Solace in a Longneck

“Absolut, tonic and lime please.”

Lisa threw her coat over the extra chair and sat down in a huff. Mark had already been drinking. He was caressing, by what the bottle count told, his third Watney’s. They were supposed to meet forty-five minutes ago but Lisa was delayed. Again. She didn’t get to call him or text him, which is what she wanted to do, but it didn’t matter anyhow. They already had their contingency worked out. If she was ever more than an hour late, things were off for the night and Mark was to go home.

Not until Lisa’s drink arrived, about ten minutes later, brought by a skinny inattentive waitress dressed in the requisite white shirt, black pants and maroon apron, and she’d had a sip that she calmed down. She gave Mark a wide, toothy grin. Her blue eyes smiled too letting Mark know that she was happy to see him. She took his hand, leaning across the table, and kissed it.

“I’m sorry. Peter showed up at the office and wouldn’t leave. It wasn’t until I reminded him of Jenny’s birthday party on Saturday and the clown he said he was going to book that he left.”

Mark strained a smile back. He was also happy to see her but he was tired. He noticed, of late, that he felt this way most of the time. Restless nights, in which he thrashed around in bed, eventually turning to the television for solace, became commonplace. He checked his phone more and more each day and hated himself for doing so. His work suffered thanks to endless logins to see if she had sent e-mail. One night, he picked up his cell phone and was tempted to call but stopped just before pressing SEND. It was too risky and she had told him not to, stating that she would be the one to call him. She reassured him that she would be able to. “Trust me,” she’d said, “I’ll make this work.”

In between sips, Lisa talked about the new contract her team just won to redesign some offices in one of the redevelopments in Harlem. They wanted something fresh and swanky. She talked with gusto. He listened attentively but not enthusiastically. As she spoke, he noticed a tall African-America woman walk in. She looked about his age, twenty-eight. There was a bounce in her step. When she found her party, a single man who was as handsome as she was beautiful, she rushed over to him and greeted him with a tight embrace and deep kiss.

“This is going to sound really bad,” Lisa said hesitantly “but we don’t have much time. We should get to your place already.”

Mark smiled again and mumbled something in agreement, in concession. He took out his wallet and signaled the waitress for the bill. Lisa’s mobile rang.

“Hello?...What?”

Mark took a deep breath and sighed. He downed the rest of his beer and ordered another. Lisa shot Mark a disapproving stare but backed off. He was right to order another one. They both felt badly that he was going to drink it alone.

“Okay, thank you. I’ll call my husband. I’m on the way.” Lisa snapped her phone shut, the click as loud and final as a judge’s gavel, and took a deep breath of her own. Mark smiled sarcastically, mockingly.

“It’s okay. I understand.” He always did.

Lisa got up and put her coat back on. “I’m sorry. Tami’s broken her leg. She had a soccer game today and…I’m sorry, darling.”

Then she left, without so much as a nod, as Mark caressed the cold brown glass of his bottle.