The Last Word

Note from the author: Hi everybody! It's been a while since I wrote in a contemporary setting. It was the announcement of World Gin Day - an event unknown to me until this year - that tickled my fancy. However, truth be told, I've also had to tackle some major writer's block. So... finally, here is my new tale, which I hope you will all enjoy!

P.S.: The pacing in this story is on the slow side and this is one of my longer works... you have been warned! :)

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1. World Gin Day... really?

World Gin Day. One could be forgiven for wondering why aficionados would require a yearly official excuse to commune and partake their love of all things gin, modern or old. Case in point: global gin sales from the top eight distillers, in 2017, totaled 41.9 million nine-liter crates, which is just shy of a whopping 100 million US gallons. On top of that staggering volume, all mainstream markets are stable or growing; and even in countries, notably the USA, where gin consumption is decreasing, sales revenues remain on the rise due to an increased demand in premium products.

And yet, regardless of the debate on the need or merits of this epicurean celebration, one undisputable consequence of World Gin Day 2017 in Toronto, a warm and cloudy June 10th evening, was their first meeting.

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"Good evening, sir, and welcome to the Salty Dog. Will you be sitting in the saloon or at the bar this evening?"

"Good evening... I will make my way to the bar, if you don't mind."

"Very well."

Timothy Taylor walked slowly towards the central island bar. It was his first time in the establishment and he took in the scene. Insofar as lighting was concerned, the atmosphere was dark; and yet, due to the multiple neon signs of various beer labels and several television screens broadcasting baseball, golf or boxing, it was also colored and high-spirited. The wooden floor and the wood panels delineating the saloon were all recent and immaculate. Although he could not easily ascertain the size of the crowd, judging by the background noise level he guessed it was a busy night.

Timothy observed, with satisfaction, both the attire of the personnel and the absence of any sort of percussive rhythm; he concluded that this was a place for actual drinking and not, in his own words, for ogling at female enhanced body parts. Timothy also saw that all the television screens were fixed high on the rectangular central island and pointed towards the saloon, so in fact the bar patrons' only focus were their drinks and the bartender. This was the kind of place he was looking for and he chose a stool for him to spend his evening, with high hopes.

Timothy was then briefly perplexed by a tall and elegant woman standing behind the counter. No, she was not a waitress or a hostess: as she was currently stirring an egg white in a gin fizz, she had to be the mixologist. A young one; maybe mid-twenties, with skin either very tanned or dark. She was fully focused on her concoction and her glasses gave her an added air of intense concentration. But neither her glasses, her focus, her quite clean and professional white shirt and black apron nor her dark hair, all tied up in a bun, could dispel her very evident charm. When she served her drink and smiled to her customer while doing so, Timothy was instantly smitten and slack-jawed.

When the young bartender took notice of him and Timothy saw her smile morph into a giggle, he guessed - correctly - that his expression was her source of amusement and he was embarrassed on the spot. Still, she walked up to him without hesitation.

"Good evening... what can I get you?"

"That... is a very good question. I was hoping to savor a prohibition-era gin cocktail tonight... you know, since it's World Gin Day... and I've already had a Bee's knees earlier... so what else could you suggest me?"

"Well... I make a pretty good Damn-the-weather..."

"Haaa? I've never heard of it..."

"It has a sweet orangey taste. I could also mix you a French 75, obviously, or a Corpse reviver maybe..."

Haaa! Now we're talking! Do you still use Lillet blanc or do you replace it?"

The mixologist let out a visible sigh of annoyance and her smile dimmed. "Look... both the Difford's Guide and The Savoy book tell me to use Lillet... do you want to work behind the counter while I take a break? I mean... will you please tell me what IS IT with older men and Kina Lillet?"

Timothy was shocked. He had barely met this woman and he felt his heart shatter just for making a bad impression. "Truce! I come in peace! One would have to be drinking before 1986 to understand... which obviously excludes me, since I was only nine years old at the time! My dad is the gin artiste in the family, and he is the one still mourning for the forever lost taste of the original Vesper Martini; I, on the other hand, would be delighted to taste your French 75!"

She silently turned around and began her preparations. Timothy easily recognized the champagne bottle from the distance; also the simple syrup and the lemon juice. But he preferred looking at his mixologist than at her mix. He could now see that she wore plain large, round earrings and also that she had a tattoo on her right forearm: butterflies, maybe monarchs. She was taller than him, maybe 5 ft. 10 in.; she was thin, with an elegant and enticing figure; what Timothy could see of her arms was enough to reveal that she was training regularly: she looked strong and was obviously in very good shape.

But, despite all these assets, Timothy's eyes were constantly returning to her face. She had perfectly shaped unblemished cheeks that invited caressing, a discreet nose and soft, smallish lips that were shepherding a mysterious smile. Timothy was bedazzled by a face that he already considered a XXI century reincarnation of Mona Lisa; he was almost startled when the chilled champagne glass was placed in front of him.

"Ho! Thank you... how much do I owe you?"

"Later..." she was leaning on the bar towards him, obviously waiting for his verdict. "Well?" He sipped while watching her at all times.

"Mmmmm!!! This elixir is almost as uplifting as your smile! You, young lady, are a barkeep of stupendous talent and beauty!"

"And you're drunk... give me your car keys if you wish to stick around..."

"I AM NOT!!! I am slightly inebriated on purpose, which is an entirely different thing! And certainly not so irresponsible as to drive for this occasion! I have a room at the Strathcona hotel and I will walk later... slowly."

"All right then... enjoy your drink and your evening... and happy World Gin Day."

"Thank you... I will!"

And Timothy did just that. He nursed his drink, fully savoring every single fluid ounce and remaining in quiet admiration of the lovely bartender. And every time she looked at him, Timothy, emboldened by liquid courage, did not shy away and kept on staring, as if scanning her very soul; she always rewarded him with a smile before returning to other patrons.

By the time Timothy finished the bubbly elixir, the crowd had thinned considerably and, on average, aged as well. This gave both of them some time for small talk.

"Bartender?"

"Yes? And please call me Rina..."

"Rina? Is it your complete or shortened name?"

"My name is Oscarina Oyola... but I don't mind people calling me Rina."

"Wow... your name flows like a river... but, since you asked nicely, Rina it is. So... Rina, is this your establishment?"

"Nooo... this is a replica of another Salty Dog, located in the States, in Ocean City. For all I know, this could even be a franchise. It opened recently."

"That last part, I guessed as much. Well, it's a true pleasure to meet you, Rina... I'm Timothy; Timothy Taylor, from Niagara Falls."

"Timothy... should I call you Tim and serve you a coffee?" There was no mistaking the mischief in her smile as she picked up his empty glass.

"You know, when YOU say it, I find the Tim Horton's joke almost funny! You can call me Tim or Timmy if you wish. And no, I would like something else than coffee to cleanse my palate. By any chance, could you prepare me a Last Word?"

"A Last word? Tim, you are as difficult a client as you are polite... that's not on the menu..."

"Nooo... don't say that! Not youuu! Can you believe I was similarly dismissed from a place called the Gin Mill! Today of all days! Name your price... surely a mixologist blessed with such talent can master a recipe with four ingredients in equal parts... pleaaase!"

"Are you going to stare at me with these puppy dog eyes until closing?"

Timothy answered with a mimicked canine complaint and a contrite smile.

"Hooo... all right! Hold tight, I'll be right back." She was already dialing her telephone while walking away... ostensibly to look for the drink's recipe.

"Thank you! If I ever have a baby girl, I will name her Rina!"

Oscarina sneered. "No need... that will not be part of my asking price." She left and actually vanished from sight for maybe two minutes. She reappeared with, in hand, a large drink of pestilential green in a cocktail glass, adorned with a lime zest twist. This time around, there was no confidence in her voice. "There you go, Tim... equal parts of gin, chartreuse, lime juice and maraschino liqueur, shaken and strained; are you sure about this? This looks more like some comic-book mutant sludge than a cocktail!"

Timothy was actually awed. "Rina, I had not seen such a color since... wow... you have just taken me back in time..." and he raised the glass with such deference that he looked like a priest about to commune with holy wine. He circled the glass under his nose, to taste the drink's simple aroma first, and then, finally, committed his lips to the glass.

He shivered and took a very deep breath. "Rina... this is... to put it plainly, the best drink I have EVER had... Dad's ones don't even touch this! What flavor of gin are you using? It tastes almost too sweet to be Gordon's..."

Oscarina was taken aback, not expecting such a momentous reaction. "Huh... I use Hayman's Old Tom gin for my prohibition-era cocktails... I figure it's closest in taste to the sweetness of bathtub gin, you know... without the sting of low-quality hooch, of course."

"Genius. And the Chartreuse? I've never tasted it so intensely before..."

"Haaa... that's your luck. One of our regular patrons likes high-quality Chartreuse shots, so we keep green VEP Chartreuse in stock. Does it taste that good? You look like you're having a religious experience or something..."

"Here... have a taste. And YOU are indeed a Goddess."

"You know I can't do that..."

"Look... either we share a sip or we go through the motion of a kiss exchange... you just have to taste this!"

"Cool down, you old geezer! And not a word about this!" She stealthily took the glass and had whispered in merry guilt.

"My lips are sealed." Timothy had whispered right back.

She tasted. And her eyes lit up with delight. "Mmmm! This... this is good! Let me have another sip, just to make sure it wasn't a fluke... and don't laugh!" Timothy did, and he did wholeheartedly.

"This is the sort of moment when one is entitled to say I-told-you-so, ha haaa!"

"Shhht! You crazy fool! Hush and enjoy... and behave! I'll see you later." Oscarina made this sound like a lewd promise, but Timothy wisely chose to attribute this impression to his blood alcohol content.

If anything, this private tasting broke the ice between them. So, while Timothy began nursing his cocktail once again, this time around Oscarina included him in her chit-chat round with the talkative drinkers. Near the end of his Last word, theirs was almost a private and intimate conversation that always picked up as if Oscarina had never moved.

"So, Tim... tell me why a polite gentleman from Niagara Falls is drinking gin, all alone, in Toronto."

"Well, huh... I drink gin, as I mentioned, to celebrate World Gin Day. I drink alone because I have neither friend nor loved one to accompany me for the occasion. I drink in Toronto because, should my self-control falter, I will not mar my ability to..." he made a mock drum roll with his fingers before hastily reciting, in a pompous voice "... share a passion for customer service and promote a world-class tourism attraction to millions of guests who visit Niagara Falls each year!"

"Wow! You sure know your party line! What is it that you do in Niagara, Tim?"

Timothy placed the near-empty cocktail glass on the counter with imperfect dexterity - the alcohol was obviously getting to him. "I am one of the very lucky sea dogs who get to pilot the Niagara Wonder." Seeing Oscarina's perplexed look, he elaborated. "One of the two catamarans operated by Hornblower Cruises Niagara to take people near the falls every day, from May to November."

"You mean the Maid of the Mist?"

"The Maids still sail around as well... those two boats are operated on the American side of the Falls. Hornblower Cruises won the bid for a new 30 years contract in Canada; I piloted the boat on its very first day, in 2013, and I hope to still be around when it's all over..."

"Then you really must be an old sea dog, hi, hi!"

"Young lady, I will let you know that I am a 41 year-old prime seaman and that, owing to the recent revision to our retirement age, my career plan holds water. Besides, I get fresh air, clean mist, tons of smiles every day, I get to sleep in a stable bed at night and to spend winter in the warmth of my abode... from my pilot's chair, it doesn't get much better than this. My life is just lacking warmth on the home front... would you be interested, by any chance?"

Oscarina guffawed and gasped; she obviously did not expect this; from him, at least.

Timothy, seeing this, was instantly ashamed. "I am very sorry, Milady, for this very decent proposal. I believvve my tongue is getting too loose for my own good. I'll just go to bed, now." He was indeed about to rise from his stool and Oscarina rushed to prevent that impending disaster.

"No, no, nonono! You're in no shape to walk, sailor! Just sip slowly your Last Word and I'll switch you to freshwater until closing, all right? Just so you don't walk into a bus or something."

"I could dooo that too." Timothy settled comfortably on his stool, leaning steeply against the bar.

Their introductions resumed a while later, when Oscarina brought a glass of water, as promised. "Where is your family, Tim?"

"Mom and Dad are happily retired in Prince George BC, playing grandparents and babysitter for my younger sister who also lives and works there, in an oil refinery."

"That's pretty far away..."

"True, but I am not to be pitied. I had Mom all to myself while she was teaching piano around here and Dad was still on the high seas. Sherryl was all alone in Fort McMurray back then. Now that she has a family of her own, in the grrreater scheme of things, it's all for the best. And I have time to fly around, visit and play uncle in the winter, which would be perfect if not for the fact that I can't ski worth a damn... and you, where is located your family unit, Rina?"

"My poppi, mommi and two younger sisters still all live and work in Jasper, as far as I know."

"If you don't mind my asking, were you born there... if not, where are you from?"

"The Oyola family tree is a proud one of Piajos. I was told many times the tale of my great-grandfather fighting alongside Quintin Lame; my grandfather even met him shortly before he passed away in 1967. However, life in Columbia did not improve over the years - the war on drugs just replaced the fight for independence. So, as soon as all family ties were dead and buried, my parents and I left for Canada... and for peace. We moved around quite a bit in the beginning, looking for work and a place to settle, but my folks were used to a life in the mountains and are now very happy in the Rockies."

"If that's the case, what made you move to Toronto?" Oscarina left that question unanswered, tending to other patrons.

She came back later to Timothy, bringing him his second glass of water. "So, seaman, how does one qualify for a life at sea?"

"Practice and training... like everything. If your family tree is one of Piajos, then I could say mine is one of lakers."

Oscarina had a perplexed look. "I don't get it... even I'm taller than you..."

"Not basketball players, Rina, crewmen on freighters that ply the Great Lakes, between Montreal and Detroit, Milwaukee, Chicago or Duluth... those lakes really are great, you know. In the fifties, there were more than 300 boats... nowadays, barely half that number remain. Anyway, my family had a tradition of working for Canada Steamship Lines... so, after I chose the Lakes over piano, I became a cadet on a CSL laker in the late 90s; but that was when the company started replacing Canadian crews with Ukrainian ones and hoisting flags of convenience in order to cut costs. Dad moved on to salties - ocean-faring boats - but I didn't do the same: you have no idea just how dangerous that life is, especially deep-sea fishing! I stayed close to mom in Toronto and scrounged around on various boats and ferries. She was so relieved and happy when I won that posting for the Falls cruises... almost as much as when Dad retired home, alive and healthy."

"I see..."

"Not so fast, missy! How does one so young and pretty get to be so wise in the ways of spirits? And I mean the ones you drink..."

"Like you said, Tim, practice and training. I come to Toronto, I get a student job at Starbucks; I start as a barista, I make a name for myself and become a barista trainer; then, before I make shift leader, one of my coffee regulars makes me an offer I can't refuse and I become an apprentice mixologist... there's not much more to say... I always liked the night life so I guess it just... evolved from there..." she moved away to other patrons before he could retort.

They carried on in this fashion - Timothy fully spilling his heart and soul's content on every topic and Oscarina pitching in more guardedly - until closing time, when a more stable Timothy paid his bar tab and now had to relieve a very full bladder. He was still at it when her voice startled him out of his wits.

"Haaa! There you are, Tim... you know, I believe you haven't fully settled your tab yet." That was Oscarina, but she was different: her apron was gone, her white shirt now gave an enticing glimpse of her pert bust thanks to several opened buttons, her glasses were gone, her hair was down and cascading wildly below her shoulders, her voice was also lower and almost hypnotic.

Timothy was more than unsettled, he was disconcerted. "I... huh... beg to differ... but then again, right now I mostly hope that I'm not so drunk as to be in the ladies' room!" He was so nervous that he blurted this out without realizing he was, in fact, using a urinal.

"Nooo... you're not... I think you're drunk just enough... Tiiim, would you like to RRREALLY celebrate World Gin Day with me?"

Timothy, at that moment, was only looking back at her and completely neglecting his urinal duties. "Celebrate... you... and me..."

"Mmmm mmm." Oscarina was now entering the men's room, swaying lusciously her hips while she was walking towards her prey.

"You mean... here?"

"I wouldn't mind, Tim... you've gotten me pretty horny this evening... but I'd rather walk you back to your hotel room... just to make sure you get there in one piece!" Her smile was beaming and Timothy was completely captivated.

"That... would be service above and beyond... and I would be a man blessed among the blessed. But... are you sure? I mean, you... are truly a Goddess and I... well, am a mere mortal... and one who believes in a line between patron and barmaid that cannot be crossed... won't I go to hell for this?" Timothy was incapable of laughing at his own banter.