It was a dark room. Of course, the patrons preferred it that way. This was no place for day people; it was a bar.

It was a very good one, but few people knew that. This was also a good thing, for the patrons. It was a comfortable place.

The man who walked in was a regular. He was in his late twenties, with shoulder-length hair. He looked unwashed, unkempt, unshaven, and unawake. It was intentional, of course. He squinted to adjust to the darkness and walked in.

He took in his surroundings as he came in. A lot of empty tables, a few token seats at the bar. He walked to the bartender.

“Hello, Mike,” he said.

The bartender, whose name was not Mike but was used to this, responded, “Hey, Jim. The usual?”

The young man, whose name was Jim, came back with, “Nah, just a Bushmill’s.”

The bartender hardly reacted, having already poured the drink.

Jim took the Bushmill’s and sat at the bar. The seat to his right was vacant. He winked at the punk-rock woman to his left, who snorted and walked away. Both Jim and the bartender had to suppress a chuckle.

“How you doing this morning?” Jim asked.

“Not bad, although it’s four p.m. Yourself?”

“Hanging in there.”

“How goes work?”

“Slowly. It’s a bigger project I’m working on right now.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“Not like this. I’ve been working on this for three months now, with my brother, and it could go three months more.”

The bartender grimaced. “For you, that’s bad.”

“It is.”

Jim sipped his drink while the bartender went to serve his other customers. In the six years he had frequented this bar most of their conversations had been along these lines: talk of work, a few private jokes only Jim knew, and then another drink which Jim presently ordered.

When she first walked in, no one could say. She was the type of woman few noticed the first time, but those who did noticed again. The bartender noticed. So did Jim.

“Hello, Karen,” the bartender said. “What’ll it be?”

“Bushmill’s.” She had a mid-range voice, a bit gravelly.

Jim looked her up and down. She was a short woman, barely five feet tall with strawberry-blonde hair. She had a thin frame, and wore thin-framed glasses. Jim finally noticed that she was staring back, and saluted her with his drink.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Jim pointed to his Bushmill’s. “Just admiring your choice of drink.” He took a sip of his own for emphasis.

Karen took a sip of her own. “I didn’t come here to be picked up,” she said after a moment.

“Well,” Jim considered, “I didn’t come here to pick you up. Just admiring a drink or two from my workday. Besides,” he took a sip, “if you’d wanted me to pick you up you’d be sitting closer than you are.”

The bartender continued to polish his glasses, waiting for the night rush that he knew would eventually come. Although you would never know it from looking, he was placing a bet with himself as to how long it would be before Karen would decide to join Jim. He got it within five seconds, but that was a reflection of how well he could read his customers.

Karen finished her drink and walked over to Jim. She looked at the bartender as she took the seat to Jim’s right. “Another,” she said.

“Me too, Mike,” Jim said.

Karen raised an eyebrow and looked first at Jim, then the bartender. The bartender took a breath awaiting the next move. If Karen made any mention about the bartender’s name not being Mike, Jim would rather rudely get rid of her. As Karen made no move other than the raised eyebrow, the bartender realized all would work out and proceeded to pour the drinks. If Jim caught any of this it didn’t show.

“Why did you come here?” Jim asked.

Karen thought it out before she answered. “Same reason as you.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, then his re-filled drink to his lips. “Doubt it.”

“Why?”

“You answered my question just as I would. You know me. A lie is easier.”

Karen took another sip. “That was a weird answer. Do I know you?” she asked, puzzled.

Jim laughed a small ironic laugh. It was all he allowed himself. “Superficially at best,” he replied. He downed the Bushmill’s. “Who do you think I am?”

“Can’t place it,” Karen replied, frowning. “You’re someone famous, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” It came out like a hiss.

Back down girl, the bartender thought. He doesn’t come here to be recognized.

Karen sat back for a moment to finish the rest of her drink, as if thinking it through. As she sat her empty glass her eyes went wide, though only for a moment. She them just sat back as if to study Jim for a moment.

“Figured it out, did you,” Jim stated.

Karen looked at the bartender. “Hit me again, Mike.”

The bartender looked at Jim and Jim simply nodded. When the bartender brought back two drinks Karen said, “Hey, you’ve got a head start on me. Let me catch up.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Jim replied. He downed his drink in two gulps. He set the glass down and let the drink hit. He closed his eyes to let the taste settle. When he opened his eyes seconds later, he noticed Karen’s empty glass. He raised an eyebrow at that, then chuckled.

“Next round is mine, Mike,” Jim said. He turned to the woman. “Your name is Karen, right? Karen what?”

Karen paused for a moment as if to think about it. “Price,” she finally stated. “Karen Price.”

Jim sipped his re-filled glass. “That silence spoke volumes, Karen Price,” he stated.

“Hasn’t been Price all that long,” she replied. “It started out as something else and changed to something worse. This name is totally mine.”

Jim raised his glass in a toast. “To Karen Price,” he said.

“Hear, hear,” Karen responded. The glasses clicked together and they both drank down.

The bartender took Jim’s glass away as soon as it was dry. Jim gave him a hurt look, but backed down.

“I know, I know,” Jim said defensively.

“What?” Karen asked.

“I have a bad habit,” Jim stated, “of throwing glasses into a fireplace after a toast.”

“So?”

“We don’t have a fireplace here,” the bartender stated.

“Oh.”

Jim watched Karen as she set her glass down. She did it fast enough to shatter the glass although it didn’t even crack. It was almost graceful. Jim pointed to a dartboard at the far end of the bar. “You play?” he asked.

Karen nodded. “You game?”

Jim asked the bartender for two sets of darts. When he got them one set had his name engraved upon them. “Ladies first,” he said as he motioned her over to the throwing area.

“You’re just looking for an excuse to watch me walk,” Karen replied.

“Absolutely,” Jim said.

As she walked to the board, the bartender tapped Jim on the shoulder. He had a hand in his vest, and was pumping like his heart was about to leap out. Jim chuckled, “Dream on, Mike, dream on.”

When Jim got to the board Karen had thrown some practice shots. She was doing well. They both took shots to see who would go first. Karen got an eighteen, while Jim got a double-eight.

Karen took her first shot, a seventeen. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

“You can ask,” Jim replied. Karen hit a triple-two.

“Why me?” Double-twenty. Seventy-three points.

Jim stood up to the line and threw. Triple-twenty. “Why not you?” he answered. “I mean, if there’s a reason,” eighteen, “please be kind enough to let me know.” Double-eight. Ninety-four points.

“Very good,” Karen noted as she came back to the line. Double-twenty. “No reason, just,” triple-twenty, “curious. It doesn’t happen all that often to me.” Bullseye. 150 point round. 223 points total.

Jim shook his head and let out a long whistle, staring at the board as Karen retrieved her darts. “Maybe you haven’t wanted to be picked up before. Maybe you’re interested in someone right now,” Jim pointed to himself, “who couldn’t care less.”

“I don’t believe you,” Karen replied.

“Believe?” Jim responded. He stepped to the throwing line. Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. 300 points. 394 total. Game.

Jim stepped back. “Belief is a state of mind,” he quipped.

Karen’s jaw had dropped. She had also dropped her darts. All of them stuck to the floor even though one bounced. “Jesus!” she finally exclaimed.

Jim smiled. “Now, I’m not that good; I just practice a lot. I’ve been coming to this place for years now.”

Karen picked up her darts. “That explains your alcohol tolerance.”

Jim almost returned a similar comment but decided not to. There was a healing wound on her he didn’t want to touch. “Want to go for a walk?” he asked.

“Love to.”

Jim collected the darts and took them to the bartender. “Thanks, Mike,” he said, “but we’ll be leaving now.” The bartender winked at him but didn’t say a word as Jim and Karen walked out of the bar.

Jim lead Karen out of he bar and to the right, past the music store next door. They stopped to look at the musical instruments inside. “I love the location of this bar,” he noted. “It allows me to mix business and pleasure.”

Karen laughed.

The double doors in front of the music store opened, and a piano was wheeled out. Jim ran to it.

“Steinway, Steinway you bastard,” Jim sang out, animated. He looked at Karen. “These are among the best in the world.”

Karen looked at Jim and saw excitement in his eyes for the first time. They had not had much eye contact before, as Jim was over a foot taller. This, however, was new. “Play me a song,” she pleaded.

Jim leaped over to the piano movers and asked them to wait a moment. He opened the piano lid and caressed the keys for a moment. He looked up at Karen and said, “This requires art.” After a few tentative notes Jim launched into Debussy’s Claire de Lune.

Karen stood by the head of the keyboard, enthralled as a crowd developed. After the six minute piece was over, the audience of forty people applauded, including Karen. Jim smiled and bowed and waved to appropriate people. Fortunately, no one appeared to be an autograph seeker.

He leaned to Karen. “Nice piano,” he said.

Karen smiled. She looked at Jim with a puzzled expression, but amused. “What is it that you want?” she finally asked.

Jim smiled and muddled the irony through his brain. After a calculated pause he finally said, “To undress you.”

Karen raised an eyebrow. “Take me home. Your home.”