Slumming

Posted on Thu 17th Nov, 2016 @ 8:16am by Carlo Rienzi

2,623 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Cloak & Dagger
Location: Pub 10-42, Deck 595
Timeline: MD 3, 1845
Tags: carlorienzi

ON:

It was Reon's night to be off early. He frequently didn't take advantage of that, but he was feeling a little blue and decided he needed a break. Serena took over promptly at 1800, leaving him free to wander the Promenade for a meal before going home ... or whatever else he decided to do.

He chose Feng Shui Canton for his meal, since it was not far along Deck 600 from Orchids & Jazz. He enjoyed a taste for Earth that he didn't often indulge, and then walked to the computer lodged near the center of the Promenade. Turbo lifts surrounded the center power conduit and insulation, but there was also an information kiosk on each side. Reon stepped in and spoke, "Computer, visual list of Earth-style bars in the Promenade."

After a moment when he could have sworn he heard the silent computer humming, it spoke. =^=Visual list display of Earth-style bars in the Promenade.=^= The list popped up on the wall of the kiosk. =^=There are three pages. Press the green button to go forward and the blue button to go back. If you need further assistance, please do not hesitate to ask.=^=

He shook his head at the programmed manners of the computer. Growing up in the Martian Colonies, he'd not had access to such sophisticated programming. In fact, he was often lucky to have access to the oldest of systems on planet. His eyes scrolled down the list, his fingers automatically flipping forward until he came to the end, then switching buttons to flip backward once again. Nothing really sparked his interest, but he decided to try the bar with numbers for a name, Pub 10-42.

He took the turbolift to deck 595 and walked down a corridor that seemed a little quieter than Deck 600. It was probably his imagination. He liked jazz, he truly did, but sometimes enough of a good thing was too much. He wanted a little quiet and a good drink. Spying the sign that flashed a 10 alternating with a 42, both numbers inside a shield-shaped border, Reon turned in and discovered a haven of quiet. There was a dim murmur of voices, but nothing annoying, no words reaching out of the lighted interior. Bare tile floors caused his heels to click slightly as he made his way to the bar.

On the walls were hung black and white photographs of old-style and modern police and Starfleet security officers, some in group portraits and some performing their daily jobs--a Security officer talking to a child, a police officer walking with a police dog presumably sniffing for illicit drugs, and one of off-duty police officers at the bar of 10-42 before it had been redecorated to what it looked like now.

Velasquez sat at one end, isolating himself from the few others who sat there, and looked around. The place seemed bigger than it actually was, he thought, narrowing his eyes. It wasn't mirrors, though there were a few. It was something else, but he couldn't pinpoint what.

At the other end of the bar, Carlo served one of his guests a Nutty Irishman on the rocks and a small plate of Ravioli Fritti. Then he made his way over to the guest who had just sat down at the bar. Carlo wiped the counter top and cleared it of empty glasses and other items as he went.

"Good evening," he said. "Welcome to Pub 10-42. Would you like a menu?"

Had this been Mojo's, the bar he'd previously worked at, the first words out of Carlo's mouth would have been, "Well, hel-lo, good-looking! What's your pleasure, and can it be me?" He truly wanted to say them now because, oh, God, the guy was gorgeous! Dark blond hair in a trim, layered cut, beautiful lines defining his cheekbones, and luscious eyes.

He had decided, though, that his own place was not going to be a flamboyant gay bar and that he was not going to come on to every attractive customer he met. He wasn't 18 and sex-crazy anymore, and he didn't want to feel tempted to continue acting that way. Besides, so sue me; I'm Italian. I like families, he had thought when writing the business plan for 10-42, and so families and the general public were the crowd he catered to. Blatant had been a huge selling point at Mojo's, especially among the regulars. It would get him stared at here, and not in a good way. Here, it would be perceived as rude. And maybe it had been rude at Mojo's, too, however much his manner back then had amused the clientele.

Even his work attire had changed. Where before, he'd worn sleeveless jumpsuits unzipped to just below his waist, he now wore white dress shirts with black slacks and a bow-tie. It still astonished him how much more professional that looked, how much more respect he felt for himself, seeing the way he now appeared in a mirror. Sure, he could have worn the same old jumpsuits and simply acted differently than he had at Mojo's, but it was much easier to act differently in different clothing.

No wonder Raff wouldn't sell the place to me. I acted like a horny-ass fool and looked like one, too.

There had been nothing wrong with Mojo's, Carlo thought, and he still dearly loved it, probably always would. He'd just realized that he didn't want to work in a dive for the rest of his life--and no one at Mojo's had ever challenged him to do better for himself. They had been satisfied with him as he was and had demanded no more of him. Or expected no more of him, Carlo wondered? It didn't matter. He expected more of himself.

Reon shook his head, regretfully. He'd enjoyed his dinner at Feng Shui Canton, but he always liked a new experience, too. "Sadly, I just had dinner elsewhere and more or less stumbled over this place." He looked around again before smiling at the bartender. "It's a place I'll come to on purpose another time. Just a Talaxian Ale, if you have it, or Guinness if you don't."

The smile made Carlo want to melt all the way down to his toes. Behave,, he told himself.

"I have bottled Talaxian Ale," Carlo said aloud. "Guinness is on draught. No problem at all to get you a Talaxian." He turned and pulled a bottle of Talaxian Ale out of a refrigerator, pried the lid off, and poured the ale into a pint glass with a subtle flourish, gradually decreasing the angle of the glass until the glass was vertical by the time he finished pouring. He placed the pint on top of a coaster and put it in front of Reon. "If you want water along with that, let me know," Carlo said. "Do you want to run a tab or pay as you go?"

The place was pleasant, not quite the neighborhood bar he'd grown up with on Mars, but something of the same atmosphere, though more refined. Reon decided he'd sit a while and see how the evening developed. He had nothing he needed to do, nowhere he needed to go.

"Run a tab, if you don't mind. You've made a nice place here," he said. "Has a bit of a family feeling to it. What's with all the security pictures and ..." he squinted just slightly, "are those some kind of police badges in that second row?"

"Yep. The bar got its name from an old Earth police radio code, 10-42, which means 'Ending Tour of Duty.' When police officers from Earth would go off duty for the day, they'd tell the dispatcher that, and the dispatcher would know to not send them to any more crime scenes," Carlo explained. "I didn't know that before I bought the place; I figured maybe they were just lucky numbers for the previous owner. Turns out he used to be a Starfleet security officer who was into Earth police history. The pictures on the walls here are replicator copies of some of his collection of old photographs. It seemed like a good tradition to keep, so I went with it."

Carlo moved away for a bit to respond to another customer who was signalling for a refill. He poured the drink and worked his way back to the new guy. "My name's Carlo, by the way. So what do you do here on the base?"

Velasquez smiled slightly, "Doorman and bouncer, though that's seldom required. Orchids & Jazz, up on Deck 600. Perhaps you've heard of it, or the owner, Jade Lantz?" He took a drink and held it for a moment before swallowing it, savoring the subtle secondary flavors. He was no connoisseur, and he had no idea what the flavors came from, but he enjoyed them anyway.

"So this is your place? Nice work. Kind of interesting story about the name, too. How long have you been here?" Reon asked, moving the glass around in a little circle on the bar, and then glancing up at Rienzi.

"About seven months, but I've only been open for two," Carlo said. "Most of the first five months was spent on designing the interior, getting permits from Starfleet, setting up the kitchen and bar, hammering out contracts with the interior decorator, hiring cooks and waitstaff, figuring out where to buy food, and arranging for it to be delivered. I wound up having to grow my own garden, but it was worth the work. I am amazed at what's available on Vanguard. I figured I'd be out in the boonies. I never would have dreamed it was possible to have kind of a microcosm all in this enclosed space."

Reon laughed. "Man, it sounds like you started at the bottom. Either Miss Lantz knows something you didn't, or she knows the right people." Reflecting a moment, he added, "Or both. I'd say we took six weeks to rebuild Orchids & Jazz ... and permits were a snap. Next time you need something, let me know and I'll find out the best source for you. Sort of a back door to the shortcuts." He took another drink of the ale, feeling it doing it's relaxation on muscles that were tired from always holding his back and shoulders straight.

"So, this garden. Where are you growing it? Did you run afoul of that Block character? The head gardener?" Velasquez asked.

"I might just take you up on that. Thank you," Carlo said, "Though I've gotten all the permits I need now. I'd certainly appreciate tips on sourcing out here. I did research before I decided to buy the place, but I didn't have enough time to go in-depth. My allotment garden's on deck 1449. I'm growing herbs, tomatoes, and vegetables, primarily. That gardener fellow, Block--He's been a big help. Grumpy as hell, but he knows everything there is to know about gardening and getting the proper nutrients for the soil. He was able to tell me all about the volcanic ash needed for the tomatoes I use, for example. Do you folks go to him for help, too?"

"Not me," Reon laughed. "I stay away from him. I rubbed him the wrong way the first time we met, like trying to pet a targ. Miss Lantz and Serena both think he's wonderful, though. I think the phrase they used was 'lovable old curmudgeon', whatever that means. Jade knows about orchids, Serena knows about vegetables, and I think the three of them just pass information around."

He pushed his empty glass toward Carlo. "Fill 'er up again, please. You know who else knows plants? That lady at ... the florist on Deck 635 ... A Sense of Love? That's not quite right, but anyway, she knows everything about flowers, including the language they speak."

"Oh, yeah--Scents of Love," Carlo said with a faint eye-roll. "I thought it was a perfumery when I first saw the name." He poured Reon another pint of Talaxian Ale and rinsed out Reon's used pint-glass before putting it in the bin for the replicator. "What do you mean, 'the language they speak'?" He paused as he noticed someone signaling him from the other end of the bar. "Hold that thought," Carlo said and went to take the other customer's order and mix his drink.

Taking a small sip of the ale, Reon looked around the pub. There were several families scattered around, served by waitstaff who came and went from a swinging door. Several others were strung out along the bar, as well. Rienzi was doing all right for himself, if this was a typical time at the pub. He took another drink and drummed his fingers on the edge of the glass. He contemplated downing the drink and leaving, as Carlo was waylaid by another customer, but this was the closest he'd come to making a friend in a while. He laughed at himself. Everyone talked to a bartender, thought they were friends. Carlo probably didn't intend to be any friendlier to me than he is to everyone. Drink up and keep looking, buddy.

First, a White Russian, then a Saturn's Rings. Was he ever going to be able to get back to the luscious doorman? The four-layered beer drink had to be poured carefully over the underside of a spoon, and then the coarser layer of head had to be scooped out to let the creamy head layer rise to the top, forming a gentle dome at the rim of the glass. Carlo slid the glass to his customer, checked to see if anyone needed anything else, and went back to where the guy from Orchids & Jazz was sitting. It wasn't good for a guest to drink alone, Carlo decided. He filled a tumbler with ice and soda water and then squeezed in some lime. "So, you were saying about flowers having a language?"

"Oh, right. The woman who owns the shop - attractive, but her hair seems to be a different color every time I see her - was telling me that on Earth different messages were assigned to different flowers. She said it went back thousands of years, and was common in all parts of Earth. I don't know about that. It seems to me much of that past was pretty violent and who would have had time to worry about the message sent by a bunch of flowers?" Reon shook his head and finished his ale.

"Anyway, not only the flowers, but even the way they are combined in an arrangement is supposed to say something. The only one I know is the one I bought to cheer up a friend. Tea roses, any color, mean 'I'll remember always,' and that's all I know, except that orchids are tricky, lots of meanings. Be really careful about color, too. A shade different and you could be committing yourself to a lifetime relationship," he laughed.
"You're getting busy in here, so I better get going. I'll come back another night, though." Reon stood and tapped the bar twice with his knuckles. "Count on it."

"I'd love to have you back," Carlo said, "I really enjoyed talking with you. Most people just come in here and go on about sports or politics or want to pine about their love life. So I hope I see you again."

And I take Sundays off, Carlo wanted to add. But that would just make him sound pathetic, he decided. He decided something else, too. Next Sunday, he was going to visit Orchids and Jazz and see if their doorman was on duty.

OFF

Carlo Rienzi
Owner, Pub 10-42

Reon Velasquez
Doorman, Orchids and Jazz

 

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