American to English

Note: Continuing the stories of "Z to S" and "Snaps to Clicks."

*

"English?"

Tilly looked up to see her bartender, looking down at her and the pad of paper in-front of her. After sitting down at the bar and waiting for him to finish with the other orders he was taking, she let her gaze roam the room, admiring the bar's ambiance. It felt very similar to the bar she helped keep up in England, which put her right at ease. Visiting the US, it was fun to explore a new place, take in a new setting, and for a while pretend she was native to the area. Blue jeans, a white top under a leather jacket, and flats seem to match the local college town dress code, though the jacket may have suggested time spent where summers were cooler. Her bartender oddly enough sensed that.

"What makes you think I'm a Brit?" she maintained her Midwestern American-sounding accent in a low voice, matching the bartender's.

He brought a pen from behind the bar, and pointed to some words on her notebook, specifically the word "specialise." She smiled at the connection made, his finger pointing to some newspaper memorabilia at the other end of the bar, with the same word written in big, black bold letters, spelled "specialize."

"Things are spelled differently here, Brit."

"Though you know better, of course," she spoke in her natural English voice, lowering her sunglasses and exposing him to familiar blue eyes.

"Of course," he volleyed back in his own passable English accent, fighting but failing to conceal his smile any longer.

He watched the young, blonde, smiling patron stroll to the bar's counter flap, flip it open, and presumptuously walk in. Anyone watching them would've been surprised to see the bartender walk to the counter flap and give her a big hug instead of stopping her. It'd been almost a year since either had seen each other, and Vern was surprised how he didn't run from behind the bar and embrace Tilly in a similar hug the moment he laid eyes on her. But it was fun to play up the nostalgia of the past, almost verbatim their original introduction at her bar.

Vern found himself pulling back from the hug, trying to keep it cordial with an old friend, before the scent of her drove his hormones and imagination to some way-beyond-friends places.

"Miss Tilly," he said fondly, trying to sound annoyed.

"My little Vernie," she teased him with his own pet name, endearingly, giggling at the disapproving smirk she missed.

"Still can't let that one go, eh?"

"I can think of a lot worse pet names to give you; you're lucky that one sounds too cute not to use."

She hadn't lost her edge with teasing in the slightest, and he hated how much it still got to him in the most accepting of ways.

"Bar keep! How about one of them Nigels?"

The order from across the bar reminded him or work he still had work to do, and made Tilly's quizzical eyebrow raise in fascination, hearing the man speak the English name with an attempted accent.

"Be right back," he whispered. "Sorry, Maury, not on tap tonight. We've still got your usual."

"It's never on tap..." the already-tipsy man complained laughingly. Tilly rarely got to enjoy bar atmosphere and antics while not being behind it to take orders, but she was especially cherishing it that night, watching her old flame take orders and handle customers with charismatic ease. Watching all the unplanned job training he'd received with Tilly extend past her supervision, combined with his slightly more muscular frame from making workouts a habit, made her nearly swell with pride, and other growing feelings. She was looking forward to be giving orders Vern dutifully fulfilled.

To her further surprise, before she could give her first, he'd already handed her a drink resembling what she'd wanted.

A sip of her drink elicited a pleased noise from Tilly's lips, a lovely memory coming back to her.

"Mmm, sweet vermouth from sweet Vernon. Someone's got a good memory."

"Arguably someone made a pretty good impression on someone else the last time there was a bar between us."

Neither realized right-away how they were subconsciously inching toward each other over the bar, until Tilly started muttering something.

"Bar...between..." Her head suddenly fell in an attempt to keep her hysterics quiet and to herself.

""What?" was written all-over Vern's face.

"Remember that night you got really, really drunk? So drunk, you thought it'd be funny to sit on my bar to make that joke?"

Vern tried remembering the act she referred to, and suddenly remember he had bar duties as the memory returned, too embarrassed to even look at Tilly.

"No, I don't think I recall that one," he scrubbed the bar down without making eye-contact.

"Are you sure? You're scrubbing the bar down like my bar needed during your little stunt."

"Don't you mean sanitizing?" he said to himself, unfortunately audibly.

"Aha! I knew you'd remembered; 'Hey Miss Tilly! See how happy I am to see you?' he yelled with a bar between his legs. "

"I won't be dignifying that with any confirmation it happened, but I'll blame you for it anyway...

"No denying from me, thanks. Mine's more pride; I've made men hard before, but I guess I outdid myself with you," sighing seductively, she ran a tantalizing finger along the bar like she would a lover's erogenous zone, happy to see his eyes follow the movement without fail. Abruptly, she stopped to move his gaze back to her expectantly grinning one, and they both snickered in soft laughter.

"Nice to know some of us don't change that much as the years, or year, goes by."

"I hope we haven't changed that much," Tilly downed the last of her drink.

"Hey, some of us might have..."

Vern's look implying Tilly changing produced a blonde eyebrow raised.

"Tilly got on a plane and traveled somewhere. I'm just surprised you left your comfort zone of British-English, but nice to see you branching out, exploring newer, or better ways."

"I guess it would surprise you to reveal my secret of being a British-English ambassador, bringing diplomacy and correct English to the world before Americans take over everything."

"Ambassador? I would've guessed missionary."

"That would be worse for those stubborn like you, facing the more committed, the infectiously devout like me, who have a special talent for converting wayward beliefs. Though to be fair, I never heard you complaining. It sounded oddly like something else..."

"It sounds like you chose the right major; Psychology suits you better than English."

Tilly's smile was unmistakable, signaling how much she loved their back-and-forth, Vern's smile admitting he missed their jousting too, when she wasn't mystifying him.

"So what brings you across the pond?"

"Visiting an old friend; he told me I should look him up if I was ever in-town. And I thought after so long, he might be missing my company."

Tilly didn't seem to notice, or react to the strange half-smile crossing his face while he refilled her drink.

"Sorry to say I can't give you a hard time about bartending since you do seem to be doing a bang-up job. You make your teacher proud."

"Well, I'm sure you'll get to judge me more critically as I'll be tending to a small, incoming party along with the rest of the bar soon."

"Oh, somebody celebrating a birthday or something?"

"Going-away party, I believe."

"Someone you know?" The tone of her voice was almost apprehensive, afraid of what he might say. It was then that a group of three walked into the bar, the same college ages as Vern and Tilly, carrying "congratulations" decorations and wearing party hats. Tilly noticed it was two men, and a young woman who eyed Tilly leaning towards Vern the most inquisitively of the three. Vern waved them over to the bar, and waved downwards to remind them to be silent instead of boisterous in their celebrating.

"Hey guys," Vern greeted his friends seating themselves all at the bar, around where Tilly sat. "I hope you brought an extra party hat; I've got a plus one for the party."

"Only if you'd kindly introduce us to your new friend," Hilga, the dark-haired, dual-braided woman friend spoke with pure curiosity.

"Old friend, really. Everyone, this is Tilly from England. Tilly, this is Hilga, and my old roommates Rick and Bernie."

"A pleasure," Tilly shook everyone's hands, noticing Hilga's curiosity, Rick's friendly handshake, and Bernie's interested glance only gently acknowledged.

"So what's the celebration I'm joining?"

"Vern's adulting success," Rick proudly announced. "Graduating early, AND already got a prestigious job lined up; so ahead of the game he's making all of us look bad.

"And inspiring others," Hilga commented, handing out the cone-shaped party hats to the five party-goers. "With my recovered credits, I might be second place in this race."

"I'll definitely try to be around for that one," Vern said proudly.

"Congrats to all of you whenever you finish," Tilly raised her glass to Vern and his friends. "Hopefully I'll be amongst you in the graduation race, even if last place."

"To college, and beyond."

"Hear hear," the group clinked glasses.

"So where's this prestigious job, Vernie?" Tilly asked the man of the hour.

He gave her an honest glance, before looking down.

"A college in England, looking for English teachers."

His eyes drifted up to watch her reaction, saddened that he wasn't able to surprise her at her bar out of the blue like she did at his. Her eyes widened slowly in unison with her smile, chuckling to herself. "How interesting."

Everyone else watched the two regarding each other, curiosity filling their heads at what kind of "old friends" they were, noting a subtle chemistry between them.

It didn't take long before Tilly felt like the long-lost companion their group needed, they all seemed to love her. Her stories about bartending overseas, meeting Vern, toying with him every chance she got, even revealing some stories he'd thought were bad enough mentioned once in one night.

"'A bar between my legs.' What the hell were you drinking that night?" Rick asked as it got harder for the group to hold back the laughter.

"Whatever it was, a lot of it," Vern mumbled, taking care of new customers incoming.

"Where was this Vern at? The most sober amongst us sounds like the best time ever when he drinks," Bernie complained.

"Maybe cause I don't want to turn my friends into extortionists," Vern gave pointed looks to his friends.

"Well, despite the embarrassing exaggerating in Old England," Bernie avoided Vern's narrowed gaze. "If you're ever looking for some New England..."

"Down, Bernie. Down," Vern half-joked, knowing his propensity for forwardness with women, especially blondes.

"Only if there's a Nigel in my future,"

"Our futures," Rick corrected, jumping on the bandwagon request with Hilga.

"Did I hear 'Nigel' over there barkeep?" a voice from the other end of the bar.

"Of course your hearing gets super when that one is uttered, Maury," Vern told the resident barfly. "Where's that hearing for the words 'last call' and 'tab's due'?"

"Gah, my kryptonie!" He joked with hands over his ears, which got a laugh out of everyone in the sparsely-populated bar.

Looking around, knowing it was being requested on the slowest night, he gave in.

"Aw hell, a round of Nigels for everyone." Every patron cheered, the almost two dozen patrons each got their drinks refilled, except Tilly, who waved off his offer with a glum smile.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought a Nigel was some kind of special drink instead of just a strange way of saying 'refill' around here."

"Hey, nothing tastes better than the generosity of others," Bernie said, downing his drink quickly. "Cause I hope Vernie here is as generous as he is Nigel tonight."

"I said 'a round,' you drunk."

"Please sir, may I have some more," Bernie attempted the poorest, funniest Oliver Twist impression Vern and Tilly ever heard. "Or maybe I should be addressing Nigel instead. Where's that guy? I've missed him."

"Wait, Nigel is a drink AND a person here?"

Vern was tight-lipped as his local friends snickered to themselves.

"You could argue they're one in the same, Tilly," Hilga replied. "Nine or ten months ago, Vernie here got so drunk, he somehow became an Englishman. Some high-minded professor type going on about the joys of English stuff, happy to keep the drinks flowing for a packed bar. He was quite the show, and everyone keeps hoping he'll be back, or the drinks will." Hilga's pointed look at Vern was met with narrowed, disapproving eyes stating said Englishman would never be back if Vern had anything to say about it.

"Say, Tilly, you're an Englishwoman. Any recommendations for getting one of your countrymen back for one last appearance?" Bernie questioned.

"I'd have better luck as a psych major than as an Englishwoman," Tilly admitted.

"Psych? Maybe you can hypnotize him or something," Rick supplied.

"Maybe I could," Tilly uttered absently before Vern could shut the possibility down.

"I'm not sure about thoroughly; I know a few tricks for testing suggestibility, to see how hypnotized someone might be. In fact, if you're all interested, I can give everyone a first-hand introduction to some hypnosis."

Rick, Bernie, and Hilga seemed to agree amongst each other to it, noticing no apprehension from Vern who vaguely remembered being hypnotized by her the months ago. He looked around the bar to make sure no one else looked like they needed anything before he could partake; Tilly's knowing look signified she understood if an interruption came up that he'd have to handle.

"Ok, so what I'd like everyone to do is bring their elbows to rest on top of the bar, and bring your hands together in-front of your face, fingers interlocked except for your indexes. Those should be pointed straight up, with a nice gap between them until they almost resemble a V-shape."

Tilly waited patiently for everyone to assume the suggested position.

"Very good. Now, as you sit there as instructed, I'd like you to watch the space between your fingers, stare into the space like you're literally staring into space, random thoughts flitting and filtering through your mind. And while that happens, take three really deep breaths. At your own pace, inhaling and exhaling at your own comfort, just as I am right now."

The softly-smiling hypnotist noted their eyes focusing forward in their finger spaces, while subconsciously and probably through peripheral vision, perfectly matched the rhythm of her deep breaths.

"Slowly in, and slowly out, very good. Slowly in, and slowly out. And as you take that last, lasting breath, you'll start to notice the tension fading from your body, like the release valve for tension has been turned by my words, and it drains noticeably from out of you, remaining only in the form of the energy it takes to comfortably and safely remain on your stools, and the energy that begins to pool into those index fingers. The sensation in them is quite palpable, compelling, and magnetic. And the longer you stare at the shrinking space between your fingers, you'll know that nothing describes this sensation better than magnetic. Your fingers so very attracted to each other, desperate to connect, narrowing in distance and focus. They connect like you connect to my words; they're attractive enough to make your fingers attracted to themselves."

Each volunteer complied and were fascinated with their concentrated focus to one degree or another. Rick and Bernie determined to fight it futilely, Higla seemed very lost in the space. But Vern was as good a subject as ever, considerably deep before the gap really closed, unaware of Tilly coming over to his side of the bar to guide him physically and with soft, individual whispers meant only for him.

"No use fighting it, the connection is inevitable. Because your body wants it, because it knows the moment they connect is the moment you can let go, body softly sturdy in place, but head lolling forward, slightly heavy, and very happy."

One by one, each felt their magnetized trances come to fruition, heads leaning down forward, Tilly ensuring everyone was sturdily rooted in place with a suggestively helping hand on their shoulder.

Surveying her receptive collective, she reveled in proving herself the most intoxicating force in a bar yet again, thinking to herself where their imaginations might be taken soon.

***

Blinking eyes helped the bar attendant come back to himself abruptly, chastising himself for forgetfulness before Tilly set him off to deliver his order.

"Good evening," he greeted his table in a thick English accent, that caught everyone but him off-guard. Handing out the appropriate drinks, he wondered why everyone was staring at him strangely. Confusion continued into smiles as they glanced at his serving apron.

"So, what's up with the accent?" One of them asked.

A confused, suave smirk crossed his lips with the strange question was posed to him.

"I'm just speaking as intended," he answered honestly.

"With an English accent?"

"The accent to match the language we're speaking."

No one at the table knew what the questioner's reaction would be, but the calm smile never left his face, which helped to give way to subtle chuckling from everyone.

"Touche. But I thought you were American this whole time."

"Bloody brilliant disguise if I say so myself."

"Disguise? What are you, a spy?"

"I'm chuffed to bits you all think I could be that kind of professional. But no, I'm a professor. Professor Nigel Hawthorne."

Vern's claim of being Nigel left them so confused to his true identity, they found themselves barely questioning what he was telling them.

"Professor of what?"

"English Professor."

They all paused momentarily, wondering how cheeky an answer it was meant to be. Small chuckles released as their server still played it straight.

"What college?"

"I've been part of a few universities already, and after a bit of social experimentation here, I'm looking to establish a new institution."

"Social experimentation?"

"Yes, slowly bringing British English back into the lexicon. If phrases like 'I'm knackered,' 'Bob's your uncle," or 'give you a bell,' become popularised, you can thank us later."

"Us?"

"The Headmistress and I," Nigel gestured over to Tilly behind the bar, who waved back as if hearing the whole exchange.

The whole table soon erupted in laughter, highly entertained at the seemingly fictitious reveals.

"And what's this institution called?"

"'God Save the British-English,' is our tentative title. I suspect it derived from my Headmistress making me say 'God Save the British Empress' all the time. But we're making headway. We even have a mission statement."

"Oh yeah? How's that go?"

Nigel cleared his throat, standing tall to make a proclamation.

"Those who colonise educated minds should also analyse their students, modernise their approach, help them prioritise sage instruction that will hypnotise their focus, so that they must capitalise on visions of a bright future that will tranquilise doubt, mesmerise success, and finalise understanding impressed upon them."

By itself, the litany would've sounded like nonsense, but delivered with Shakespearean-acting enthusiasm and devoted belief gave it weird context, especially with the way some words were spoken with emphasis, as if affecting the speaker more than the receivers.

From the bar, taking a few orders herself, Tilly was beside herself at the display she was barely within earshot of. The table Vern was speaking with seemed captivated by what he had to say, helped by the fact that everyone but him saw the "ask me about being English" sign written on his apron. It excited her in primal ways to hear Nigel's near-perfected accent charm a crowd the way hers charmed Vern, no matter how much time had passed. Both personas were two sides of the same coin, kept snug in Tilly's pocket, flipped and used at her whim. She was keeping herself equally amused taking care of Vern's friends still sitting clustered together. Tilly, Hilga, and Bernie were chuckling at Rick's humorous intoxication. He seemed quite funny, the more intoxicated he got.