Anything for a Buddy

Anything for a Buddy

It was an old, but well kept pub in the heart of Kensington, with the smell of hand pulled ale and floating memories of conversations.  

Josh sat on a stool at a high-topped table and sipped his pint in silence. Muted sounds of street traffic played softly, while the faded afternoon sun crept through muntin windows and crawled across the ancient tiled floor.   His friend, Alex, wanted to say something, but when a man is in the depths, best not to speak, so he just sipped and looked around. 

Josh’s wife had filed for divorce two weeks prior and Alex had gotten him away from the soulful sorrow of a rotting marriage and into the frenzied fun of London.  But, in his experience only one thing did the trick to stop the heartache in a split second.

Part of Alex’s charm was solving problems, but this time was a different sort of problem, with blood spilling from a broken heart.  For the first few days, Alex pressed fun into the open spaces, but Josh showed no interest in museums, the theater, or shopping.  Alex was almost past the point of trying.

He’d offered advice, sparkling wit and booze in the finest pubs.  They all slid off, like Jell-O on a slick wall.  

“Josh, you’ve got to shake yourself loose.  Take a deep breath.  Think of the bad times and kick her ass off that marble pedestal.”

Josh stared down at his pint, tired of the clichés and suggestions.  He wanted to just go back to the hotel and sleep.  Still hadn’t figured out a troubled mind never sleeps.

Alex withdrew into his own thoughts and one of them was how happy he was unmarried. 

He shouldn’t have liked this pub, but he did. He’d been here before with Charlene on their last trip together, before the breakup, when her smiling company was still an enchantment. They should rename The Sergeant at Arms to Bust My Balls. Still, the atmosphere of faded posters and the tin ceiling that must have been here when Henry the Eighth got pissed at the pope, drew him in. It was a kind of soft comfort. 

In Big cities from New York to Hong Kong, Alex frequented establishments where bartenders called customers sir, dressed in black and white livery and remembered the names of the well heeled.   Bartenders always remembered his.

“Who’s the lawyer?”

“Paulie Boy.”  Josh said the name with a straight face. 

Paul Alexander Christopher somehow crept through law school, and the state bar exam with only the half-determined effort of a dying sloth.  

“Why’d you pick him?” 

“We have something in common.  He divorced Margaret’s sister, Peggy.” 

“Who’s Margaret got?”

“Victoria Douglas.”  

Bad luck.  VD, as she was known by a host of poverty stricken ex-husbands, had the killer instinct of a Great White in a pod of seals. Alex knew a few of her victims.

Paulie was a seal.  Alex swallowed his pessimism.

Until now, Josh’s life had ticked like a metronome, while Alex, who worked for the same large global firm, was happily pulled in different directions.  He thrived in the fierce subtleties of negotiations and corporate intrigue.  Charm and persuasion made him invaluable.  The hard heart of a negotiator also made him practically invulnerable to heartache.  By the time he sat down to negotiate, he knew what both sides needed, wanted, and what they had to lose. He followed the same method in his personal life.

If Alex had a fault, it was exuding a confidence that seemed too self-assured, too jutted of jaw, his eyes too blue and uncomfortably intense. Even his friends had the strange feeling they were outside his world looking in.  A thin, vaporous mystique presented him as a man totally in control.  The less assured kept their distance, and their wives close.

Josh took the ordinary path.  If Alex was a corporate lion, Josh was the durable donkey, good work ethic, but only able to stumble up the rungs of the corporate ladder.

These days, Alex was without a woman and as much as he tried to sympathize with Josh’s situation, he just didn’t get the part about closing things down.  No kids?  Woman’s gone?  So what? All she’s taking is a wad of cash and maybe a house. She’s not taking your life. Cash and house you can get back.

Happened sometimes to Alex, women leaving, but instead of wilting, it made him more solid within himself. He carried a careless disregard for fate.  He was normally cautious, with a quiet streak of suspicion, and he found relationships interesting, but only as one of the curiosities of life.  The kind of woman who attracted him possessed strength of independence and a loving personality, someone who stayed close, but didn’t interfere. He hadn’t met her yet.

Why the hell couldn’t his friend brace up?  He looked like a man who needed to use the gent’s, but was afraid of falling in.

Alex understood the psychology of broken hearts less than he understood polynomial equations.  They leave, or you leave, and life goes on.  And, women’s emotional directions were as straight forward as bees in a flower garden.  He preferred his own analysis to the words callous, or unfeeling.  It was a matter of controlling raw emotions and looking beyond the problem.

When Josh’s wife blindsided him by filing for divorce, Josh had wilted like last month’s daffodils. Alex stepped in and looking beyond; he’d paid the airfare and gotten his long-time pal out of town.  The muddy circles under Josh’s eyes, and a set of new wrinkles on the brow showed how well the plan hadn’t worked.   But, Alex saw a no as only one bend in the road.

“Josh, we’re headed to Duke’s Hotel for a martini, and after that a short walk to 45 Jermyn Street. And before we sober up, we’ll take a taxi to the hotel.”

“I don’t….” 

Alex broke in with a smile. “I don’t give a shit what you don’t want to do.  And I’m tired of the sacrificial lamb act.”  A broader smile. ”Cheer up! I want a goddamn drink in a decent bar, with a competent barman and a bill that makes you blink twice.  You’re coming with me.”

Alex’s phone rang.  He gave short answers.

“Who was that?  Who knows you’re in London?”

“Business never stops.”

“But, I’m…”

“I’m buying and we’ll drink where I say.”

Duke’s Bar, at Duke’s Hotel often has a wait time, but they lucked out. A waiter in black trousers and white dinner jacket seated them at a corner table.  

Duke’s bar is more like an elegant sitting room than a bar.  A very comfortable sitting room.  They ordered, or rather Alex ordered Vesper Martinis for the two of them.  The drink cart came and the waiter mixed the drinks in frosty glasses, with an array of frosty bottles, then added a twist of orange peel.

By the third sip, Josh livened up. “Great place,” he said with appropriate enthusiasm.  “And I don’t care if she takes everything.”

“That’s the spirit.  But, the big question is, did you really love her, or was she just a habit?”

Josh scrunched up his face and lightly bit his lower lip.  “I don’t know anymore.”

“Yep, she was a habit.  I’m telling ya, this place and this drink have pixy dust.  Covered with it.  Things happen here that don’t happen anywhere else.

Now turn around in your seat and meet Amelia.”

“What?”

“The woman at the table behind you.”

Josh turned slightly, looking over his shoulder, then turned back to Alex, with astonishment.  “How’d you know her name?”

“Psychic….also she still has a name tag on from some conference.  Want to know more?”

Josh waited.

Alex heaved a deep sigh, as if he was going to lead the horse to water and hold his head under. “She’s here for a conference and drinking at one of the most expensive bars in a town of expensive bars, so she’s got money.  She’s also alone.”

“Maybe she wants to be alone.”

“Unlikely.  Great city.  Maybe her first trip.  Feels like a foreigner.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be bothered?”

“Hi, Amy!” Alex said.

The woman, mid forties, turned with a look caught in the crack between ‘leave me alone’ and it won’t hurt to be civil.’  “How did you know my name?”  On her guard, ready to be offended. She also had an English accent.

Alex pointed to her name tag.  She looked down. Laughed. “I forgot to take the damn thing off.” She unpeeled it, looked down and slipped it in her small clutch. “You here for the conference, too?”

“No chance.  What conference?  Who do you work for?”

“Brooks and Allen.”  She nodded. 

“We’re both with Tex-Martin. But, you’re English.”

“No kidding,” she said. “Big company. London office.”

“Sorry. Should have offered intros.  I’m Alex and my noble friend here is Josh.”  Amy smiled again.  Josh smiled back.  Suddenly he was more animated.

A mountain of small talk followed.  Mostly the two of them, with Alex just along for the ride.  “Listen,” he said, “I’ve got to cut out soon, but I’m sure Josh would like to buy you a drink. We were headed to 45 Jermyn next.”

“I love that place,” Amy said.

“Would you mind taking Josh with you? I really do have to leave.”

Josh gave him a quizzical look.

“Boss called,” Alex said.

“Oh.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Amy said, “but, don’t you want to join us?”

“Would love to, but duty calls.” Alex smiled.

He got back to the hotel.  Made a phone call and gave his credit card number.  “Best thousand bucks I ever spent.” He smiled.  “Anything for a buddy.”