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The bar is most crowded at 10:30 PM on the Saturdays, when the sky is near-black and lamp lights are lit on the streets, cars rushing by every now and then.
"Saturday evening," Sophie, his sister, declares as she cranks the top off a beer bottle. "The Guardians are going to play, yeah?"
"Don't they always?" Jamie questions back as he opens a cabinet full of martini glasses and pulls out a few, sticking them into the fridge.
"Yeah, but didn't you hear? They got a violinist now!" Sophie chirps, pouring Heineken into a tall glass.
"Oh, do they?"
"Yeah. I think his name was like, Jackson, or something. Anyway, I heard he was really cute. Blue eyes and platinum blond hair." Sophie smirks at him as she slides the drink towards a customer (who winks at her suggestively, which Jamie's older brother instinct did not like at all) and chuckles.
"Sophie, please refrain from whoring me out to random boys. I honestly do not appreciate it." Jamie twists open a vodka bottle. "How the hell do you even find out these things, anyway? Also, hand me the tomato juice."
Sophie smiles. "I have my ways, dear brother. Besides," she drawls, reaching into the refrigerator to grab the bottle of tomato juice, "you need to get laid."
"...I can't believe the sheer preposterousness of my younger sister is lecturing me on this. Most siblings would cry at the prospect of their brother doing the dirty."
Sophie wags her finger at him tauntingly. "I'm just trying to help replace that stick up your ass to another kind of stick."
"...oh, my God."
"I love you too, bro," Sophie cackles as she punches his shoulder playfully (but still unnecessarily forceful) and snatchs an olive from the a container for a martini. "Oh, hey, here they are now!"
Sounds of applause ring out from the various tables as the jazz band steps onto the modest stage in the front of the bar. There are the usual members on the platform - the Russian saxophonist, the pretty piano player, the Australian bassist and the dwarf-like drummer - but sure enough, along with the regulars, stands a violinist with a head with hair that seemed silver.
"Oh, man," Sophie murmurs, "I'd totally tap that. Wouldn't you, dear brother?"
"Nah," Jamie grunts disapprovingly as he watches the violinist lift his instrument to chin and flicked his bow with a haughty flourish. "Too arrogant. Not my type."
Sophie throws her arms up in the air in exasperation. "Not your type! How can that gorgeous piece of man not be your type? Jamie, you don't even have a type!"
Jamie rolls his eyes. "I'm very selective of my partners." He stirs the Bloody Mary cocktail with a straw and squeezes lime juice from a slice over the drink.
"Your nonexistent partners! The last boyfriend you had was in high school. He wasn't even a boyfriend! He was like a fuckbuddy gone horribly wrong in the looks department!"
"Oh, shut it," Jamie mutters lowly, "Adam wasn't that ugly." Then clearing his throat, he says louder, "Bring this out to the girl at table thirteen." He slides the cocktail onto a black platter and gives his sister a meaningful look.
"Yeah, yeah," Sophie grumbles stubbornly. "Watch the hottie up there."
"Hottie-" Jamie starts, but stops abruptly as he turns his attention to the stage. "...Holy shit."
If Jamie thought before that the violinist comes off as arrogant, then he at least is arrogant for a good reason. His fingers swiftly dance across the black fingerboard of the violin, and his bow arm moves with precision and grace. He crescendos with a flair that should have been too over dramatic, but wasn't, because it works magnificently with his solos. There's no denying it - the guy is good; extremely good, in fact, if Jamie was being honest with himself. Jamie stares a bit dumbfoundedly at him.
"Careful, dearie, you're drooling," Sophie chuckles darkly, snapping Jamie out of his reverie.
"God-" Jamie jumps, not noticing Sophie arrive back at all. "Oh."
"Close, but not quite. I'm Sophie, your sister, not God." The blonde smirks and waves at him mockingly. "How was fantasizing about Monsieur Violinist de Suave et Sexy?"
Jamie flushes. "I wasn't fantasizing about anyone!"
"Your face says otherwise, dear," Sophie tuts as she scoops ice into a glass. "Denial is the first step to acceptance. Were you dreaming about his charming smile? His masterful fingers and what they could do? Ooh, that's kinda kinky. Naughty naughty, Jamie."
"Sophie..." Jamie grits out as he purses his lips and twitches, "you have five seconds to get the fuck out of my sight before I chop you up and mix you in a drink."
"Oh, is little Jamie-"
"Just go the hell away!"
"Damn." Sophie pouts. "You're no fun." But she saunters off with a glass of whiskey in her hands, leaving Jamie alone behind the bar.
"What would you like?" asks Jamie politely to a lean, dark man sitting at the bar as his lips curve upward into a strained and tired smile.
"A Sidecar, please," the man says offhandedly, and then adding with an amused smirk, "An interesting relationship you have with that girl. She a friend?"
"No," Jamie grumbles, pulling out a cocktail shaker from a shelf behind him. "She's my younger sister. Couldn't get rid of her even if I tried my fucking hardest."
The slender man laughs. "Most sisters dislike the concept of their brothers getting some."
"Exactly what I said," the bartender agrees. He screws the cap off a bottle of cognac and pours it in the shaker, along with some Cointreau and ice. "She loves the fact that I'm gay. It's like she's checking out guys and using me to screw them for her, since she's already got a boyfriend." Jamie rattles the shaker vigorously.
"You're single?" the man asks with raised eyebrows.
Jamie frowns. "Yeah, couldn't you have gathered that from the conversation between my sister and I?"
"I just assumed she wanted you to get laid more, not that you weren't getting laid at all. I'm surprised. Cute boy like you should be." The man winks at him. "I'm Kozmotis Pitchiner, by the way. Call me Koz."
Jamie pours the mixed drink into a sugared glass and slides it towards him. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Koz," he says, "but no. I'm not interested."
"No?" Koz's face darkens a little, but then lightens up as he drawls, "Such a shame. You really are cute." He picks up the glass in his spidery fingers and tilts his head back, gulping the whole portion in seconds. "At least give me your name."
"Jamie," the bartender replies tersely. "My name is Jamie."
"Jamie, hm? How darling." Koz pulls out his wallet and deftly plucks out a crisply folded twenty dollar bill and places it on the table. "Keep the change, honey. It was a pleasure."
Jamie waves at him. "Goodnight, mister," he says politely as he watches the man walk away briskly. And then he breathes out a sigh, grabbing the bill from the countertop and turning around to cashing it in.
"Hey, you want to serve a drink to me too?"
Jamie whips around. "Oh, I'm-" And then he stops to see who it is. "...sorry?" Bewilderment is apparent in his voice. And then he looks over to the stage, where the pianist still plays a slow ballad. And back at the man who was looking at him expectantly. "Wait, weren't you just up there?"
"I'm taking a break," the violinist affirms, wringing his hands, which Jamie notices absently has little calluses on the tips of the fingers on his left hand - from the violin, no doubt. "Soloing for ten minutes can take a lot out of you."
Jamie grunts. "I can guess. So, what would you like?"
"Scotch, please. Straight up. I don't really care about the brand."
Jamie nods. "Alright, coming right up." From the shelf, Jamie grabs a bottle of Duncan Taylor's and a chilled glass. "So, how long have you been playing violin?"
"Thirteen years, now. I started when I was ten." The violinist - Jackson? Isn't that what Sophie said his name was? - gives Jamie a crooked smile as he scratches the back of his blond-silver hair meekly. “It was a fucking chore at first, but it got better, at least.”
Jamie decants the Scottish whiskey into the cup and pushes the drink toward the violinist. “At least you have some talent,” Jamie mutters, half to himself, “I don’t know how to play any instrument, save for a recorder back in fourth grade. And even then I sucked at that.”
The violinist blinks, and then a wide grin spreads across his face and he laughs a little. “Don’t say that,” he acknowledges, light-hearted, “I’m sure you have other things you’re good at, not necessarily in music, eh?”
Jamie snorts. “Please. I’m a poor little bartender. I pour drinks. You can’t get less talented than that.”
“Oh, but on the contrary, Jamie here is quite talented at singing!” Sophie declares gleefully, as she skips back to the counter with an annoyingly happy bounce to her step.
“Aw, fuck,” Jamie mutters.
The other man's eyebrows jumps a little. "Oh, really?" he asks, interest piped, a little smile on his pale mouth.
"Yeah, really," Sophie confirms, nodding furiously. "He was in glee club in high school, weren't you, Jamie?" She winks at her brother and tosses her dirty blonde hair in his general direction.
"Oh, God, don't remind me," Jamie mutters darkly, clamping a hand over his eyes, as if in attempt to shield the shame from his eyes, while his oh-so-wonderful sister cackles in near-sadistic pleasure.
"Who is this young lady?" the violinist questions casually. "She your girlfriend or something?"
Jamie blanches and his face twisted into an extremely displeased look of disgust. "God, no. She's my sister. Even if she wasn't, I wouldn't date her even if she was the last person on earth. She's a horrible person."
Sophie's lower lips juts out mockingly. "How mean." She clutches her chest and fakes a dramatic breakdown. "How you wound me so! And you wouldn't date me if I was the last person in the world because you're homo, babycakes."
"Never call me that ever again."
“Yeah, sure, okay, babycakes.”
“Sophie...”
“Yes, hi,” Sophie dismisses with an arrogant gesture of her hand, turning to the violinist. “I’m Sophie, by the way. This here is my gay brother Jamie. We’re the Bennetts, and our father runs this bar. Jamie’s single and looking. Who are you, handsome?” Her right eye flutters in a not-so-subtle suggestive wink.
“Charmed,” the blond musician muses lowly, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “My name is Jackson Frost. But you can call me Jack,” he adds with a crooked grin on his face.
Sophie swoons a little with a stupid, dreamy, faraway expression. Jack rolls his eyes, and sticks out a hand to shake Jamie's.
“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Jamie smiles, “and please ignore her.” He juts his head out in Sophie’s direction.
Jack grasps his hand and shakes it. “Pleasure’s all mine.” Then he peers down at Jamie’s hand and then comments, “You have pianist’s fingers.”
Jamie blinks. “I do?” He lifts his hand in front of his face and examines it.
“Yeah,” Jack hums, “they’re slender and long. Elegant. Like a pianist’s.”
Sophie sniggers lowly under her breath. Jamie ignores her.
“Thank you,” he replies hesitantly, “I guess.”
Jack smiles meekly (which was oddly adorable, Jamie notes) and sips at his scotch. “You’re welcome. Now, about that singing voice?”
“Oh, God,” Jamie mutters, “why would you ever mention that, Sophie?”
"Oh, stop it," Jack laughs, "I bet you have a great singing voice. Don’t be modest, now.”
Jamie’s face flares pink as he grumbles lowly, “No. I’m not being modest. At all. High school was a dark period of time in my life. Glee club was the worst part of it.”
“Jamie soloed in all four of the glee clubs performances,” Sophie chips in matter-of-factly. And then she smiles innocently at Jamie while he fumes internally. “Best tenor in the school, that’s my bro.” She blows a kiss at Jamie mockingly. “You’re welcome, hun.”
Jack smirks. “Best tenor, eh?”
“Oh, my God.” Jamie spazzes and flails his arms around stupidly. "Please ignore everything she's saying. She's lying. My sister is a lying little piece of shit, aren’t you, Sophie?” Jamie grits out through clenched teeth and glares at his blonde sister.
“No,” she chirps. Jamie scowls at her.
“I’m going to trust your sister on this one,” Jack laughs. “How about you sing something for me? A chorus, perhaps? Doesn’t have to be long.”
“But-”
“No buts,” the blond teases, cutting him off, “just sing me a lyric.”
Sophie leans back on the counter with her arms crossed over her chest triumphantly. “Yeah, Jamie. You did it all the time in high school, why not a little song now?”
“Uh.” Jamie wilts a little inside. “Um. Er, okay. I guess,” he mumbles, voice decreasing into near inaudibility. “Name a song.”
“What can you sing?”
“Almost everything,” Sophie butts in like the little annoying bitch she is, “he has a three octave range.”
“Sophie, for the love of God, shut up!”
Jack’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows did a little leap towards his hairline. “Three octaves? Wow, that’s impressive. Now I gotta hear you. No turning back now.”
Jamie gulps for the thirtieth time that night, and squeaks out, “Aw, shit.”
“Don’t be like that,” Jack says kindly, “I bet you’re great. Like your sister said. One’s harshest critic is oneself, you know.”
“Yes,” Sophie nods. Jamie guesses that she has no idea what Jack said. “Yeah, what he said. Harshest critic. Yep.”
“...Okay,” Jamie grumbles begrudgingly, “but what the hell do you want me to sing?”
“Sing your solo from senior year,” his sister sighs nostalgically, “I really liked that one.”
“Uh,” Jamie starts, eyes darting to Jack. There’s a little grin of anticipation on his face and his long, skeletal fingers tap on the counter expectantly. His eyes crinkle a little with something like encouragement and suddenly Jamie feels ridiculously nervous and his stomach does cartwheels and flips in his stomach and oh, God, it’s getting hard to breathe and Jamie has to inhale sharply to force himself back to reality.
“Jesus, why am I doing this,” he mutters, and then clears his throat and starts singing.