A Cockroach at the Roosevelt Hotel

The bartender swiped down the bar one more time, then made sure his station of lemon slices, olives and maraschino cherries was full.  It was just after 6pm, and the after work crowd was starting to come in.

He noticed the attractive blonde who always sat at an end stool.  She was an old fashioned and left good tips.  She’d slowly sip her one drink before heading home.  He had noticed she didn’t wear any rings, but was always dressed for business.  She wasn’t one for small talk; would just slowly work on her bourbon to ease away her day.

The usual crowd of young guns arrived next.  Young men and womend out to make names for themselves, they ordered draft beers left bad tips.  They were loud, proclaiming the daily accomplishments for all to hear.

The out of town business travelers would settle in for the evening.  They’d make small talk; ask him to change the TV station; and while away the evening before heading to their hotels.

Tonight one of them approached the blonde and asked if he could buy her a drink.  She raised an eyebrow at him and gave him her back.  He again asked, this time putting his hand on her shoulder.  She shook him off and the bar keep made his way down to her end of the bar.

“Something I can get for you, sir?” he asked.  He was trying to help out his regular customer without totally alienating a tip from this new guy.  

“Yeah,” he replied, “somebody friendlier than this stuck up broad.”

The man had a sneer on his face as he spoke.  The blonde threw down her money and let.  The man took her seat, again speaking loudly.

“What’s a guy got to do to get a drink in this place?”

The bartender kept his face impassive and stood before his customer.  Anything he said would be the wrong thing.

“Ah, honey, you lonesome?”  An attractive red head took the stool next to the complaining drinker.  “I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.  You order for me.”

The salesman slowly smiled, and ordered two Jack Daniels, neat.  “Now this is more like it.  What’s your named, sweetheart?”

“Ginger” was the reply.  “And you can call me anytime.”

The bartender got their drinks and made his way back to the draft beer crowd.  He had a small smile on his face as he turned his back on the couple who looked to be exchanging more than names before the evening was over.  He wondered what the salesman’s reaction would be when they got up to his hotel room.  And he also wondered why Ginger’s adam’s apple hadn’t been noticed.