New Year's Eve

Marla and I had just eaten dinner and were at Nick's. At midnight, the smoking ban would go into effect so the staff was still putting up no smoking signs. However, no one had taken the ash trays away and people continued to puff.

Nick, the owner and namesake of the bar, came over to say hi. Before he opened his bars, Nick taught high school english and coached football. He is in his late 60s, cultured, always impeccably dressed and has the ruddy good-guy look that you see on so many successful businessmen and politicians. He is one suave muthafucka.

I introduced him to Marla and he regaled us with his latest effort to comply with city regulators: taverns are now required to install security cameras over their doors, at their own expense. He called city hall to tell them that he had installed the camera and asked where they wanted him to point it. He was transferred three times and no one could give him an answer. Finally, he said,

"Look, I've got the camera. I'm required to have it and I got it. Do you want me to show the street, the door or the women's restroom?"

We laughed. Marla flirted with Nick and it is a testament to her social skills that she knows how to flirt without making me uncomfortable. They took a turn on the dance floor and when Nick returned he complimented me on my choice in women. He told us about his philisophy regarding bars---too many bars are opened, in his opinion, by financial traders who just want to get laid. Then they hire penthouse types to work behind the bar but, as he put it,

".....are you gonna educate them? Are they gonna be able to talk about the election, or anything else for that matter? What kind of clients are they gonna draw? Some guys who never date might hang around the bar and stare at them, but they're not going to draw a good client base. You gotta have bartenders who are smart. And like people. I can't teach that......you'd make a great bartender, David."

"No way. I'd give too many free drinks."

I thought: actually, if money and benefits were the same as in my current field, I'd love to tend bar. Unfortunately, they are not. But I'd love to work for Nick.

He bought us another round and told us a couple more stories gleaned from his years of tavern ownership. He knows some good ones. He offered me a cigarette, which I declined.

"It's sad," he said, "but in five years this will not be the same neighborhood. It's changing."

He excused himself and went back to the poolroom. Marla and I continued to drink and listen to the band. She was the first to notice the commotion in the back. And the ambulance out front. I thought it was just another bar fight until I saw the ambulance team carrying Nick, strapped to a gurney, through the front door.

He waved as he was carried out.