Thursday Night

The dishwasher clicked as it finished its cycle, the green indicator light flicking on. Giles emptied the glasses from its interior, his face damp in the steam. The dull throb of music filtered down into the basement, its low ceiling covered in a tangle of pipes, equipment stacked around the edges. Giles liked the basement and back rooms, free of the glitz and spangle of the public bar; they seemed like the bare bones of the building, peeking around the gaudy façade. A plain table sat in the corner of the room, where the staff played with a greasy deck of cards, just out of sight of the surveillance camera mounted by the stairs. More trays of dirty glasses clinked through the service hatch, and he returned to his task hoping the rush would finish soon.
Maybe she would be here tonight, he thought, here to prop up the bar, keep her stool warm, drink vodka, chewing her olives. He could picture her pale face, framed by chocolate-coloured hair, the corners of her mouth turned up, as if she had just heard something amusing. Maybe she'll notice me, and I can be funny and charming, and she'll laugh and we can talk; when these glasses are done I'll go up, he decided, get Sian to swap, she likes a break from the bar every now and then. The dishwasher completed another cycle, and Giles reloaded it, wiping wet hands on his apron and glancing at the clock on the wall.
Sian hurried around the bar, taking orders, giving change, making smiles and talk with familiar faces. The crowd was bigger than usual tonight, drawn in by the live music, a troupe of up-and-coming indie kids, plugging away in the pared-down style of the moment. Closing her nose to the sour scent of the beer, she moved methodically along the counter, serving the punters and keeping one eye on the band when she could. The bass player intrigued her, blond and burly, he was a stark contrast to his rake-thin bandmates, like the greedy puppy of a litter. His face was a mask of concentration, occasionally moulding into a look of moody cool for the audience. He must have spent hours practicing that, she thought.
Unwittingly, a smile crept over her lips as she gazed at the stage, and the bass player grinned over the heads of the throng, his eyes fixed on the bar. Sian blushed and looked down, beaming to the slick surface. When she glanced up, he was concentrating again, and she turned away. Looking sheepishly around, she noticed a dark-haired girl watching her, the unexpected gaze flickering away as their eyes met. Sian felt embarrassed and vulnerable at the intrusion; and yet. there was a murmur of recognition, and a flash of annoyance: that girl was always here, her face the colour of sour milk, always with that little smirk on her face. This was the girl that Giles would never shut up about, and the one he couldn't hold a conversation with. Sian pushed her irritation away; barflies needed a home, she guessed.
A clatter from the service stairs announced Giles' arrival, his face shiny and hair limp. Peering around the bar he stopped when he saw her, and moved over to where Sian was, trying to be less obvious.
"Has she been here long?"
"Hello to you too - do you mean paleface? I don't know, seeing as I don't keep track of your crushes." Sian began to slice a lemon for the mixers.
Giles darted a look at the dark-haired girl, her face luminescent in the gloom. "Do you think she's got a boyfriend?"
Sian slapped the knife onto the board, "Have you ever seen her with a bloke? Or should I say, the same bloke, more than once? So, no - I don't think so. Why don't you ask her and find out for yourself?"
Giles' eyes shifted between the lemon and his feet, heavy brow creasing as he frisked his soul for some courage, discovering only a few crumpled bits of bravado and some fluffy fantasies.
Sian turned towards him, her expression softening, "Why don't you just go and speak to her? Ask her if she wants a drink, what kind of night she's having, what her name is - anything at all." She placed her hand on his chest, giving him a reassuring pat. "What do you have to lose? The worst she can say is no, but at least you tried."
He looked at the girl again, back at Sian, and with a small smile of gratitude, turned towards the bar.
The dark-haired girl saw him enter, the lank-haired boy with his ruddy cheeks, watched him hurry over to the mousy barmaid with the solemn eyes, but could not hear what they were saying. She looked away, idly swirling her drink, smile tugging at her cheeks. Glancing around the bar, she recognised a few, regular customers like her. Fishing in her bag, she located her cigarettes and lit one, drawing in the hot smoke and exhaling a blue cloud that rose to the ceiling, her tension dissipating in the haze.
A crash of chords and chorus of cheers announced the end of the set, and the band began dismantling their equipment on the darkened stage. The blond bassist stowed his gear and moved through the crowd towards the bar, searching for the one he had seen earlier. The people parted for him, offering congratulations and greetings, and he passed on with the briefest of acknowledgments.
Sian watched Giles shuffle hesitantly towards the girl, although she did not see him approach. A yellow-headed figure moving purposefully towards the bar caught her eye, the guitarist from the band! Catching her breath, Sian moved quickly to the counter, giving Giles a nudge of encouragement as she passed, and took her place by the taps.
And there she was - long dark hair piled on her head, the delicate line of her neck leading into the exciting curve of her back, shoe dangling from her toes as she gently swung her leg back and forth. He felt a rush of exhilaration and expectation, and not a hint of trepidation. Catching her eye, the bassist nodded a greeting; she smiled faintly, an amused look in her eye.
Turning to the bar, a barmaid waited expectantly.
"Carlsberg, please", turning to the girl, "can I get you anything?"
The dark-haired girl displayed a toothy grin, "Vodka and tonic, thanks."
Sian glanced back to see Giles standing where she had passed him, his arms slack; she smiled a brave little smile, but could not hide the disappointment in her eyes. He stirred and began to tend the customers pressing forwards for service.