new cases?”
“Come on, man. We didn’t come here to talk about baseball and work. Tell me what’s up.”
“I don’t know. Ask her.”
“That won’t work. She doesn’t like me.” Jack smiled and his teeth glistened with stout.
“And who could blame her,” Mark said, faking a smile back.
“You, on the other hand, you do like me. Talk. How out of the blue was this?”
“We’ve been separated for the past three months and I’ve been staying in the guest house.”
“What?” Jack gasped, leaning in.
“I didn’t think much of it at the time. This kind of stuff happens. Couples hit low spots.”
“You still should have told me, man. That’s not the kind of stuff you hide from a best friend. What started it? I know you didn’t cheat on her.”
“God no. I don’t even know where it began. Frankly, I thought we were fine. Then she tells me that I spend too much time at work, that I don’t do anything around the house and, the kicker, that I don’t seem like I am ready to start a family with her.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that it was my busy time of the year and that I would work harder at doing more around the house.”
“And the family thing?”
“I showed her the back of my hand, pointed at my wedding ring, and said that I wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t want to start a family.”
“That doesn’t seem like you.” Jack said, his hands behind his head, pushing up his long black hair. “Is that what got you shit-kicked?”
“She told me that she wanted to separate for awhile and I moved into the guest house that night.”
“That doesn’t sound like Susan.”
“And five days ago she called me at work asking me for a divorce.”
“Jesus.”
“Frankly, things were going fine during the break too. We ate dinner together every night ‘cause she can’t really cook, we went to the movies… We were back to how we were at school.” Mark shifted in his seat and took a sip from his fourth beer.
“Look at me,” Jack said, turning to his friend. Mark turned and faced him “No more bullshit. You’re not telling me something. What happened?”
“Fuck you. That’s exactly what happened.” Mark’s hand came up and wiped his upper lip.
Jack stood up from his stool and leaned down the bar to where Martha was standing with the young couple. “Can we get four shots please, Blue Eyes?”
Martha moved toward them with a bottle of Jameson and four shot glasses. She placed the glasses on the bar and whiskey splashed on the hard wood as she poured from the metal spout. She quickly returned the bottle to the shelf and walked back.
“Just like in school. 1…2…3,” Jack said. The two grabbed the shot glasses and threw them back, slamming them back down on the bar once finished.
“Honestly, I don’t understand why you married her in the first place.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t get why you got married in the first place. You’re 27, man. You’re a fucking architect in the city of architecture. You build skyscrapers and museum wings. You’re rolling in it. You shouldn’t be married! You should be out with me on the weekends picking up girls at three AM and seeing them out the door at six. You’ll be happier once the divorce is finished.”
“You sound like my dad. He said that the twenties were designed for fucking around.”
“And I’ve always said Mr. Stevens has a good head on his shoulders.” Jack threw back the remainder of his pint and called down to the other end of the bar. “Can we get two more shots down here, Blue Eyes?”
“Do you even remember college? I was the guy walking home alone while you were checking your wallet for a rubber.”
“You’re a good looking guy, Marky-Mark. You could have been right there with me.”
Mark stood from his stool and stumbled, grabbing the bar to stabilize himself.
“I’m going to the bathroom. Don’t leave.”
“I’ll be right here.”
Mark made his way to the back of the pub and walked into the bathroom. As he began to go, splashing the rim and the floor before finally hitting water, he hooked his arm back on his shoulder and inhaled deeply, blowing a raspberry as he exhaled.
“It’s only been five days,” he said to himself
He finished up, closed the toilet lid, and flushed. He reached up to grab the handle on the door, but hesitated and sat down on the closed toilet. He put his elbows on his knees and pushed his thumbs into the corner’s of his eyes, just trying to breathe.
As he exited the bathroom, the door quickly shutting behind him, he saw that Jack had not only stayed, but now had a couple of guests sitting on either side of him.
“There he is!” Jack called, his arms pointing straight out, palms extended to draw Mark in. “Ladies, this is the guy I’ve been telling you about. Mark, this is Gillian and Becca.”
As he got closer, Mark looked back and forth between the two girls. Gillian wore a low-cut black top and a skirt that defied the weather. She had shoulder length black hair with short bangs and a nose that seemed to slightly point up at the end like a pixie. Becca had shorter red hair and was dressed less provocatively, wearing a more conservative black top that was concealed by a denim jacket and paired with a pair of tight black jeans. Jack placed two fingers on Becca’s far shoulder and nodded, a system Jack had created in college to designate that he had made his claim. It wasn’t the girl’s appearance that first caught Mark’s eye, however, but their age: something that Jack could see in Mark’s facial expression.
“Gillian and Becca are juniors over at NYU. Apparently they don’t have classes on Wednesdays and have decided to go bar hopping. Either that or they are intent on destroying their lives,” Jack said smiling. The girls shot him mixed looks of disgust and attraction, Becca playfully slapping him on the shoulder.
“You jerk,” she giggled. It was obvious this wasn’t the first bar they had gone to that night.
“Are you kidding? I’m the nicest guy you’ll ever meet!” Jack said laughing. “Mark, aren’t I the nicest guy you’ve ever met?”
“Yeah, you’re a real peach,” Mark sniped back. “Can I talk to you for a minute Jack?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Jack rose from his stool and left the two girls laughing and falling over each other. Occasionally staring back at the pair, Jack walked over with Mark to a far corner of the pub where they could talk privately.
“What are you doing?” Mark said angrily.
“You see what I did with the shoulder, man?” Jack asked. “Just like back at school. I’ve always wanted to get with a redhead.”
“How old are you?”
“What?”
“We’re not in college anymore, Jack. You’re 29, not 19.”
“Well maybe you need to relax a bit. Go back to being a 19 year old. Have some fun, get with some random girls.”
“No I don’t!” Mark’s voice was rising. “We’re working adults now. I’m getting divorced. It’s time to grow up.”
“We used to have fun! We used to go out, get fucked up and then be paranoid about security guards in the dorms. We used to pull pranks on the RA. We used to make stupid bets about who would eat the grossest things or gorge themselves on ridiculous amounts of food! You used to at least go out with me to try and pick up girls. I was just trying to make you feel better man! What happened to you?”
“I grew up, Jack! You think I’d rather be like you? Do you think anyone would rather be like you? I was happy! You’re fucking miserable! You spend weekends picking up random bar skanks and spend weekdays sitting in some oversized office in some Podunk law firm where people can’t tell the difference between you and the fucking wallpaper! I’m sick of it. We meet in some pub for some stupid nostalgic ideal and do nothing. We talk about shit. We talk about what we did ten years ago. This has been a long time coming, Jack.”
The pub was silent was now silent. Mark headed to the bar to grab his coat off the back of his chair and walked out, slamming the door behind him. It was getting close to midnight and he held his arms close to his chest while waiting for a taxi to come.
The door of the pub opened and Jack stepped out and stood next to Mark, neither of them looking at each other.
“My firm is offering me a job in Boston and I’m thinking that after the divorce goes through that I am going to take it,” Mark said.
“That sounds like a good opportunity. Boston’s a growing city,” Jack replied. “Plenty of museums and skyscrapers to be built.”
“Give me a call if you’re ever in the area. Big college town up there, plenty of places to hang out.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, man.”
A taxi pulled up to the curb and Mark opened the door and stepped in. Closing the door behind him, the taxi drove off, leaving Jack alone.
© Eric Eisenberg, All Rights Reserved