At Riley's Bar

[Published in Not One of Us (USA)]


I put on my grey suit to meet Veronica, although I was unaware of the significance at this point. I was determined to make an impression, something I had failed to do on four previous occasions, and so it was on with the suit, and the plain tie, and the white shirt, and the shoes that reeked of sensibility and shoe polish. I wondered how things had ever come to this... this desperation... as I set off into the gloom of the evening, like an astronaut stepping on alien land.
It was cold, this I remember, and I shivered as I walked, my teeth chattering insensitively. At the bus stop I tried to invent some eager chat-up line, something both original and amusing. I consider this futile now; if I did know of such things I would have never been plagued with such a life of loneliness. And so I practised saying words of greeting to Veronica, silently mouthing them into the cool air. Until I spotted, out of the corner of my right eye, a pensioner with outrageously white hair and a scattering of wrinkles standing beside me, watching. I glanced her way, and she shifted her gaze to some other place, obviously embarrassed. From that point onwards my lines of introduction were merely imagined and not pursed dramatically through my lips.
The bus arrived, and I politely allowed the woman to get on before me, a smile slicing across my face like a maniac's scar. As I passed row upon row of bricks and windows and chimneys I took Veronica's photo from out of my inside pocket and gazed once more at her features. She was definitely attractive; not a raving beauty, but in a girl-next-door kind of way. Besides, I imagined raving beauties would never have the need to resort to advertising in lonely hearts columns.
And that's another thing; just why had Veronica chosen to advertise in this way? I am always curious about this. Perhaps there was something wrong with her; she was timid, or stammered a lot, or had some sort of speech impediment. Or it could have been something physical; after all, the photo she sent me was a head and shoulders shot. She could have been severely afflicted, one leg or a club foot or something. Whatever it was, I considered her pretty enough not to have to promote herself like this. And yet, as I thought over her reasons for placing the ad, I couldn't help but question my own motives for responding to it.
I got off at the bus station in town, following the commuters to the exit, all the time wondering what kind of meaningful lives they led, what interesting things they would do on this particular evening. I concluded that they were all equally lost; wrecked souls existing together, not realising what is important and what isn't, all leading shallow lives without thinking about the non-existence of immortality.
As arranged, I took up a position next to the newsagents that was situated conveniently outside the bus station. My eyes were like little devils, eyeballs leaping around in all directions, agitated beyond comprehension. Inside my heart was thumping away, as I anticipated an evening of conversation, alcohol and sweet perfume smells. I was tempted to whip out the photo again, just to be sure that, when it did occur, the woman that was heading my way was definitely Veronica. But I decided against this; she was most likely so sophisticated that the sight of me clutching her image would be a ghastly one, and she would instantly mutter, "Sad git..."
So I merely stood there waiting, trying my utmost not to chew at my fingernails, my eyes keen alert for signs of Veronica. My background isn't really worth talking about. I could never entertain on a winter's evening by the fire, telling tales about my life and all the exciting, noteworthy events that have taken place since I came upon this earth. Yes, I have always been a lonely person; but loneliness is so commonplace, there are thousands upon thousands like me, and all alone for different reasons. My only desire, I suppose, is for someone to talk with and spend time with and to share my breathing space. And then hopefully, in time, this will develop into something altogether more substantial and fulfilling. In the meantime, I surf the lonely hearts columns, looking for females that just might appeal.
I had the jitters outside that newsagents. People passed by, women of all ages and sizes and levels of attractiveness, and I nervously kept a lookout for Veronica. It wasn't my first time. I'd been on such blind dates before. Hell, I could even call myself an expert on the experience. But it had always been bad; very, very bad. Okay, not bad compared to some godawful things that could have happened, and indeed that do happen to folks all over the place every single day. It was just bad to me, my own slice of ill fortune, that nibbled away and tore out a part of my soul on each occasion. I didn't take rejection very well. I suppose this is why I had the jitters that evening.
I waited outside that newsagents for forty minutes, but there was no sign of Veronica.

In these cases my plan of action is always to seek out the nearest public house and drink myself to oblivion. Not a bad idea, I reckon. I kept looking at my watch as though it was in danger of being stolen. Time ticked by, minute after minute, until I could take it no more. God, I could have waited there until Doomsday and she wouldn't have shown. I had given her forty minutes, and I believe that was enough.
So I left my position outside the newsagents and slouched across the station with my hands in my pockets, jingling the loose coins that formed a bulge there. All kinds of thoughts were dashing through my brain. Why had Veronica not turned up? Usual reasons include, I expect, cold feet, or plain fear, or loss of memory, or something truly dreadful, a car crash or the death of a relative or the fact that she herself had suddenly dropped dead. Not that I ever imagined, in all reality, that these things could have occurred, and neither did I wish that they had. These were mere notions, conjured up inside the brain of someone who was totally and irrevocably pissed off.
I spotted a public bar which was situated down the side road adjacent to the station entrance (or exit, depending on your journey at the time). I had passed this drinking place plenty of times on my bus trips to and from town, yet I had never entered the establishment. This was my perfect opportunity. As I wandered over there, my tongue hanging out in desperation for a drink, I even had the idea of sussing out the place so that I could take my next lonely hearts contact there. If she turned up, that is.
Bitter? Not really. I just wanted to get some bitter down my neck...
It was called Riley's Bar, and I instantly invented an absurd image of a jovial Irishman with a deep, thick accent serving Guinness and Caffreys by the tankload. It's strange how the mind works like this. The bar was situated right next to the Grand Hotel, and for some reason I assumed it was actually a part of the hotel, and even now I can't be sure whether this is correct or not. Not that it really matters any more.
So I entered the place. Immediately my peculiar notion concerning the jolly Irishman was shattered, for behind the bar was a man dressed entirely in black, a sort of young Johnny Cash, handsome in a rugged kind of way, the strong, silent type. It wasn't busy, and he was lazily pulling a long pint, his arm muscles flexing and the hairs twitching and rustling as if in a slight breeze. The pint ended up with a head the size of Texas, and long snakes of cool beer were running down the sides of the glass as he deposited it on to the bar, in front of a twentysomething with dreadful acne. For a moment this scene took away my thoughts of Veronica; but as soon as I climbed on to one of the high bar stools and started to think, she indeed returned to haunt me.
Oddly I then imagined she had now turned up, and was waiting for me outside the newsagents, albeit forty minutes late. A woman's prerogative. I was tempted to pull out the photo, and slip from off the stool and back out into the cold evening, frantically pushing my way along the pavement and through the station to the newsagents. But then good sense drifted into my brain, and I chose to curse the woman; to damn her to hell and back. My life would be a better place without her.
But she was so pretty...
"Yes, sir?" asked the man in black. No hint of an Irish accent at all, I gathered.
"A pint of Caffreys, please," I said, shaking off all thoughts of Veronica and my senseless crusade to woo her.
Caffreys? Why had I chosen Caffreys? I never drink that brand. Maybe it was the Irish thing, sending subliminal messages into my head, hypnotising me into selecting something reminiscent of the name Riley. Looking around, I noticed mirrors everywhere; behind the bar and along all the walls, except, of course, for the frosted windows. Upon these I spotted the name of the establishment, scrawled as if by hand and only legible from the outside of the building.
My drink arrived, and I paid the man, and then settled down for a night of drunkenness. I was determined to bury my sorrows in a flood of alcohol. I slurped off the white head, catching some of the cool liquid on my tongue as I did so. It went down a treat. Glancing around, I spotted my reflection gazing at me from all sides. At that moment I felt strangely insecure. So I looked away, avoiding my own face, and drew my gaze on to the swirling beer inside my glass. Then a voice startled me. A female voice.
"Is this seat taken?"
The words came out all sweet and delicate. She seemed to have arrived from out of no place at all, just floated into view like a ghost from out of the walls. She was quite small, with dark hair tied in a pony tail, and thick black spectacles. Her body clung tightly to a black dress, which was alluring without being too revealing, all her contours accentuated and everything in the correct place. And she smelled beautiful.
"No," I said blindly, the word just coming out in a splutter. I watched as she hopped up on to the stool next to mine, and then I glanced around the room, spotting that it was hardly busy. So why had she obviously chosen to join me at the bar? Things like these never happen to me. At least not until now.
"I'm Jane," she said.
Her eyes were big and brown behind the lenses of her glasses, and I looked into them and beyond, trying to discover some clue as to her intentions. Not that I was suspicious; it was mere curiosity, wondering why in the world she had opted for my company and not someone else's.
"I'm John. Pleased to meet you."
She asked the barman for a gin and tonic, and he glided away with eagerness. I'm not good at starting conversations; I'm a lonely, sad person after all. Therefore I was pleased that Jane chatted incessantly, telling me things about herself and tossing in the odd question about myself. Nothing too personal, just general things that one wants to know upon meeting for the first time. I learnt a lot about her. We ordered more drinks, and she told me what she liked, the places she loved to go, the jobs she'd had, stuff like that. I guessed her to be around my age, and I sneakily spied her fingers, searching for any rings that might suggest an attachment. I saw none, and this made me happy in a selfish kind of way.
Looking back, the whole incident seems rather strange; almost as if it had been a vivid dream. And yet the strangest thing of all was me introducing myself as 'John'; you see, my name is, and has always been, Ian.

Pretty soon my bladder demanded that I visit the gents. I was too embarrassed to ask the barman where it was, and so, during our conversation, I slyly watched other male patrons, and learnt of its whereabouts in this fashion. I excused myself with a smile, and slipped off the stool to make my way across the soft carpeting. My reflection followed my every move, doppelganger images flashing out of the corner of my vision. I disappeared beyond that wooden door, and as I peered at the porcelain I wondered what the rest of the night had in store for me, and namely, what kind of future I would have with Jane. Presuming that I did have a future with her.
As I washed my hands I heard a loud flushing sound and a young man came out of one of the cubicles. Immediately he took up a position beside me at the next sink, and amidst the sound of running water he spoke to me.
"Been here long?" he asked, his eyes glaring at me, accompanied by a dazzling grin.
I thought for a moment. "About an hour."
"Seen any new ones?"
I bent my head a little to concentrate on my washing, for his question confused me somewhat. New ones? I really had no idea what he meant.
"No, I haven't," I replied, adopting the safe option.
"Pity," he said, his face glued to the mirror above the washing basins. "Still, I'll keep a lookout. I'm getting a bit bored with the same old faces. See ya."
He dashed away and out of the gents, and I wondered why he was in such a rush. The same old faces? There didn't seem anything sinister in that. He was most likely a regular, coming to Riley's Bar every night, and had got to know all the people who frequented the place. I left the room myself and walked back to my position at the bar. As I did so I felt an odd chill run through me, a fantastic shivering sensation. This was obviously due to the fact that Jane was not at the bar any more, and, to confound things even further, another woman was in her place, a complete stranger sitting at the same stool.
"Excuse me," I said as I reached the bar, "can you tell me where Jane went?"
"I'm Jane," she replied, and lifted her glass to her mouth to take in some of her drink.
A coincidence, I thought, them having the same name. Still bewildered, I eyed this new Jane up and down as I climbed on to my stool. The first thing I noticed was how plump she was. She was huge, and had squeezed her ample frame into a black dress, almost identical to the one the previous Jane had worn. She had large cheeks and large breasts, and was wearing loads of lipstick, and her hair was blonde and wavy, with an outrageous bob that bounced around whenever she moved her head.
I asked the barman for another Caffreys, and then I looked around the room for the other Jane. The place was filling up, and was about half full by now, but I couldn't see her. I assumed she was in the ladies, but even so this didn't excuse this new Jane's insistence on obtaining her seat at the bar.
"I'll have a gin and tonic, thanks," said the plump Jane, handing her glass to the barman, and presuming that it would be added to my bill. I was appalled at such a cheek, but didn't openly protest. For some reason I watched the barman get the drinks. My eye caught the pumps, and in particular the various beers that were available on draught. The truth is, there was no variation; they were all labelled Caffreys. And along the rear of the bar, hanging upside down as they always do, was bottle after bottle of Gordons gin. I peered inside the fridges behind the bar, and saw a collection of 330 ml bottles of tonic, and nothing else. What kind of strange place was this, I thought? I didn't relish the prospect of spending time with this roly poly blonde, and promised myself that I would leave as soon as I had finished this pint.
"So what's your name then?" she asked suddenly.
I looked into her big blue eyes, which were by far her most attractive feature. "John," I said. But why?
"I might have known. Is this your first time in Riley's?"
"Yes. But I was with someone, we were talking right here, only I went to the gents and now she's gone."
"It happens all the time. You daren't leave anyone in this place, not for a second. Once you've got them you have to hang on to them. You'll learn once you get used to it."
I had never known such strange talk. I was tempted to question her further about this, but somehow I wasn't keen on her hanging on to me. She spoke to me for a while, but I just wasn't interested, and I think it showed. I had much preferred the company of the other Jane, and the conversation we had shared together. I could still picture her in my mind, those sexy eyes behind the dark-rimmed glasses. And so, having finished my drink, I excused myself and left the bar to go home.
"You'll be back," said Jane as I brushed past her. I didn't really believe her at the time; but now I wish I had spent a lot more time with her, and had learnt the secret of Riley's Bar.

I walked to the bus station, the cool darkness slicing at my face. It was just around the corner, and I spotted groups of drinkers and night hounds getting off buses for an evening of pub crawls and husband shopping and the rest. I envied them all. I wasn't looking forward to another night of cocoa and television as I ambled over to my stop. Hands in pockets, I leant against the window, looking out for the bus. Briefly I wondered what had happened to Veronica, and then I shook her from my mind and thought about the strangeness of Riley's Bar. In particular, I wondered where Jane had got to. And why in the world I had chosen to introduce myself as John.
Shortly I gasped, as if a thunderbolt had shot through my insides. In the distance, walking across the road at the top of the station, was Jane, the one with black hair and glasses. I almost swooned; my luck was changing at last. I guessed that the attraction was mutual between us, and this caused me to hurry up to the road to seek her out. I was desperate not to lose her, and found myself actually running, until I reached the spot, and I glanced to my left to see if I could see her. To my delight she was there, just stepping into the late night chemists shop that was situated there. I dashed after her, and paused at the entrance, before plucking up the bravado to step into the place.
The light was immense, and caused me to squint and blink until I got used to it. Heaven knows what I was going to say to her, I wasn't even thinking about this as I sought her out. I hoped that she would be pleased to meet me again, and I desperately wanted to find out why she had left once I had gone to the gents. I searched here and there, around the corners of the aisles, yet strangely I couldn't see her. This was crazy, I thought; the shop was so tiny. She had just vanished into thin air, it appeared.
At last I approached the counter, which was manned by an Asian gentleman with a grumpy expression. I asked if he had noticed Jane entering the shop, but he shook his head and asked me if I was going to buy something. I told him no, that I was merely following Jane, and this aggravated him, he wasn't pleased at all. So I chose to abandon my quest to find her, and stepped back out of the place...
...and walked up to the bar, where the blonde, plump Jane ought to have been. But it wasn't her; someone had taken her place at the bar. Somehow I wasn't really shocked at this, after all it had happened previously, when I had chosen to leave the first Jane. I asked the barman for another pint; Caffreys, of course. And then I politely asked this new person if she would like a refill.
"Oh, yes please," she enthused, handing me her drained glass.
"Gin and tonic?"
"Of course!"
I was slowly getting the hang of the place. Although I couldn't help recalling that I had been inside a chemist's shop at some point in the recent past.
"Don't tell me," I said to the woman. "You're Jane, right?"
"Right! Have we met before?"
"Never."
"You're right. I don't remember your face at all."
"I'm John," I said.
"What else?"
Things were getting definitely crazy. We chatted for a while, and I eyed this new Jane up and down. She was some years older than me, and was good-looking without being exactly gorgeous. She was a brunette, her hair cut short like a boy's, with enormous ear-rings hanging at each side. She had a decent figure, and was wearing... a black dress, much like the one the previous Janes had worn. With this in mind I glanced across the room, really concentrating this time. My reflection gazed back at me accusingly, then I looked at the people. I loosened a gasp upon noticing that all the women were wearing identical black dresses and all the men were wearing grey suits.
"Let's go to a table," Jane suggested, "it's more intimate at a table."
She slipped off the stool, and I noticed how small she was as she led me to a table over by the window. We passed couples seated together, and I realised that there was something else odd about the place. No-one was sitting by themselves, and also there were no groups together. It was as if everyone had been paired off. Male-female combinations were deep in conversation, and at various levels of intimacy, almost like some kind of singles bar or pick-up joint.
Jane proved to be rather the affectionate type. She pulled her chair right up to mine, rubbed her leg against my thigh, linked my arm. She was practically sitting on my lap, and indeed I believe she would have done this if we had been alone someplace. The more time I spent with her the more I became attracted to her. She seemed to be just the kind of person I had been seeking all this time; someone warm and pretty and fun to be with. And so, when she suggested, in the most sexiest whisper, that we leave this place for somewhere more quiet, I didn't hesitate. In fact, it was exactly what I needed considering the peculiar events of the evening.
She literally tugged me out into the cold night, and clacked her heels in the direction of the taxi rank. Lights dazzled me, and I realised that I was slightly drunk, having been on Caffreys the whole time. We tumbled into a cab, and I caught sight of a stockinged thigh as Jane fell on to the back seat chuckling. She gave orders to the driver, like some extravagant Nazi commandant, and then snuggled up to me with her big lips and her alluring scent.
"My place is two minutes away," she cooed. And then our lips met, and I knew it wouldn't be coffee and biscuits on the agenda once we reached her home.
I was right. We collapsed into her flat, and she pulled me into the bedroom, taking off her dress on the way. She just couldn't wait, and neither could I. Jesus, it had been so long. But it all came flooding back, as I sunk into her naked flesh and buried my libido in her warmth. It was all so dream-like; I had not expected this at the onset of the evening. I don't know how long we performed in that big bed of hers, but eventually I left to prepare some refreshment, on the instructions of Jane.
Everything was hazy as I found glasses in the cupboard and chilled wine in the fridge. I popped the cork, and let the liquid fall out with a deep gurgle. I was under no illusions; I realised that this would most likely be a one night stand, although I was hoping it wouldn't be. I'm no sexual animal, I don't make a habit of going to bed in such a casual manner. Things like this just don't happen to a lonely person such as I. And this caused me to wonder what the hell was taking place in Riley's Bar, and how unique the place appeared to be. Glasses in hand, I strolled out of the kitchen...
...and walked over to the table by the window. I somehow expected the presence of someone different sitting there, and I was correct. I sat beside her, noticing that the chairs were not so close now. I placed the drinks upon the table. I shrank back, for it wasn't wine, but Caffreys and a gin and tonic. I looked up and grimaced, then realised that this new woman wouldn't be able to share the conundrum.
"Jane?" I enquired.
"John?" said she.
I was beginning to see the pattern. As we got acquainted I remembered the words uttered by the plump blonde.
"You'll be back," she had told me.
Of course I had dismissed this as rubbish talk. She had been disappointed in me leaving her and was keen to deliver a parting shot. Little had I known that she was speaking the vivid truth.
I chatted to this new Jane, a large woman with an endearing smile and wearing, not surprisingly, a figure-hugging black dress. I learnt that she lived alone, and was anxious for some company. This seemed to be the common denominator in all of this. Everyone here was lonely. All of us were pawns in the chess game of life; equally desolate and striving to seek some kind of relationship with someone. I glanced around at all the people, all the faces. They appeared to be happy here, busily talking and enjoying the company of another. Yes; the people who visit Riley's Bar have discovered the antidote to being alone. They have actually conquered loneliness. Who cares that we are all Johns and Janes, and that we drink nothing but Caffreys and gin and tonics, and dress in similar clothing. We have found happiness here. The most essential thing to a lot of people. And it's impossible to leave. When we do this, we always end up back here. Riley's Bar brings us back. It's the way it is.
The woman with the endearing smile has gone to the ladies. I know what will happen. When she gets back I will have gone, and another man will have taken my place. I'm just biding my time, waiting. I know the score now, I get the picture. It's such a doddle. Looking around, I catch sight of the other Jane, the one with the stockinged legs. Yes, we did go to bed together. We caught a slice of excitement that filled our empty lives for a short moment. She sees me, and throws me a wink, as she cuddles up to another man, rubbing her thigh up to his. I afford myself a brief chuckle. I also notice the original Jane, the one in the glasses. She is at the bar, speaking to someone, another lost soul. I'll seize my chance one day, I'm determined to finish that conversation we started. For the meanwhile, I've spotted someone very familar to me.
She has just entered the building, and I just know it's her first time here. I put my hand in my pocket as I get up to approach her, feeling the photograph inside there. I can't wait to see her expression as she is forced to introduce herself as Jane and not Veronica.