Happy Birthday, Bannon!

Chris sat at the bar, alone, idly stirring his bowl of Cocoa Puffs, watching his milk blend with the swirls of chocolate. There was something oddly calming about Cocoa Puffs. In fact, it was the only luxury from his past he had allowed himself. When he embarked on this new life, he had agreed to leave everything behind – the fame, the fans, it was all lost along with the pain and the shame of everything that had gone wrong in Tucson.

He’d been so young back then. At the tender age of 19, he was nervous, wondering if he could really do it. Where he came from, bartenders were gods, and he was planning to join their ranks. His first job was a small bar in the Tucson International Airport. It was a nondescript bar, with nothing particularly special about it, except one thing.

Jake “The Saint” Peter.

He was famous in those parts, with a following so extensive, flights that connected in Tucson came at a premium price. His talent single-handedly kept that airport afloat. Tending bar was a brutal calling, and most bartenders didn’t last past their 25th year.

“Tending bar is a young man’s game,” Jake had always said. “It takes a certain amount of nonsense that must reside deep in the soul. Only few are born with what it truly took. The ancients called them… Tenderonis.”

Over the years, Jake had passed down the legend of the Tenderonis to his young protegé. Those who were chosen became ageless, timeless, imbued with immeasurable power; power that could be used for good or evil. Chris hadn’t been sure he believed in all of it, but never spoke a word out of respect for his mentor.

Then, one day, a wallet had been left at the bar. Chris had checked the ID inside. It was Jake’s, and the sight of it stilled his heart.

“This date of birth, it can’t be right!” he had said to himself.

“Now do you believe?” a voice startled him.

Chris hadn’t wanted to admit it, but it was all true. According to his license, Jake was 83. “How is this possible?” Chris asked.

A smile passed across Jake’s face. “Now your training can begin.” Jake had seen a spark in Chris from the beginning, so he had immediately taken the scared, young boy under his wing. He didn’t know if he could, in fact, be the next Tenderoni, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

Now, here it was, years later – Chris’s birthday. He had passed his 25th year, with no desire to stop tending bar. In fact, he was working that night. Everything was true. He had alcohol in his blood, just like Jake had said.

So much had changed since those days, and Chris still wasn’t sure at what point it had all started to go wrong. All he knew is that he had a strong sense of foreboding since Mojito Monday. Something was looming on the horizon, and it threatened to destroy everything he had worked for.

He crunched the last Cocoa Puff, slurping his chocolate milk to steel his reserve for the night. The door opened and Joey strolled in, looking at him skeptically. He’d been looking at him weird ever since Monday, and Chris didn’t know how to dispel his suspicions.

Luckily, he was saved from having an awkward conversation when the first wave of patrons entered the bar. They spent the night working around each other cautiously, until finally falling into a semi-comfortable rhythm. All Chris wanted to do was to get through this night unscathed. He turned to the register, having to count someone’s change for the third time, noticing the scar on his wrist began to itch.

a chorus of shrieks filled the bar and everyone spun towards the door. Chris didn’t need to look. He knew that noise, had lived with it almost every day for years.

Muddle Lovers

That’s what they called his fan club. Those whose love of travel was eclipsed only by their love of mojitos. Whenever possible, they made their connections through Tucson just to get one of his famous Mojitos. Time stood still as he turned to face his past, the past that had somehow found him.

“MUDDLES!” they screamed in unison, flocking to the bar, some of them in full Muddle Lover regalia. They all began speaking at once, garnering more attention than Chris was prepared to handle at the moment.

“Where have you been?!”

“I can’t believe we found you!”

“Oh my goodness, Happy Birthday!”

“He was right! You’re actually here!”

He was right. Ah so Jake had decided to give the past a helping hand. Chris looked over, noticing Joey growing more and more curious about the situation unfolding. “Ladies! How about a round of celebratory mojitos?” he suggested. “Why don’t you grab that booth way over there and I’ll be right over to muddle you up something tasty.”

They squealed in delight, quickly making their way over to the booth, chatting about their luck, as Chris wondered how he was ever going to survive the night. He grabbed some fruit and his muddler, hoping his luck would hold out a little while longer. Under the intense scrutiny of Joey, he didn’t see how it possibly could. He stood at the table muddling his heart out, trying to figure a way out of this mess.

“Hey, Muddles… you okay?”

Chris put on a brave smile. “Yeah, just … surprised to see you gals, that’s all.”

They accepted his reply without a word, but none of them believed it. Still, they thanked him sweetly, handing him the birthday presents they’d come to bring him. As he made his way back to the bar, they put their heads together in contemplation. “Darlings,” Ras said, “I think Muddles might be in trouble…”

That night, they vowed to keep a watch over him, for they knew what he truly was. For as long as there have been Tenderonis, there have been Guardian Angels to keep them safe. They often lamented the name, because they were hardly the innocent light bearers their titles suggested. They were daughters of the underworld, warrior tigresses that fiercely protected the balance of the universe of bar tending.

Chris felt the pressure building, and with it came the familiar feeling that lead him to Raleigh. Maybe it was time to cut his losses, before things got really bad. Maybe it was time to run again.

“Hey Tyler, do me a favor, cover me for a second,” he said.

“Sure,” Tyler replied. Finally, it was his time to shine.

Surreptitiously, Chris made his way out the back door, trying his best not to turn around. It was better for everyone involved if he just started over somewhere else.

“Going somewhere?”

Chris jumped, assuming that Jake had once again come to torture him. He was shocked to see it was Not-Chandler that came around the side of the building.

“Uh yeah… I just…” Chris tried to think of a plausible story, but halted when Not-Chandler shook his head.

“Bannon, you may think I’m just the quiet, little guy who’s not Chandler… but I see things. And, what I see is someone about to make a bad decision. Nobody is perfect, least of all anyone around here. The one thing we are, is a family… and family doesn’t desert each other.”

Chris was stunned. Not-Chandler was smart, he was profound, he was… “Seriously, where are your pants?!” Chris exclaimed.

“Everyone has their secrets,” Not-Chandler smiled, walking back from whence he came.

Chris walked back into the bar to the crashing wave of “Surprise!” as confetti rained down upon him. As the bar sang “Happy Birthday!” to him, he knew he had made the right choice. He looked around at all the familiar faces, to everyone who had become important to him. Finally his eyes fell to Jamie. He had dressed as Marilyn Monroe and launched into a particularly sultry rendition of the song, standing on top of the bar.

Suddenly, everything became clear to Chris.

That pantless bastard was right. Not only was this is family, but this was his home, and he wouldn’t run out on either one. He would make it through his birthday, and at the end of it, he would get the guys together and confess everything.

Tucson

“This is not an easy story to tell… but it’s mine to tell.”

Chris looked around the room at the curious faces staring back at him. He had meant to do this after his birthday, but, birthdays being what they are, he ended up inebriated and shirtless instead. He fought the urge to smile at what memories he could piece together of the night. This had to be a serious conversation.

“If you could just let me get through this, don’t say anything, just … listen.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

I used to work in a bar at Tucson International Airport. It’s not there anymore, but it was franchised after a famous lady pilot named Pearl Egates. The main attraction was this famous, daredevil bartender, Jake Peters… but everyone called him St. Peter.

He was the sickest bartender on the west coast, other bartenders would fly out to that airport just to sit and watch him work. I was no different. Ever since the first moment I saw wine being poured into a glass, I knew I wanted to be a bartender. While other kids wanted Tonka trucks for Christmas, I wanted a martini shaker and a bottle opener.

The day I arrived at TUS, I remember sitting on that bar stool in awe. I was too nervous to introduce myself, so I just sat there, watching, hoping to soak up whatever it was he seemed to have in spades. Then, suddenly he stopped and looked at me.

“Hey, kid. How about giving me a hand?” he said.

I was frozen, I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat there with this look on my face. Then, he smiled and laughed at me a little. “C’mon, kid, I ain’t gonna bite ya.”

I scrambled quickly behind the bar and stood beside him.

“You know anything about this stuff?” he asked.

I shrugged and said “A little.”

The crowds poured in, and he started off giving me the easy drinks, the rum & cokes, the screwdrivers and whatnot. Some lady came up and asked for an extra dry martini, and he let me try my hand at that. I remember my hands shaking as I interacted with the customers shyly.

At the end of the day, he just looked at me for a long time. “How long have you wanted to be a bartender?” he asked me.

“Forever,” I said.

He just nodded. “You did good today. You could do great. If that’s something you want, meet me back here tomorrow.”

“Wait… what?” I asked, completely stunned.

“You got a job, kid,” he said as he walked away. “Come tomorrow, you may also have a future. Don’t be late! In fact, be early.”

I left that bar feeling higher than any plane that had ever taken off from there. I went back the next day, eager and early. Jake gave me some pointers, was patient but still put me through rigorous trials. Soon the days became months and I was worlds better than when I had started. Jake began to tell me these legends, old stories about ancient bartenders.

He said the kind of bartender I was born to be was a guardian of one of four elements. There were Mixers, Jugglers, Shakers and Muddlers. He put me through so many tests, to see what element was mine. I remember the first time I held a muddler in my hand. It was like I could feel electromagnetic waves pulsing through me. The grip and twist was so natural to me, it was like I never needed to do anything else.

Jake explained that the elements were more than just a skill. Mixers could juggle and shake just as easily as Jugglers could muddle. But, your element, that is where your power lie. When you are in you element, you held magic over everyone and everything around you. He also warned me to be careful. As with all power, it is so easy to use it for evil, with the lure of fame and glory always at your back.

He wanted me to hone my other skills, felt that it was our duty to protect the divine order. He discouraged overuse of any one element, lest enemies of the order find out who I am. I probably should have listened to him, but all I wanted to do was muddle. There was no time where I felt more like who I was meant to be, and I was just so… damn… good at it!

He was right about the magic. I quickly became well-known, as did the Pearl Egates Tavern. I accumulated regulars… then fans. I was drunk with power, and as my skills grew, Jake and I drifted apart. He chastised me for playing fast and loose with ancient traditions, and I told him he was a jealous old fool who didn’t want to see me succeed.

From that day on, we worked together, but he was no longer my mentor… or my friend. We divided the bar, he stayed on his side, and I stayed on mine. One Christmas, the terminal was particularly busy. In the dead of winter, in the middle of the desert, a crazy old farmer was able to grow a small garden. The real star of the garden was this beautiful squash. It wasn’t the largest, but it was by far the most perfect. The exterior was flawless, it stood straight and proud and was the loveliest golden color. Because of the circumstances around it, national news had dubbed it the “miracle squash”. Some crazy guy had offered the farmer 1.4 million dollars for it.

I couldn’t be bothered to take too much interest in such things. I was too busy putting on a show for my adoring public. It was the Christmas season, so every night, I tried a new treat. Each night they tested me. They were ravenous, wanting more exotic fruits, wanting me to do three, sometimes four at a time. On that night in particular, I was up to six – six cranberry mojitos. That’s when I saw you, Jamie.

You were waiting on a flight, and had stopped in the bar for a quick drink. A girl pulled you and another guy over to the bar.

“Hey, Muddles, these two guys want one too!” she slurred.

“I’m on it!” I yelled.

I grabbed two more glasses and added more fruit. Eight mojitos at once. I had never attempted anything like this, but one look at Jake’s stern face and I wanted to flaunt my skills, to show him that I was better than he ever gave me credit for. So I held my muddler extra tight, and I dove into that sweet abyss. It was too much fruit, most of it was barely being muddled, but I refused to stop, I bared down with all my might, my arms quaking. Then it happened.

I felt the bone in my wrist snap. The pain shot through me, but I was too proud to let it show. I finished up the drinks as quickly as I could, pouring them down a straight line with the applause of the masses ringing in my ear. Round after round I went, my wrist throbbing. One final round and I was glad it was over.

I don’t know how I missed the cranberry. It plopped into your drink, full and round. it hadn’t been muddled at all, it must have been sitting at the bottom of the pile… at the bottom of all my hubris. You sucked it up through your straw and started choking immediately. I couldn’t reach you in time. Someone was able to get the cranberry out, but you were still coughing pretty badly. You ran to the bathroom, but…

You left your bag unattended!

A particularly unstable TSA officer noticed it, and went into a panic, launching a full on investigation. They were just about to go through your bag when you made it back from the bathroom. You screamed at them not to open it, running towards the crowd. That probably wasn’t a great idea. You were tackled immediately by Harvey Huge Hands Hannigan. He had hands like baseball mitts and fingers like italian sausages.

He started interrogating you and you launched into this German tirade. Like literally, you started speaking German. You were drunk and angry and you just lapsed into it… That… probably wasn’t a great idea either. Huge Hands hauled you away, as the rest of security evacuated the area, until they could get a squad in there to check out the bag.

I don’t know what happened to you, but I can only imagine what you had to endure. I started getting worried, but couldn’t bring myself to say anything. Soon, the squad arrived and they were taking swabs of the bag, testing it for harmful chemicals. They found an interesting mix of chemicals on the zipper and were taking extra precautions.

Out of nowhere, you came running through the terminal, shit-faced drunk and butt-ass naked, screeching like a hawk. You took a flying leap over the barricade, tucked and rolled through the agents, then grabbed the bag and tried to make a run for it. You had the bag clutched to your chest, and, for a minute, I thought you just might make it.

Seven TSA officers landed on top of you, and you landed on top of the bag. As they dispersed, you got up slowly, the bag flattened beneath you. You opened the bag to a squishy yellow mess. You let out the most heartbreaking cry I had ever heard in my entire life. You had purchased the miracle squash, and it was ruined. Because of me, you had been stripped, violated, and your miracle had been destroyed.

Later, Mr. Stevens, head of catering, came looking for answers. Once you sobered up, you explained how you didn’t trust checking the squash, since it was so delicate, so you had made arrangements to charter a plane. There was a maintenance issue, so you had to wait. You’d heard of the famous Pearl Egates Tavern and had come to see what all the fuss was about. You weren’t even taking the bag on a commercial flight. You were threatening to sue and the airport authority was looking for someone to swing.

Suddenly, something unexpected happened. Jake came forward, and took all the blame. To my shame, I was too ashamed to speak up. Refusing to be fired, he tendered his resignation and disappeared. I spoke to him one last time before he left. I asked him why he did it. He said as my mentor, his job was to help me cultivate my skill, but also to help me use my powers and magic for good. He said his farewells, and told me not to worry, that I would be watched over in his absence.

I never saw him again. And, with him gone, I couldn’t continue at Pearl Egates. One week after Jake was gone, so was I. I told no one where I was going and, before today, I only told one other person this story – that farmer who grew the miracle squash. I told him the story so he would tell me your name. I knew I had to find you, had to apologize.

I finally tracked you down, but when the time came, again my courage failed me. You were so kind to me. you gave me a job, a home, and a family. Now, Jake is back. I don’t know what’s happened to him over the years, but I fear he’s gone over to the dark side. I have a feeling he’s coming for me, and my first reaction was to just run away again. But, thanks to Matt, I knew I owed you all more than that… especially you Jamie.

Chris looked at the stunned faces staring back at him, speechless. “Hey, guys. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, I wouldn’t presume to expect so much, but please, say something.”

Zac turned to Jamie, confused. “When did you have $1.4 million?!”

Tyler seemed to be working through a puzzle in his mind. “Who the fuck is Matt?”

Joey nudged Tyler. “Not-Chandler,” he answered.

“His name is Matt?!” Tyler exclaimed. “Why the hell do we call him Not-Chandler?!”

“Cuz he’s not Chandler,” Joey responded.

“Jamie are you secretly rich?!” Zac asked.

“Guys!” Chris yelled. “Jamie, aren’t you going to say anything?” he whispered.

Jamie sat completely still for a long while. Chris waited for Jamie to yell, to scream at him to get out. He even braced himself in case Jamie hit him. It was to his complete surprised when Jamie’s patented giggle rolled out of his throat.

“Ah man… I remember that day. Good times. Great mojito, aside from the near death experience.”

“… that’s it?!” Chris asked, exasperated.

“Dude, do you have any idea how many airports I’ve been naked in? I have a foreign name and a penchant for fuckery!”

The other guys laughed in agreement.

“But, I destroyed your miracle squash. Aren’t you mad?”

Jamie just smiled and looked around at the crazy asses in his employ. “I would be, if I believed miracles came only once in a lifetime. But look at us! We somehow all found each other, and look at the result; We have the best bar in Raleigh.”

Chris felt like his world had been flipped upside down. All of this was so unexpected.

“We’ve all got our secrets,” Joey said. “We’ve all got our issues.” He shrugged. “You’re part of the fam, now. Keep calm… and Muddle on.”

“This is not how I expected this night to go,” Chris said.

“HAHA! Words spoken every night in the flower!” Tyler laughed. The phone rang, and he went to grab it.

“Seriously, Jamie, how much money do you have?” Zac asked.

Jamie giggled again, and winked.

“Hey guys, are we open on Christmas?”

“God Dammit! YES, we are open EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. NIGHT!” Jamie yelled.

Chris just sat on the stage, shocked, even as warmth spread through his heart. It really was the most wonderful time of the year, and he was in the best place possible. For once, everything in his life was going right.

Jake turned away from the back door, a smirk on his face. “Well played, Muddles. Well played.” He walked back towards the shade of the trees, noticing a pair of pants on a recycling bin. He picked them up, and continued into the shadows.

Tis The Season

Twas the night before Christmas for the boys in the bar,

Peace St. was so quiet, and in the parking lot… two cars.

The boys looked in shock at the note that was left,

In their hearts there was anger, and their souls were bereft.

As for Mad Muddles Bannon, he thought he might faint,

It was pinned to the wall with a sharp candy cane,

And there, on the bar, was a small model plane.

It seemed their conflict would end as quick as it began,

It was time for the boys to come up with a plan.

“Where would he take him?” said Joey, ever rational,

There was only one place. “Raleigh Durham International.”

A gust of wind blew and the door pitched with a squeak

In walked two of the girls who had been there that week.

“I’m sorry we’re closing,” Bannon said with urgency,

“We’ve gotta leave town on a family emergency.”

The girls rushed out the door, trying not to hover.

But it was hard to sit idle for two Muddle Lovers.

They couldn’t help but notice the boys’ frenzy and pallor

“Here, in case you need it. Sorry, it’s only eight dollars.”

They sped out the driveway, up the street, to the right.

The girls pondered what tragedy had befallen that night.

They picked up a note , leaning over it, huddled.

“Nuggets!” Ras exclaimed, “Someone’s harming our Muddles!”

They ran to the car, getting ready for war,

For the day they had trained their whole lives for.

They started the beetle, “We gotta go!” Nuggets cried.

Rassy stepped on the gas, “On, White Devil! We Ride!”

Patrons came and went, some gathered ’round the door,

Wanting whiskeys, vodkas, beers, all priced 4.

They shrugged at the sign, neither shocked, nor surprised.

The boys ignored every law on the street as they sped,

Be it stop sign, merge left, or lights turning red.

Joey stayed focused, with his hands on the wheel.

Zac closed his eyes, fearing the loss of his last meal.

Tyler leaned forward, urging Joey to go faster,

His precious Jamie was missing, he was going to kill that bastard.

Chris said nothing, though everything seemed to slow down.

The time, at last, had come, for their final showdown.

Joey veered off the exit toward RDU,

“What do you think, boys? Terminal one or two?”

“Well, Terminal one is so old, and it’s not yet converted.”

“And there’s only AirTran and Southwest, it should be deserted.”

So the foursome decided, terminal one it would be,

“Once we get inside, split up and try to find Jamie.”

As for Muddles, he knew which route he would take,

He had no doubt exactly where he would find Jake.

There was a part of the building that was closed for repairs,

Chris went there sometimes to work through his troubles and cares.

He slipped through the restricted door, knew it wasn’t far.

He navigated the darkness, to that broken down old bar.

There were preparations laid out for a Bartender’s Duel,

“Now, little Muddle, shall we go over the rules?”

“We both make a drink, a crazy mixture of booze,”

“We switch, then dissect which ingredients were used.”

Chris took his station, and Jake did the same,

He hoped the guys found Jamie, while he played this little game.

The guys stood together, making their plan of attack.

And they noticed two girls, standing over them, to the back.

Those same two girls they had seen at the bar.

“Oh great, we made it, you didn’t get too far.”

The guys looked at them, expressions befuddled.

“Relax guys. Guardian Angels! We protect the Muddles!”

Zac and Joey accepted, too tired to argue,

But Tyler, exasperated, yelled “Who the hell are you?!”

One put her arm around Tyler, with a satisfied sigh.

“That’s Ras, and I’m Agent Nuggets, cutie pie.”

“And what are you doing here?” he said, at a loss.

“We are here to save Muddles and help you get your boss.”

They tore through the terminal, checking every locked door,

Until they found him, surrounded by luggage on the floor.

Jamie had dressed in every outfit from the unclaimed bags,

From uniforms to costumes… even in drag.

Ras said, “Sorry I have to break up your fun,”

“But we’re here to get you home, so it’s time that we run.”

Muddles, for his part, was still battling strong.

Seven rounds, drink for drink, and neither one had been wrong.

Both had the strength and stamina to endure.

But with each drink that passed, their vision started to blur.

Bright lights found them, and a familiar voice sounded.

“Hey, I see a bar!” Zac said. “I think I found it!”

Tyler picked up Chris, while Joey held Jake at bay.

And Zac cleared a long path, so they could all get away.

Chris, in his drunken state, was throwing a fit,

“No! Take me back! I gotta muddle some shit!”

Jake let out a roar and the whole building shook.

This was far from over, he didn’t care how long it took.

They made it out the door, and knew they wouldn’t get far.

The beetle screeched to a halt. “Get in the god damn car!”

Joey ran to Ras’s side, all of them grateful to be alive.

“If Joey is in the car, honey, then Joey drives.”

“How are we all gonna fit?” They all thought and they thunk

Ras said “Two in front, four in back, and one in the trunk.”

The guys looked at Tyler, who shook his head right away.

“You must be out of your mind, there’s no fucking way!”

Ras opened the trunk, and tossed out a few books,

“See?! You’ll be fine, it’s much bigger than it looks.

He argued until Nuggets pulled the taser from her pocket.

As the currents flowed she said, “Toss his ass in there, and lock it!”

They jumped in the car, and were all on their way,

They escaped Jake’s wrath, and could fight another day.

There was no sight sweeter than pulling up to the bar.

Above it there shined the brightest and prettiest of stars.

The most important thing was salvaged, they still hadn’t lost it

They opened the door and dragged themselves in, exhausted.

They tossed Tyler in a booth, so he could sleep off his shock.

Jamie sat by the tree, and looked up at the clock.

Midnight had struck, and it pleased him to say,

“You guys, we made it, it’s Christmas day.”

“The greatest present I’ve got, is having friends like you.”

“And I’m sure that my friendship, is your greatest present too.”

Around him eyes narrowed, and he saw eyebrows lift,

“Fine, pour us a round, and I’ll get you your gifts!”

The doors opened wide, and the masses poured in,

For the Black Flower’s gift is, and always has been:

To be a home, and a family, to those who have none,

And for those that do, well it’s just a shitload of fun.

It’s a rare kind of place, that excepts you as you are,

And that’s why Black Flower is a miracle of a bar.

So if you’re in the Raleigh area, be sure to take a peek

Follow the brightest star to 517 w. Peace St.

May your Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanza be Merry

Happy Holidays to you all!

Love,

R.C. Berry