Just Another Bar

***Tessar*** · 03-01-2004, 10:18 PM

Gah, sorry if this is depressing. I was going to review some stuff here, but for some reason this came out instead. It's more symbolic than anything else I guess, although of course criticism would be lovely as always.

There is a little language- just a few words- but nothing to terrible. Although if you guys don't think the story is any good I'll take it down.

Just Another Bar
by Tessar

The air was almost foggy with heavy cigarette and cigar smoke, the smell choking at first, but usually undetectable after a few hours or drinks; whichever happened to come first.

Clinking glasses and murmuring voices worked their way through the fog, sloshed vodka and bourbon causes momentary exclamations that quickly blended back in to the soothing and muffled atmosphere. Soothing and choking, two totally different emotions that the bar some how managed to combine.

The voices and clinking glasses were not alone though, drifting through the air faintly at times, and louder at others, the sounds of a piano carried songs through from start to finish, gentle applause marking the end of each piece and the start of a new one.

Gliding across ivory keys, thin and graceful fingers found their marks and tapped, producing melodies and chords that floated from the cheap piano with a quality the belayed the shoddy look of the instrument. Mostly due to the skill of its player.

Bringing the latest song to a quiet close, Jeff started a jazz piece. His tenor voice joined the notes and was raised to a volume that could just be heard over the murmuring voices. It was his job to remain unobtrusive, and he doubted anyone really wanted to hear him anyways. It was simply expected that when you walked into a bar like this one you would hear piano music and some cheaply hired singer trying to keep up with the tune.

His playing skills were above average, and his voice was noteworthy. He’d put two CDs out and auditioned numerous times. Some day he might hit it big and become famous, or at least he hoped so. Jeff wasn’t much of a dreamer, but he was an achiever. That’s why he’d poured most of his life into singing and playing pianos. It was a hard life, but some day it might pay off.

Sitting in a smoke shrouded corner of the bar, two men in dark coats conversed quietly. Both were actors on vacation, and this dank little bar had some how intrigued their sense of drama. It was surprisingly less romantic on the inside than the ones they were used to. Not to mention that no one had yelled “Cut!” yet and used a fan to blow away the fake smoke.

Frank and Jude were the aliases they had chosen to go by, little snide grins twitching at their lips whenever they called each other by the fake names. It was a sort of giddy amusement that kept them talking about nothing, but simply talking to keep using the fake names over and over. For actors they were surprisingly bad off set, and the sunglasses they wore made it difficult to make out more than the drinks sitting in front of them.

“I don’t think I like this place much, Frank.” Jude finally sighed, reluctantly removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his trouser pocket. “Feels like someone going to try to steal my wallet or conk me over my head at any second. Kind of a seedy place.”

“Jude you don’t know what you’re talking about, things like that only happen in the movies.” Frank quipped, sipping at his margarita and removing his sunglasses as well. One didn’t want to stick out, of course.

“Well I’m leaving, Frank.” Jude muttered, dropping a fiver on the table as a tip and making his way towards the muted red glow of the ‘Exit’ sign.

“Well bloody hell...” Frank sighed, imitating his friend and standing. He refrained from dropping a tip and finished his margarita with one last sip instead, wondering idly if there would be a message on his cell phone from his agent when he got back to the hotel.

Gulping greedily at his whisky, a man in a well-starched business shirt stared into the amber liquid and held back a snarl of hatred. This was his life, after all these years of hard work. He’d made good money, given her everything she wanted… and then she left him for some one else. He wasn’t even sure who or why.

Slamming the mostly empty glass down to join two others like it, Tim let his head drop down and uttered a strangled sob. His anger was gone again, replaced by that empty feeling that’d started when he found the polite little note on his pillow from her, saying she didn’t love him any more and detailing how hard she had tried to.

How hard she had tried to love him. Hah. A joke. He’d done all the trying while she ran off and played prostitute with his money. He should’ve left her, not the other way around.

His cell phone went off and he dug into his pocket, bringing it out and flipping the mouthpiece down.

“H’llo?” Tim blearily asked, unsure of why his tongue wouldn’t quite work the way it should.

“Hey Tim! Where the hell are you?! I’ve been waiting at the court for half a damn hour!” a good-naturedly outraged voice questioned, the sound of a ball bouncing around coming through along with the voice.

“She left me.” Tim managed, picking up his drink again and some how finding his mouth to take another gulp.

“Huh? She left… Oh God… Tim… Damn I’m sorry man…” the sound of the ball stopped abruptly, and the voice took its place again. “Tim, where are you? You sound dead drunk. I’ll come get you and we can talk about it, okay?”

“Yea sure, whatever. ‘M at the bar… y’know… the one I met her at?” Tim sniffled and finished the whisky. He felt a little better already though. Chris was the one person he still knew from college, and they had been there for each other ever since. Chris would help him figure out what to do.

A smattering of applause broke the air, and Jeff stood from the piano, stretching stiffly. A quick glance at his watch showed that it was time to get himself home. He had another audition in the morning and needed all the sleep he could get.

One last look around the smoky bar and Jeff was out the front door, breathing clean night air. It wasn’t good for his voice to be inhaling all that cigarette junk that other people were polluting the air with. But it was a job, and it was getting him where he wanted to be. Or at least he hoped so.

His shoes clicking on the sidewalk, Jeff started the long walk to his house. Just another day, like any other. Maybe the audition would go well. There was always room to hope.

03-01-2004, 10:18 PM	#1
*Tessar* Master and Wielder of the Cardboard Harp of Gondor Join Date: Sep 2001 Location: IM IN UR POSTZ, EDITIN' UR WURDZ Posts: 6,433	Just Another Bar Gah, sorry if this is depressing. I was going to review some stuff here, but for some reason this came out instead. It's more symbolic than anything else I guess, although of course criticism would be lovely as always. There is a little language- just a few words- but nothing to terrible. Although if you guys don't think the story is any good I'll take it down. Just Another Bar by Tessar The air was almost foggy with heavy cigarette and cigar smoke, the smell choking at first, but usually undetectable after a few hours or drinks; whichever happened to come first. Clinking glasses and murmuring voices worked their way through the fog, sloshed vodka and bourbon causes momentary exclamations that quickly blended back in to the soothing and muffled atmosphere. Soothing and choking, two totally different emotions that the bar some how managed to combine. The voices and clinking glasses were not alone though, drifting through the air faintly at times, and louder at others, the sounds of a piano carried songs through from start to finish, gentle applause marking the end of each piece and the start of a new one. Gliding across ivory keys, thin and graceful fingers found their marks and tapped, producing melodies and chords that floated from the cheap piano with a quality the belayed the shoddy look of the instrument. Mostly due to the skill of its player. Bringing the latest song to a quiet close, Jeff started a jazz piece. His tenor voice joined the notes and was raised to a volume that could just be heard over the murmuring voices. It was his job to remain unobtrusive, and he doubted anyone really wanted to hear him anyways. It was simply expected that when you walked into a bar like this one you would hear piano music and some cheaply hired singer trying to keep up with the tune. His playing skills were above average, and his voice was noteworthy. He’d put two CDs out and auditioned numerous times. Some day he might hit it big and become famous, or at least he hoped so. Jeff wasn’t much of a dreamer, but he was an achiever. That’s why he’d poured most of his life into singing and playing pianos. It was a hard life, but some day it might pay off. Sitting in a smoke shrouded corner of the bar, two men in dark coats conversed quietly. Both were actors on vacation, and this dank little bar had some how intrigued their sense of drama. It was surprisingly less romantic on the inside than the ones they were used to. Not to mention that no one had yelled “Cut!” yet and used a fan to blow away the fake smoke. Frank and Jude were the aliases they had chosen to go by, little snide grins twitching at their lips whenever they called each other by the fake names. It was a sort of giddy amusement that kept them talking about nothing, but simply talking to keep using the fake names over and over. For actors they were surprisingly bad off set, and the sunglasses they wore made it difficult to make out more than the drinks sitting in front of them. “I don’t think I like this place much, Frank.” Jude finally sighed, reluctantly removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his trouser pocket. “Feels like someone going to try to steal my wallet or conk me over my head at any second. Kind of a seedy place.” “Jude you don’t know what you’re talking about, things like that only happen in the movies.” Frank quipped, sipping at his margarita and removing his sunglasses as well. One didn’t want to stick out, of course. “Well I’m leaving, Frank.” Jude muttered, dropping a fiver on the table as a tip and making his way towards the muted red glow of the ‘Exit’ sign. “Well bloody hell...” Frank sighed, imitating his friend and standing. He refrained from dropping a tip and finished his margarita with one last sip instead, wondering idly if there would be a message on his cell phone from his agent when he got back to the hotel. Gulping greedily at his whisky, a man in a well-starched business shirt stared into the amber liquid and held back a snarl of hatred. This was his life, after all these years of hard work. He’d made good money, given her everything she wanted… and then she left him for some one else. He wasn’t even sure who or why. Slamming the mostly empty glass down to join two others like it, Tim let his head drop down and uttered a strangled sob. His anger was gone again, replaced by that empty feeling that’d started when he found the polite little note on his pillow from her, saying she didn’t love him any more and detailing how hard she had tried to. How hard she had tried to love him. Hah. A joke. He’d done all the trying while she ran off and played prostitute with his money. He should’ve left her, not the other way around. His cell phone went off and he dug into his pocket, bringing it out and flipping the mouthpiece down. “H’llo?” Tim blearily asked, unsure of why his tongue wouldn’t quite work the way it should. “Hey Tim! Where the hell are you?! I’ve been waiting at the court for half a damn hour!” a good-naturedly outraged voice questioned, the sound of a ball bouncing around coming through along with the voice. “She left me.” Tim managed, picking up his drink again and some how finding his mouth to take another gulp. “Huh? She left… Oh God… Tim… Damn I’m sorry man…” the sound of the ball stopped abruptly, and the voice took its place again. “Tim, where are you? You sound dead drunk. I’ll come get you and we can talk about it, okay?” “Yea sure, whatever. ‘M at the bar… y’know… the one I met her at?” Tim sniffled and finished the whisky. He felt a little better already though. Chris was the one person he still knew from college, and they had been there for each other ever since. Chris would help him figure out what to do. A smattering of applause broke the air, and Jeff stood from the piano, stretching stiffly. A quick glance at his watch showed that it was time to get himself home. He had another audition in the morning and needed all the sleep he could get. One last look around the smoky bar and Jeff was out the front door, breathing clean night air. It wasn’t good for his voice to be inhaling all that cigarette junk that other people were polluting the air with. But it was a job, and it was getting him where he wanted to be. Or at least he hoped so. His shoes clicking on the sidewalk, Jeff started the long walk to his house. Just another day, like any other. Maybe the audition would go well. There was always room to hope.