HUNTER LAKE 5/100

HUNTER LAKE 5/100 June

The beige man at the end of the bar stood and tipped his hat to June.

June saluted back.

“You know him?” said Frank the bartender.

“He’s Henry’s son from his first marriage.”

“Engineer?”

“One of the good guys, was at the meeting this morning.”

“Hmm.”

“You know Frank, this is one good beer, thanks for pouring me a pony.”

“You know.”

“yeh.”

“Hey, how come you don’t go to the meetings?”

“Got my business, busy.”

“Hmmm.” June looked around the empty triangular shaped bar, her eyes had gotten used to the dim hazed light. On one end was a small lofted area where the bands used to play. It overlooked the bar and the narrowed entrance. Frank had done a lot, it fit all the safety codes. Sprinklers, carbon monoxide detectors, double thick insulated walls, three easy exits out to the street. Even a menu. She grabbed the sheet off the bar top and looked it over. Mango frisee salad. Risotto with fresh parmesan and freshly cracked walnuts, roasted carrots and parsnips.

“Yeh, I know, it’s good isn’t it?” Frank smiled as his hand brushed across his forehead.

“Sally’s her name, right?”

“I built a kitchen for her.”

“Hmm.”

“I cleaned my place up.”

“Got hot and cold water, you mean?” June laughed.

As though to prove something his usual laid back stance changed. He stood upright, shoulders back, used his hands to talk. “Come on, I mean put in doors and finished the floor boards, put in a stove, widened the sink, put in a pantry.”

“Just kidding, you already showed me, you know.”

“That’s right, but I didn’t tell you her name.”

“Household word, when a newcomer moves in.”

“I suppose.”

“From California?”

“No, she’s from here, but split like everyone else, the first chance she got.”

Just then the side door opened and a five-foot woman with hair done inside a chef’s hat that slouched in the back, wisps of blond escaped, green eyes twinkled, she filled out the white apron, her arms were filled with a tray. “Frank, got some tapas for you, see what people think.”

She set the tray down and lifted small square plates off the tray, potato egg frittata, smoked salmon, green olives, calamata olives, bruchetta topped with canned red peppers. All drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with cracked black pepper and minced fresh oregano.

June leaned her cane against the bar, and stared at everything. “When can I start?”

“You think people will like it?”

“Love it, real food, how much?”

“A dollar a plate I figure will end out paying for itself.”

“You’ve got to charge more for the salmon, maybe 2 dollars.”

“Keep the salmon at 1, charge 50 cents for everything else, I want people to try it.”

June put 5 bucks on the counter, “one of everything.” 

A ray of afternoon light wedged its way into the bar as two people entered deep in conversation. June overhead a few words, “the Mayor,” “back office,” “the Times.” June stopped picking out the plates to keep her focus on the conversation. They wore black puffed jackets, still not ready for spring, holding onto winter, “the usual Frank.” The beige man at the end of the counter stepped down and walked over to June. Frank moved over to the glass etched bottles and selected one, Hennessy Fine Cognac, and poured out two fingers neat, walked them over, set them down while they continued with the conversation voices lowered. Frank lingered a little longer, focused on the wall and adjusted one of the framed photos of a local baseball team in black and white with big letters “Valley Winners.” He checked the other tables against the wall, picked up coasters and dry swept crumbs onto the floor, and made his way back to Sally.

“Thank you for the food,” said Frank.

“Let me know what you like, want to slowly introduce some fusion pieces,” she said.

“It’s all good, want you to love what you’re doing, need anything else to make it happen?”

“Come back to the kitchen, we need some upgrades to keep it legal and safe.”

Frank looked back at the bar, “June get me in the kitchen if more people come in, ok?”

As June nodded the beige man tapped June on the shoulder.

“The water board meeting,” he started.

“this morning, you were there.” Said June.

“not like you think, I want to help, I’ve got some papers you might want.” He shoved an envelope across the counter. “Don’t tell anyone where you got this.”