Mr. Bartender: A Featured Character Short

 Keji Bar

Tokyo, Japan
October 2014

Jian Lee polished a shot glass and pushed another down the counter.

It was 8PM, peak hour quickly approaching. Friday nights at the Keji weren’t usually left untouched – Jian might have seen it all. There were groups of older men walking in and staggering out, young ladies who were crying and reapplying their lipstick in the somewhat cramped bathroom. A college student drifted in for beer and peanuts, scribbling what seemed to be a thesis. 

That night was no different. Mentally preparing himself for the wave of orders that were to come, Jian quickly arranged the glasses behind him and polished the bottles to make them shine. As he took out the beers, the chimes on the door gave a ring and he looked up. 

Inside came four people – the eldest, a Japanese, guided the remaining three to a semi-secluded portion by the counter. He heard the brief mumbling of a man and a woman’s voice quickly took over, laughter quickly taking over. Jian let himself smile. Happy customers were usually the better ones, compared to the sobbing messes who caused their tissue expenses to rocket. 

“You know what to get us, Mack.”

“Shall we start off small?”

The female started yet again. “Please. I don’t want us to end up like last time.”

The first male snorted, “Let’s not. I’d hate to hear A’s drunk dial.” Once more, laughter came and soon enough, a man approached the bar. Jian immediately turned on his charisma.

“Good evening,” he greeted. “Anything I can get you?”

“Three beers and a glass of red wine.” He replied. “We’ll be paying later.” 

“Right, right. Hold on a moment.” Swiping the cool beer bottles and putting them on the counter, Jian nimbly took a fresh bottle and poured into the glass. “I don’t think I’ve caught your name, sir.”

The man, a curly-haired foreigner with dimples and brown eyes chuckled as he waited. “Macmillan. Call me Mack, the longer version’s a mouthful.” Jian repeated the name in his head: Mack.

“Mac, like the Apple product?”

“With a ‘k’ at the end,” the other affirmed. Jian put the glass and the beers on a round tray, preparing to go out so he could serve the table personally. Mack, however, stopped him. “I can take this, mate. No worries.” He flashed a brief smile and signaled at the door, the chimes ringing again, “It seems that you’ll get more customers soon enough.”

“It’s not a worry, Mack, not a worry at all,” Jian protested, yet Mack held up a hand. 

“It’s the least I can do. Really. You wouldn’t want to serve our table come nine thirty,” he deadpanned. “Take it as an apology in advance.” And with that, Jian understood.

“Sad drunk?”

“Arrogant drunk and a flirty-slash-weepy drunk. The tall American and the British lady respectively.” Jian peered at the table, seeing said customers already on their way to an argument. The Japanese was attempting to pacify it. “The Japanese there is usually the peacekeeper.”

“And you?”

He didn’t mean for the words to tumble out, but they just did. Jian braced himself, expecting an odd look, but instead, what came as a warmer smile leading to an amused smirk. 

“Spectator and recorder of blackmail.” With that, Mack took the tray for his friends. “I might see more of you later. Gotta keep sober, I’m also designated driver.” 

“Right, right.” Heading into the booth again, Jian took out a few more beers before the other said something else.

“I didn’t quite catch your name, b-tender.”

“Oh.” He looked up, seeing Mack’s hazel eyes under the cheap florescent lights. “Jian. Jian Lee.” 

“Jian,” he repeated thoughtfully, and gave him a nod before walking away, footsteps resounding along with his beating heart. 

Mack came back a few more times that night, eighty percent for more drinks and twenty for conversation. In that eighty percent that he came for drinks, Mack was the one who carried them back to his table, with Jian wonderstruck and contemplating on how someone could be so kind.

The time he came back for conversation was also the time wherein he had to pay. Having listed them all down on an unused napkin, Jian smoothly computed for the amount to be paid and watched as Mack paid it down to the last coin. “You know,” Jian murmured while he computed, “You’re awfully kind for treating out your friends like this.” 

“It’s a punishment, actually.” Mack took out a cigarette as well as a lighter, and began to smoke. Jian blankly remembered that the bar permitted smoking and watched as the male blew out smoke calmly into the cold, air-conditioned place. “We had a bet. Which one of us could last the shortest on my friend’s motorcycle.”

“The tall American’s?” Mack shook his head.

“The lady’s. Fucking wild driver, she is. Some kind of road demon. Anyway, the one who lasted the shortest would have to pay for tonight. I lasted the shortest.” He replied dryly. “She was exempted since she paid a month ago.”

“Ah. So it’s a monthly thing?” Mack nodded, folding the receipt neatly and putting it into the pocket of his wallet. 

“Right you are. We’ll be back next month,” the man chuckled. “We usually let bars recover before we return to cause havoc.” 

“Tonight seems like an exception, though.” Jian leaned against the counter now, glancing at Mack’s friends. The lady was idly texting. The two men were in deep conversation.

“Yes, well…this is the first time we’re here, actually. We like it here. We’ll come back next month,” he repeated, and Jian nodded. 

“Same time?”

“Same place,” Mack confirmed. Jian let loose a laugh and Mack walked away, grinning to himself. Jian felt himself smile as well and glanced down at the napkin, black handwriting calmly listing drink names to the left and prices to the right –

Jian spluttered upon reaching the bottommost section.

Encircled was a number, a name and a message.

Call me.