(The façade of the fall-back bar and restaurant in the vibrant Ballston neighborhood.)

I met Liz-with-an-S at the Front Page last night. A meeting was necessary. The mailroom at The Daily has been swamped with inquiries about her departure from the Willow bar staff. “Why?” read the torrent of lamentation. “She was so pretty, so smart, and she took such good care of you barflies.”

I had to agree, and as Liz-S’s unofficial publicist, I felt obligated to get the truth out there. She was at the bar, waiting with a glass of pinot grigio and a tall glass of water. I slid onto the stool next to her, struck by her beauty, Her fine chestnut hair was loose and draped across a sweater open just enough to suggest the generous curve of her figure. She looks great in civilian clothes.

“So what happened?” I asked, trying to get the attention of the bartenders who appeared to be studiously avoiding me. I thought about trying their version of Happy Hour White, but I waited long enough that I decided to go with hard liquor at happy hour prices.

“Seven and Seven,” I said, after Liz-S cleared her throat and managed to distract the bartender who had a wild shock of thoroughly un-Willow like hair. I decided that the investment in being a regular somewhere else was a pretty good idea.

“See, we aren’t family here,” said Liz-s. “You step right to the back of the bus.”

“Yeah, I completely agree. Willow is the whole package. I have been watching people come and go on the staff almost since the place opened. It hurts when people you like move on and you never see them again.”

Liz-S pursed her lips. “Big Jim, Peter, Tinker Belle. And all the others. Gone.”

“Well, I am not going to lose you,” I vowed, taking a deep draught of the 7&7. “You have a huge following in The Daily. Everyone knows about the way your pony tail sways on your delicate swan-like neck and that black leoptard top…”

“You are such a jerk, Vic”

“No, seriously, if I were only fifty years younger and you didn’t already have a significant other…”

“I would be your baby sitter,” she said with a grin. “I guess it is time to move on.”

“The food and beverage industry is not where you need to be. You are an attorney, for god’s sake. An officer of the court, admitted to the Bar in New York and New Jersey. Time to grow up and be on this side of the bar.”

“I guess you are right,” she said. “I think Mondays are the nights at Willow that the person I had the disagreement doesn’t work.”

“Then Mondays are when you come back to the Amen Corner on the right side of the bar. The Regulars need to stay in touch. It is a family thing.”

Liz-S nodded decisively. “You got it,” she said. “but in the meantime, what do I tell people about not being at Willow?”

It was my turn to grin. “Just what everyone says here.”

“Which is what?”

“Creative differences, and you wanted to spend more time with your family.”

“But I don’t have a family here.”

My grin got even wider. “Of course you do. It is just a family that meets Monday nights at the Willow.” I finished my drink, and signaled for the check, remembering I did not have to tip as lavishly as I do normally. He was definitely not family. “It is a little unconventional, but that doesn’t mean the relationship isn’t real.”

“Thanks, Vic. Creative differences. Family. I got it.”

“You certainly do, Counselor. Give it a couple Mondays, and we will see you at Willow.”

(Liz-S in a previous life, before creative differences and family obligations. Photo Socotra)

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com