The first thing Arthur saw when he woke up was the ceiling fan whirling in the faint blue light, third speed. Slow speed. Slow blinks. For a moment, he thought it was a memory. A memory in slow motion. But this was just his life. Again.
The blades of the old fan had wood paneling. It’d been some time since he’d dusted them. He’d do that after he had coffee. He wouldn’t drink coffee until he’d had two full glasses of water and completed his morning workout. He sat up and put both feet on the floor, hands on his knees. The sun was only just beginning to rise. He picked up his glasses from the nightstand and put them on.
He drank his first glass of water, filled it back up, and went into his humble living room. The room was sparsely furnished, but he did have a punching bag hanging. With only the dim light that was able to slice through the closed blinds over the window, he went to work on the bag. Arthur wasn’t a tall man, but he was as thick as a tank. No six pack but no beer belly either. And his hands, they were like mallets when he balled them up. Forearms like the fat end of a baseball bat. Grey hair be damned, he was still strong.
Arthur enjoyed the sound he made when he hit the bag. Each thud declared a moment he controlled. There weren’t many things one could control in this world. He knew that, had known that a long time now.
He kept at it until he broke a light sweat, changing levels, switching stances. Two jabs and a hook. Three jabs. Bob and weave. When he finished, he jumped rope for fifteen minutes. His tank top became damp. He ended his workout with five minutes of stretching. Then he drank his second glass of water and opened the blinds. It was getting brighter outside. He brewed his coffee, and while it began to make those good popping sounds, he stared at a picture of his three children. The picture showed them at a young age, barely beginning elementary school, however now they were in fact grown, already finished with college. He had many other pictures of his children, but he kept this one out, near his coffeemaker, another one of the first things he saw every morning, to remind him of a part of his life he remembered as probably the best part. Not just them, but himself, at his best.
It was the weekend. Even on his days off, Arthur had a bit of a schedule. A grid he liked to keep. It made him feel good, making his rounds, checking off the boxes. He’d put on his suit later tonight. Pull his salt and pepper hair back neatly into a ponytail. Go to the ATM and make a withdrawal. He still only paid cash at the bars. Before that though, a nice steak dinner, of course. But for now, a shower, a walk around the neighborhood to see what’s what.
He missed seeing his kids. He felt that tinge of being alone, the small apartment so different from the house he’d raised his kids in, along with his ex-wife, and then his second ex-wife. But there was peace in that apartment. Sorrow could live with peace. It became a reflection. A meditation. He was happy his kids were thriving. He could love them from afar just the same. He himself didn’t need much else to live off. Sell a car once or twice a month to keep the roof over his head. A good night’s sleep, coffee, some eggs. Keep in shape. Arthur wasn’t a young man anymore. But he felt grateful for his life. Los Angeles. He was still here. Still kicking. And hell, he didn’t look half bad.
*
Arthur was on his walk. The walks were long time habit. Yet somehow, he always saw something new. The neighborhood was forever changing. It didn’t upset him. He knew things changed. People changed. The world changed. He had changed. And so he was grateful to bear witness.
He accepted it, and not in any grudging fashion. He’d learned it from moving to this country as a child. Learning a new language.
He’d learned it from watching his parents struggle and win and struggle again and then finally pass.
He’d learned it from his own life. Struggles and wins.
And he’d learn it again from his children. Trying to help them. Desperate to help them. And not always able to. The anguish of that. The ecstasy of watching them succeed. Witnessing them make it.
He was walking on a block he passed through every morning, but this morning was different. Growing from a garden, these sunflowers had sprouted. He’d never noticed them before. They already stood as tall as his chest. Arthur was only 5’7¸but he was built like a tank. Still, he paused, just to admire, behold, these newcomers. Gorgeous. He wondered where they’d come from. Suddenly, he felt silly. He’d come to a full halt and become mesmerized. What if someone was driving by, saw him like that, just captivated by some flowers? He laughed quietly to himself. They’d think he was senile. Another funny reminder, he was definitely an old timer.
But they really were beautiful, those sunflowers. He was happy to see them in the neighborhood. A nice change. He kept walking.
*
Levy parked his truck on a side street, behind the bar. The sun was on its way down, but it wasn’t in a hurry. Summers in Los Angeles took their time, in good ways and bad ways. The sunsets were good. People sitting at tables outside the bar on the sidewalk, a glistening glass of beer or a radiant Aperol spritz, a dog laying patiently at their owner’s feet, furry eyebrows raising curiously whenever a stranger might walk past, those were all good. Dean playing his favorite Stones song whenever he walked into the bar from the back of the kitchen, that was very good. The bar manager that Levy couldn’t stand asking him how his day was, that was bad.
“How’s your day been, Levy?” the man asked him with this weird and almost manufactured optimism, that dumb lilt in his voice, like today might be the day they actually became friends or something.
“Fine,” Levy answered monotone.
Levy could tell the man wanted him to reciprocate the interaction but Levy returned nothing, simply clocking in and going over to his station. He could hear the man say behind him, “OK,” with an obvious disappointment. A disappointment like finding a ticket on the windshield when you were sure you put the right time in the meter, a disappointment Levy stoically relished. Levy was admittedly petty to a degree, but he always preferred it to come off as not even acknowledging the person who irritated him. It was a kind of haughtiness maybe. That he couldn’t even spend the time to allow the person into his reality. Which was of course debilitating to their already extremely fragile insecurities. This, to Levy, seemed the “mature” way to handle dipshits. He also just happened to enjoy it. Very much.
And in contrast, maybe even to add to the unspoken insult, the two other bartenders working that night he embraced warmly. Dean was very tall and he was skinny, so skinny you might not see him if you were looking at him by profile. That is, until you saw his large bird nose that fit his face and his hair and his smile perfectly. Dean dressed like he could have been Dean Moriarty but he was actually an Italian from New York City. He talked loud like an Italian from New York City and had the expected temperament and lustfulness of an Italian from New York City but then he was a surfer and a painter dude too and sometimes it seemed like those two worlds would collide in ways that may set him back but other times move him drastically forward. This is all to say he was wildly charismatic.
Mallory was the other bartender and she was also tall and she was blond and she was very beautiful. She had a smile that she used like a metal AmEx, one that would never be declined. She was from the Midwest which almost made her exotic in Los Angeles. One could hear classic rock songs about girls like Mallory moving to L.A. but having them make you an excellent dry martini was a whole other affair. She was a fantastic bartender. She also got along with everyone, but she was actually a lot more cunning than anyone gave her credit for. It was the smile. Everyone just thought everything was fine if a pretty girl was smiling and Mallory knew that so she’d made it so that her smile was near inexhaustible. Her only true weakness was she fell in love too easily, and with the same type of ding dongs. Levy continued to be impressed in spite of that. She never gave up hope. Mallory was also simply very very charming.
The Stones were playing and the three of them grinned, knowing they had each other, and that the manager would not break them especially once they were together, and so they got to work. The hordes were thirsty and craving some kind of attention, at the very least a meager shred of a bartender’s attention, and the trio would give it to them, however sparingly, maybe even disdainfully, and even that morsel the horde would be grateful for. The music was good and loud and the sun was coming all the way down like the zipper of a woman’s dress and soon it would be dark, and their manager watched them with his arms crossed, envious, as he always had been and always would be.
*
Night time. Arthur was at the bar now, at the end of the bar, and the bar was in high gear. Arthur seldom sat on a stool. He liked to lean, survey his kingdom. A sea of kids, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable. This was, after all, his ‘hood.
He remembered when this place was just a family restaurant. Now look at it. All these pretty young things and “tough” sleeveless boys, sifting in and out of the red light, hungry shadows, flashes of lust and life.
Arthur was the resident “papa” and he had to keep that up. He had to look sharp and he did. His hair was pulled back neatly, not a strand out of place, and he wore his nice pressed gray suit with the pinstripes. It appeared Dean’s shift was over. He, Levy, and Mallory had grouped together on the back bar to share a shot of something. The three of them knocked down the shot like professionals, as if it were a customary gesture of parting ways, an integral piece of their culture. Arthur trusted them with his drink, no matter how many tattoos they wore. On his way out, Dean came over to Arthur and gave him a hearty hug and clap on the back.
“I’m off to see my lady,” Dean announced.
“Which one is it this week, hijo?” Arthur asked. This made Dean laugh raucously. He vanished, savvy enough to leave the question unanswered. Arthur smiled, happy for him, able to value that time in a young man’s life.
Levy had taken reins of the playlist, the manager long gone, shitfaced an hour after the sun set. He and Mallory were slinging drinks, and they didn’t stop moving. The music was hard rock, Levy’s element, and he shook and stirred and popped cans to a thunderous frequency. Mallory never lost her cool, steady as the Santa Ana winds. They made a good duo, very different, black and white, hard and soft. If you didn’t like one, you went to the other. They both held their respective audiences.
Arthur and Levy hugged every time Arthur entered the bar, along with Dean, but it was no secret Arthur was enthralled with Mallory. It wasn’t solely why he came to the bar on Saturday nights, but being able to see her was a sincere and true comfort in the world.
He’d never known girls like Mallory when he was young. Never even conceived the possibility of them. His parents hadn’t owned a television. There were no cellphones with internet and apps. They didn’t spend money on magazines. There were mouths to feed and feet needed shoes.
Arthur never ordered anything fancy. Just a beer most times. Occasionally began the evening with a martini. Sometimes, they would give him something for free. An amaro or a blood orange negroni slushie. He’d experience that. Not his bag. But always grateful.
He tried not to lead on too heavy. Were he younger, he’d be madly in love with the tall blond. But he knew better at his age now. He would just smile, watch her, hopefully without too much longing, and revel nonchalantly in the moments she gave him his attention. Arthur knew very well by now, that most times in life, it was the little things.
“Hey, Mal,” Levy said, “You seeing anyone tonight after work?”
“No, why?” she asked quickly.
“Just wondering. Didn’t know if you were still seeing the one dude.”
“No, I was sure to end that last week. He was so boring. Everybody’s so boring and dumb.”
“Everyone?”
“All these guys are so dumb. They only think about themselves. Immature. Not present. Emotionally unavailable. It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted.” She laughed after she said it. Her style.
“You need a nice guy.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re around.”
“Where?” she asked. “Maybe they’re nice for a date or two. And then they just get lazy.”
“Yeah.”
“I wish I was into girls.”
“Hehe.”
They took another shot together. A baby shot.
“You know who I bet would treat you really great?” Levy said.
“Who?”
“Arthur.”
“Oh, God,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“He’s in love with you.”
“I bet he would treat me good.”
They both laughed. Mallory had a very lovely laugh, like a child was in there laughing. But then you’d see her eyes and you’d know damn well she was a woman.
*
Arthur was starting to really feel good. Maybe his fifth beer. Levy had given him a small shot of something sweet and metallic. Mallory had put her hand on his.
“Why aren’t you married yet, Mallory? How is there not a line of men outside of this bar waiting their turn to bend their knee?”
Mallory laughed her laugh. Levy laughed too, overhearing.
“You have the answer, Levy?” Arthur asked.
“I don’t think that’s the world anymore, Arthur. How many of us can promise ourselves to something that’s so hard to make last? As lovely as that dream is. And trust me, I for one wanted it. Some of us even do promise it. Lots of promises broken.”
Mallory looked at the drink she was making, still smiling, but it had taken on a melancholy tinge. Arthur took a swig from his beer, then he said, “A thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts.”
This seemed to make Mallory’s smile brighten a bit, Arthur saw. He felt a surge of emotion well in his chest. He didn’t know why, but from experience, he knew that was a call to act.
“What I know is you cannot give up, Mallory. You can never give up. What could I get you to make your night brighter, mi estrella? To continue your hope?”
She seemed to seriously consider his question. The music was still loud as hell but a brief space in time seemed to lower a cloud of muted volume over them. They could hear each other perfectly. They were in some separate nexus.
“When I was a little girl, and it was beginning to get bad between my mom and dad, they didn’t want us to know. So one thing my dad did, he would come home every Friday from work with a sunflower. They ended up working it out. They stayed together. I’d like to see a sunflower. But it’s already night. And all the flower shops are closed. So I’ll just drink tonight. Sorry, Arthur.”
She laughed again, and it was melancholy again. But Arthur felt like a bolt of lightning had hit him.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, and left immediately. So fast, Levy didn’t see him, and Mallory stood there a little bewildered. Maybe she’d overserved him.
*
Arthur felt a loose and reckless glee as he walked quickly down the sidewalk. He was smiling, and then reminding himself to not smile. Someone could be passing by, thinking he was going senile, some old man walking down a sidewalk in the dark in a suit, just smiling to himself. Crazy!
But what were the chances! A sunflower!
The spot he’d passed that morning was directly in the middle from the bar and where he lived. He normally took an Uber home. It was close but too far to walk. For the sunflower, he could walk it. Get back in time. Not waste the money. And most importantly, renew Mallory’s hope.
A car screeched on the other side of the road. Arthur looked over. A coyote was scurrying across Eagle Rock Boulevard. Lean, almost daggerlike, keenly aware, long ears, the streetlights just catching a glint off the teeth.
More cars stopped. Their headlights flashing on him and the crossing coyote. Both of them alight. The coyote seemed to look directly at him, trotting on. Arthur had to stop. The coyote got to the other side and stopped also; the two of them staring at each other. One of the cars honked. Arthur didn’t know which one. The coyote vanished.
Arthur had to go up. Up a hill, the hill he walked in the morning, but he’d never walked it at night. Half of the moon was out, pale, almost fragile looking, like a rude nudge could knock it out from the sky. He began to second guess if this was the way. He’d come from a different direction. This wasn’t his morning walk. He’d had a few beers. He’d had that shot. His knees felt heavy, and he’d never walked this much in a suit.
He was sweating, but if this was the right way, the yard with the sunflowers wasn’t much further ahead. Still, he’d never felt this incline in the morning, when he was just walking. He heard something up above. When he looked, he could see something sitting on top a post, a bulky body, hear a ghost-like hoot. Eyes in a black face shimmered and watched him. Even not looking, he could feel it. He could feel more than just the pair. More. Eyes all around him. Looking down on him as he went up the hill, the mountain, what was the difference?
There was no sidewalk, and no one was cutting the shrubbery. Arthur had slung his jacket over his shoulder. He wiped his brow. He felt the hill had never gone up this high before. Ahead of him, lights whizzed like pinballs down the road, more headlights, and he jumped out of the way, into the bushes, the passing car showing no regard. There and gone, deadly, impersonal. He barreled on through the terrain. Felt things buzzing and swiping at him from above that he could not see. Harsh whispers of regret and things he could never change from his past. Arthur felt a rip from his pant leg. He didn’t look down. He did not panic. He kept going up.
*
Levy and Mallory were closing the bar up. Everybody was long gone. Levy was in a booth, logging in the tips for the night, sipping a beer, a healthy buzz vibrating his temples. The doors were locked but the lights were still on. They hadn’t set the stools up on the bar yet. Mallory set the freshly sanitized parts of the slushie machine on bar towels across the counter to dry. The music had softened.
Mallory wondered what had happened to Arthur. He’d probably gone home and gone to sleep. She’d had men do worse to her.
“You gonna go out?” Levy asked her without looking up from his work.
“What’s the point?” she said.
Levy laughed. Mallory had a beer too. Plus a shot of mezcal. Pouring it, someone was knocking on the glass of the front door.
She looked up and saw Arthur. He looked insane, but in a good way.
His hair was all out of place. He wasn’t wearing his blazer. The sleeve to his shirt looked ripped. But he was grinning like hell.
He looked ten years younger. Ten years younger with salt and pepper disheveled hair.
And he was holding a sunflower like it was a torch to light up the world.
Mallory had to stifle her laugh, a hand up to her mouth. She looked back at Levy. He was grinning ear to ear.
“Let that motherfucker in,” he said. “We gotta get that man a drink.”