Tramp’s Bar - Red Bank
The parking lot was almost full, when Jon pulled into it on a rainy Wednesday night. After barely managing to find a parking spot, he slipped in the main entrance of the bar unnoticed. The big wooden bar spanned most of the back wall of the room, with just the door to Kimber’s office to the right of the large bar. There were several tall tables with bar stools scattered around a couple of pool tables in the middle of the room and booths that ran along the walls. He slid into one of those booths in a dark corner of the room just as Tommy rang the bell and announced, “Bar’s closed.”
In a tight little black t-shirt that said, “As a matter of fact, it IS all about me” leaving a small slice of skin between it and a pair of skin tight black jeans, Kimber climbed up on the bar, her pearly whites visible even from where he sat.
She tossed her long curls back over her shoulder and smiled at the crowd.
“Back here, I do it all,
from door’s open to last call.
I’m the ‘tender and the boss.
I’ll make you a great drink,
might even make you think,
or, help you handle a loss.
Vodka, whiskey, or beer,
it’ll fill you full of cheer,
and soothe a shit ton of sins.
Brandy, Scotch, or Sherry,
or even wine from the berry
can turn losses into wins.
I can commiserate
or help you celebrate.
Just whatever you may feel.
But, black, white, yellow, or spotted
Please do me a solid.
Don’t drink and get behind the wheel.
“Bar’s open!”
Jon shook his head slightly as the smile bloomed across his face. She could even make a PSA against drinking and driving sexy. A wooden bowl of bar pretzels landed on the table in front of him.
“What can I get ya?” a young blonde asked him.
He guessed she was barely in her twenties and probably had no idea who he was. Good. “A glass of the house’s best pinot grigio, please.”
“Is that all?” she sounded distracted.
“Can you ask Kimber to bring it to me?”
She shrugged as she snapped her gum. “Sure, I’ll ask.” She stressed the last word as she turned to walk away.
A rowdy group of friends shooting pool at a nearby table caught Jon’s attention, and he was still smiling at their fun when a long stemmed wine glass slid across the table in front of him. His eyes landed on Kimber as she slipped into the booth across from him. His eyebrows rose in surprise.
“What?” she asked with a defiant tilt to her chin. “Did you think I was too chicken shit to bring it myself?”
“You may be a lot of things,” he said softly, leaning across the table so she could hear him, “but chicken shit isn’t one of them.”
Her smile was tight and forced, and the fingernail of her index finger tapped the table in agitation. “What do you want, Jon?” And, quickly before he could answer, she almost growled, “And if you say ‘you’, I’m outta here.”
He held his hands up in surrender. “Truce?”
“Hardly.” She growled. “Just get to the point, Rock Star.”
“I got your letter yesterday.”
For a brief millisecond, the question flitted through her lovely eyes before understanding dawned. “I know the mail is slow, but…” She shook her head and shrugged one shoulder. The left corner of her lovely lips tugged upwards in a smart ass smirk.
Jon recognized her sarcasm for what it was. Disbelief. “My former manager never gave it to me. He had it stashed away in some box with similar letters, stored God only knows where.”
The snort was soft as it floated across the table, but spoke volumes. She doubted every word he spoke.
“He thought he was protecting me.” Jon began to explain, but decided to just throw it all out there. “Fuck it all. Protecting me is questionable. He probably thought there’d be some way to make money off of it later. It was always about the money to Doc.”
“What did you mean by ‘similar letters’?” she asked softly.
“Back in the day, letters claiming I was the father of some young woman’s child arrived more often than I’d like to think about. Women I never even met, much less slept with.” He paused, then added, “Or so Doc claims.”
Seconds ticked by while she just stared at him. Then anger slowly drifted across her face. It was a subtle change, but her lips tightened, her eyes narrowed, and one eyebrow lifted. Golden fire sparked in the center of her eyes. “I know what this is. You met Frankie, and now you’re hoping you can hand me a bullshit story and I’ll put in a good word for you with our son.”
Two words. That’s all it had taken to make him suck in a deep breath and made a smile flirt with the corners of his mouth.
Our son.
He moved quickly, his hand snaking across the table to grab hers. “Kimber, please.”
She looked down at their joined hands on the table. How had he known she was about to panic and run. And, she could be honest with herself, even if she couldn’t be honest with him. She had been about to run. “What do you want from me, Jon?”
He ignored how her voice broke, before she got herself under control again. “I just want you to listen to me. For fuck’s sake, Kimber, we had something once. For the sake of what we once had, please just listen to me.”
The pain in those beautiful blue eyes made her resolve falter.
“Okay. I’ll listen.”
