“Ennui?” I say with a derisive snort. “You looked that up.”
“Damn right I did.” My friend uses an open hand to paint the word onto the air above him in bold strokes “On Wee.” Then, under the title, his empty palm sweeps out the definition onto two smaller lines. “A feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement. It’s the perfect word for you, Chase. Fits you like a glove.”
“Got me there,” I agree. “I needed a change, Gord and this works for me. The band is really good. The lead guitar has got mad skills; she reminds me of Santana.”
“If I download their entire album for you, can we leave?” asks Gordon.
Laughing, I say, “Gord, go home. Enjoy some time with your family. It won’t be long before the girls are teenagers and will hate you for ruining their lives but, right now, they actually like you. So does Breanna, the poor deluded woman.”
Gordon drains the last of the cognac from an expensive snifter and slams the glass down on the bar, snapping off the stem.
“Whatever,” he snarls at the remains of the crystal laying on the bar.
When she arrives to begin picking up the pieces, the bartender asks, “Bad day at the office, sir?”
“Put the damage on his tab,” Gordon says, pointing his thumb in my direction.
“Hey, wait boss!” I say, falling into my character for the evening. “I hope you’re kidding because I can’t afford that unless you’re giving me a huge raise.”
“And I’m going to need another drink,” Gordon says, ignoring me. “Is the rotgut you’ve been serving me the best cognac you have in this joint?”
“At 500 dollars a pour, sir, I’d hardly refer to it as rotgut.”
Gordon shrugs. “Have you got any Henri IV Dudognon Heritage Cognac Grande Champagne?”
“You obviously know your spirits, sir,” the woman replies. “So, you must also know that the Henri IV goes for two million dollars per bottle. Strangely, we don’t get many people asking for it. As it happens, however, one of our better customers canceled his latest order when he was called away to a meeting in Zurich. So, we have two orphaned bottles in our safe in the cellar if you’d care to take one of them off our hands.”
“I’ll take both,” Gordon replies. “In the meantime, pour me a double of this 500-dollar swill.”
“Yes, sir.” She hurries off. I’m sure the digits are spinning wildly up in her head at the possibility of the tip she’ll be getting tonight.
“You’re not conning me, King,” I say. “You overplayed it. There is no way this club would just happen to have two bottles of cognac worth that much on hand. If they are here, it’s because you bought them yourself. By the way, you butchered the French pronunciation of everything past Henri IV. And the snifter? Give me a break. I doubt they’d ever seen such an expensive piece of drinkware in this place until you hatched your evil plan to get one over on me.”
My friend gives me one of the half-embarrassed smiles he gives me whenever I bust him for trying one of his stunts. “Crap,” he says, “I practiced saying that for days. It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Days?”
“Well, minutes at least,” her replies.
“And the lovely lady behind the bar? How did you rope her into your evil plan?”
“Don’t worry,” he says, “Your cover isn’t blown. She’s a friend of mine from college working here while she finishes her PhD in bio something or other. She and Breanna have become great friends and we had her over for dinner a few weeks ago and I told her I had this guy working for me that I’ve taken a real liking to except that he’s a real know it all. The three of us stayed up late that night planning the whole thing. Thought there was no way you’d know about the cognac. Crap. That brain of yours spoils everything.”
“So, Breanna’s in on it too?” I say.
“Oh, yeah.
The bartender returns with Gordon’s drink and, turning to her, he says, “He figured it out.”
The woman’s eyes grow wide. “You’re kidding!” Then, looking at me, she says, “But there is no way you knew anything about the snifters. I picked them out myself.”
“St. Louis Thistle Gold,” I say. “Around 565 dollars I’d say. Or about 756 Canadian Dollars, 12,204 Mexican Pesos, 445 British pounds and 500 Euros. Roughly. At today’s exchange rates. Would you like to know the price in Japanese yen and Chinese Yuan as well as any others?”
She reaches behind the bar for a towel and begins twirling it into a whip. “How can you stand to keep this guy working for you, Gordon? I say we teach him a lesson. Let me at him and I’ll whip him to death with this bar towel.”
“You promise?” I say with a lecherous grin.
The bartender’s eyes narrow to slits.
“Get him,” Gordon says.
The bartender lunges halfway across the bar while snapping the towel at me. Fortunately, I’m out of range.
“Now you know what I have to put up with every day,” Gordon says.
“You have my deepest sympathies, Gordon,” she says as she puts the towel down behind the bar. “Since you’ve already paid for them, I’ll get the bottles of Henri IV if you wish.”
“Nah,” says Gordon. “I’ll send someone by in a day or two to collect them.”
Looking at me, her eyes narrowed into slits, she says, “I’d better get a helluva tip for dealing with this guy, Gordon. I’ve got my eye on a used Tesla. It’s going to be my reward for finishing my doctorate.”
Raising an eyebrow and grinning my most evil grin, I say, “Meet me at my place wearing only that towel and I’ll buy you two.”
The bartender’s eyes narrow still further. “I don’t play with the help,” she says and throws the towel at me. This time, she doesn’t miss.
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