“Jack, you aren’t working?” they asked almost in unison from the far end of the bar.
Jackie had stuck around after Mr. Buckley left, handing the reins over to George, the other night bartender. He and George exchanged pleasantries, and George provided Jack with a free beer when the Marlboro Men had come in.
William Michaels was in his middle fifties, stood about six feet tall with a medium build and a generally fit look to him. His full head of hair was thick and wavy, albeit mostly grey. He had a tanned face that looked more as a result of harsh weather than a tanning bed. His deep brown eyes were flanked with crow’s feet that gave an impression he had toughness to him.
William Michaels was wearing a tan leather jacket with a large white sheepskin collar, blue jeans and cowboy boots made of rattlesnake. Only the lack of a Stetson kept him from being mistaken for a real life cowboy. A pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes and a Zippo lighter sat stacked in front of him on the mahogany bar.
On the barstool to William Michaels’ left sat his partner of twelve years, Jason Morrow. Jason was two years younger than William and though similarly dressed in blue jeans and cowboy boots, he wore a WWII replica leather bomber’s jacket. He reached for the pack of Marlboro Light cigarettes in his bomber’s jacket pocket, pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips and turned just in time for William to light it with his Zippo. “Thanks love,” he said exhaling a plume of cobalt blue smoke.
“Not tonight guys, taking a little time off to get my head straight,” Jackie replied.
“Oh puhlease,” the older, more masculine of the two replied, “Everyone knows that Jackie O’Shea is the one bartender in town who has his head on straight, no offense George.”
“You look like hell Jackie,” Jason said matter-of-factly.
“Why thank you Mr. Morrow, you look quite dapper yourself this evening,” Jackie replied in jest.
William laughed heartedly, enduring an elbow from his partner and called for George to buy Jack another beer.
“If you don’t mind Mr. Michaels, I’ll have a Jameson’s?” Jackie asked.
“Absolutely Jackie, and gives us two more down here George, please,” William said pointing at his and Jason’s half empty martinis.
William and Jason were known around town as the “Marlboro Men” not because of the brand of cigarettes they smoked, rather, William Michaels had actually been the Marlboro Man in the popular advertising campaign during the mid to late seventies. He could ride a horse, and often did at their Easthampton mansion, and rope a calf from the saddle of a galloping horse, but hadn’t done so in years. The Marlboro Men were financially well off.
“Jackie, have you given any more thought to our offer?” William asked his favorite bartender. He and Jason had stopped into Buckley’s Pub one afternoon after several hours of shopping in Southampton’s posh storefronts. Jackie was behind the bar and after making the couple “the best damned martinis they’d ever tasted” was the recipient of a very generous tip and gained two loyal returning customers who came in at least twice a week.
“Oh, don’t bug him William, can’t you see he’s had a rough day?” Jason chastised his “better half.”
“I’m not bugging, Jackie, we open in two months and really need to hire a manager. We want you,” William said dead-pan looking Jackie O’Shea square in the eye.
“Geez, he really is a cowboy,” Jackie thought to himself. The fact was that he had given their proposition some thought, but decided to not take it. He had been offered the manager position for a new restaurant/lounge the Marlboro Men were opening in Sag Harbor, a position that came with an incredible salary. His decision had nothing to do with the fact that the expected clientele would be predominantly homosexual, nor that Sag Harbor was some 25-minutes away from his apartment, but in part because he felt a sense of loyalty to Mr. Buckley and that the truth be told, he was tiring of the restaurant lifestyle. Picking up his drink, Jackie moved to the barstool next to Jason and sat down.
Jackie O’Shea in all sincerity looked at the Marlboro Men and said, “I’m honored that you’d make such an offer, though I don’t think I’m up to the task, I regretfully decline.” Looking away, Jackie took a healthy pull from his glass of Jameson’s. “Shit, I’m getting drunk,” he thought to himself.
“Jackie, first of all, you are more than up to the task and we didn’t make the offer because you make the best damned martinis in the Hamptons. We did our homework Jack, talking to your bosses and employees. I hope to hell you aren’t all of a sudden homophobic, because from a purely business standpoint Jackie O’Shea, you are the right man for the job,” William Michaels plainly stated.
“No, I’m not a homophobe, and I’ll probably regret not taking this job Mr. Michaels, but lately I’ve been feeling like I need a change. I feel as if my life should have more meaning than mixing drinks and counseling drunks. Hell, I almost joined the Army two days ago,” he said with a chuckle.
“We know Jackie, Mr. Buckley told us, and personally I admire you for that. Fair enough, but if you should ever change your mind, EVER, the job is yours.”
Just then, Patti Buckley walked into the bar, arm in arm with a tall, dark haired handsome man who looked as if he had just stepped from the pages of GQ magazine. Jackie didn’t notice the couple until he felt a tension in the air and looked to the end of the bar seeing Patti locked in a passionate, sloppy kiss with Mr. GQ.
“Perfect,” said Jack under his breath as he stood and walked out of Buckley’s Irish Pub and Grill.
Jackie O’Shea- Space Cowboy
Jackie O’Shea- Barkeep
Jackie O’Shea- Prospect
Jackie O’shea- Space Cowboy (again)
Jackie O’Shea- Dream Boy
Jackie O’Shea- Drop Out
Jackie O’Shea- Recipient
Sgt Hook out.
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