The Tender Bar

by J.R. Moehringer

“People just don’t understand how many men it takes to build one good man. Next time you’re in Manhattan and you see one of those mighty skyscrapers going up, pay attention to how many men are engaged in the enterprise.

It takes just as many men to build a sturdy man, son, as it does to build a tower.”

He either told me to check the lower shelf or go fuck myself.

“Next time some broad tells you to take her to a museum,” he said, “take her to fucking Cooperstown.”

“He told me I’m a triple threat,” the first woman said. “What does that mean?” the second woman asked. “It’s some kinda sports term,” the first woman said. “He told me I’m really smart, and I have great tits.”

The first step in learning,

I decided, was unlearning, casting off old habits and false assumptions.

My face was like the moon, pale and bloated, but unlike the moon I never left.

Life, he said, is war. An endless sequence of battles, conflicts, ambushes, skirmishes, with all-too-brief interludes of peace.

I saw that we must lie to ourselves now and then, tell ourselves that we’re capable and strong, that life is good and hard work will be rewarded, and then we must try to make our lies come true. This is our work, our salvation, and this link between lying and trying was one of my mother’s many gifts to me, the truth that always lay just beneath her lies.

All this searching and longing for the secret of being a good man,

and all I needed to do was follow the example of one very good woman.

And rememberize, always rememberize: Fuck ’em, babe. Fuck ’em.”

“You have no idea what horrors await you out there,” he said, pointing to the window. “Did you know that in some parts of this country, last call is at one in the morning? One! Out there, in places like Atlanta, and Dallas, they come up to you and take the martini glass right out of your hand—with booze still in it.”