Bar Sperl was surprisingly lively for a Thursday night. It was almost nine, the perfect time to go out, Lexi reasoned. She wove through a group of friends huddled close to the entrance, blocking her view of what the bar had in store for her. Eventually, she made her way along the bar and found a seat near the end, sandwiched between a man reading a book and a couple with two empty martini glasses in front of them, their hands intertwined. Lexi lightly cleared her throat and took a seat; the couple sat up straighter, but the man on the other side didn’t look up from his book. She almost didn’t clock him at first, the lighting was just so perfectly dim, he looked more like an outline of a man than a person with distinguishable features. Lexi ran her fingers over the textured paper menu. Two takes on the martini, a variety of cocktails, and a wide selection of amaro. The selection was vast, as was the potential for the evening, Lexi told herself. She’d not come to Bar Sperl for anything in particular. She’d come to prove to herself that she could. Going to a bar alone was something that she’d seen women do in movies and read about in magazine articles, but the idea of doing it herself made her strangely anxious. Though after another night out in L.A. with too many vodka sodas and conversations with people she’d never speak to again, Lexi was ready for a change. That’s where the idea of taking herself out came about. And, if she met the love of her life while she was at it, that certainly wouldn’t hurt.
When the bartender, who she instantly recognized from the other night, approached, a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder, Lexi smiled. She appreciated the familiarity, and the twinkle in his hazel eyes.
“What can I get started for you?” he asked.
“I would love a Manhattan,” Lexi said, surprising herself with her order. She loved the cocktail, it was one of her favorites, but the words rolled off her tongue more confidently, more assuredly, than she expected.
“A Manhattan in Silver Lake,” he said. “You don’t hear of that too often.”
A breathy laugh escaped from Lexi’s mouth. Was he…flirting? No, no, she chided herself. He was making an observation. It was his job, after all.
“I’m really just in it for the cherry,” she said. It was true; she’d found that this drink order tended to impress men, but that wasn’t why she did it. It was entirely for herself. Lexi enjoyed the burn of the whiskey, sure, and the subtle sweetness of the vermouth. But what she really loved was the delight of the syrupy cherry at the bottom of her glass, a treat at the end of whatever bitterness she might encounter.
“One Manhattan, coming right up,” the bartender said.
Lexi thanked him and smiled, then looked over at the silhouette man again. From her barstool, she could see him better now. He was handsome, that was certain. With a mop of rich, chocolate brown curls and a day’s worth of stubble, he looked as if he belonged in an advertisement for an overpriced menswear brand. He was drinking whiskey, it appeared, and he was still buried in his book.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Lexi said, angling her body slightly towards him. “May I ask what you’re reading?”
The man looked genuinely surprised to be interrupted, which in turn surprised Lexi because, after all, what do you think is going to happen if you’re handsome and reading in public?
His voice, thank god, Lexi thought, matched his appearance. Deep and slow, he told her. “Oh this? It’s Slow Days, Fast Company."
“I haven’t read that one,” Lexi said. “But I love Babitz.”
“Mm,” he said. “I moved here from New York a year ago, and I’ve been missing it. I was hoping that reading about California might help.”
“I haven’t spent much time in New York.”
He nodded attentively. “You should, if you can. It’s the best city in the world.”
Lexi thought about how deep her love for Los Angeles ran in her blood. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m Lexi, by the way,” she said, extending a manicured hand.
“Noah.”
Just then, the bartender returned; in one fluid motion he slid Lexi’s cocktail across the bar. She noticed the two brandied cherries at the bottom of the coupe glass, instead of the usual one.
“Your Manhattan,” he said.
Noah threw his head back lightly. “A Manhattan, perfect.”
Lexi smiled, suddenly feeling shy. How was it that she’d gotten in on this joke with both a devilishly handsome fellow patron and a charming bartender. She hadn’t yet brought the dark, gloriously strong liquid to her lips, though, somehow, she already felt tipsy.
She took a sip, feeling the eyes of these two men on her as she did so. The gentle burn warmed her throat, then her chest, as she swallowed.
“That’s a damn good Manhattan,” she said to the bartender, though she knew she still had Noah’s rapt attention.
“You want to try?” She asked Noah, gesturing to her coupe.
Wordlessly, he reached for the glass, then took a small, but slow sip. He looked up at Lexi, then at the bartender. It was like the three of them existed only on the plane of that bar, in that moment. The idea that other patrons existed completely exited Lexi’s mind.
“She’s right,” Noah said, his voice deep as ever. “Damn good.”
The bartender nodded.
“What’s your name?” Lexi asked.
“Luca.” He looked shy, suddenly, as if answering a far more difficult question.
“Thank you for this damn good Manhattan, Luca,” she said. “I’m Lexi.”
A few sips and smiles at each other later, Noah returned to his book and Luca to his work. The moment, between the three of them, had passed, it seemed, though Lexi didn’t doubt they’d meet again. From the other end of the bar, she watched Luca shake a martini for a woman with a blunt blonde bob and cherry red lipstick. For a moment, she was envious, watching as his biceps engaged with each vigorous shake.
Noah raked his fingers through his gorgeous curls and stood. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. Lexi watched him walk away, then settled back into her drink. She pulled out a dogeared copy of the New Yorker and began to read an interview with a musician she admired. Noah’s book sat on the bar, and Lexi, now slightly tipsy and emboldened, picked it up and read the first page. The idea struck her then, to write her phone number on the inside cover. She grabbed a pen from her purse, curiously one she’d picked up from Bar Sperl the previous weekend, and inscribed her name and digits. She wouldn’t mention it to Noah, it was a treat for later. Just like her cherries.
She finished her Manhattan, and savored each cherry. It was nearly 10, somehow, she’d gotten lost in the delight of the last hour. She could stay for another, but that would likely result in poor sleep, a hangover the next morning, text messages she’d prefer not to send, and not the kind of story she’d be excited to tell Shera.
“Can I get you anything else, Lexi?” Luca asked. The way he said it made her feel as if he’d called her by name thousands of times before. How could a stranger feel so familiar?
“Just the check, please,” she said. “And thank you for the extra cherry, by the way.”
Luca smiled, blushing every so slightly. His face was still vaguely red when he returned with Lexi’s check.
“Leaving so soon?” Noah asked as he returned to his seat.
“It’s a school night,” she said, her tone playful.
Noah looked at her, puzzled.
“I’m not in school,” Lexi clarified with a laugh. “It’s just, you know, a Thursday. All good nights have their natural end, you know?”
“You didn’t even let me buy you a drink,” Noah said, teasing her.
Lexi narrowed her gaze on him, his waffle-knit henley looked soft, his chest broad, as if when she hugged him, she wouldn’t want to let go. “Next time,” she said.
“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Lexi,” Noah said. “I’d love to get your number.”
Lexi directed her gaze to his book. “Don’t worry, you already have it.”
Luca returned with her card. She signed the check delicately with the same Bar Sperl pen, her new favorite, and, in a split-second decision, discreetly added a note at the bottom. Here’s my number — call me, and we’ll make Manhattans at mine next time. Lexi slid the paper back across the bar and rose from her stool.
“Gentlemen,” she said, addressing them both. “It was a pleasure.”
Lexi turned on her heels and walked toward the exit of the bar, knowing both men were staring her down, remembering how good her ass looked in those jeans. She would have been perfectly content to wait alone, feeling the gentle chill of the Los Angeles evening sweep over her, bring her back down to earth. But, of course, a minute later, there was Noah.
“I couldn’t let you just walk out of there,” he said, joining Lexi as she leaned up against the exterior of Bar Sperl.
She found herself rolling her eyes, even though she was happy to see him. Something in her wanted to play with him. “Oh really?” she asked, feigning shock. “Then why was your head buried in your book for most of the night?”
Noah shook his head in defeat. “Oh no, did I ruin my chances?”
“No, you didn’t,” Lexi said, angling her body toward him.
“I didn’t?” he asked, placing a hand on her denim-clad hip.
“You didn’t,” she repeated, moving her hand on top of his. They were almost eye level, thanks to her kitten heels, which made for deliciously intimate eye contact.
“I’d really like to kiss you,” Noah said.
“Then kiss me, why don’t you?”
And reader, he did. He really did.
It was a brief, but all-consuming kiss. She felt her body come alive from her lips through each of her fingertips and in every muscle, joint, and tendon.
Regretfully, she pulled away, though Lexi could have moved into that moment and stayed there forever. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a black Toyota Camry.
“That’s my ride,” she said, gazing up at Noah once more. “Enjoy your book,” she added before turning to hop in the car. “I hope it makes you fall in love with L.A.” All Noah could do was laugh.
Once in the car, she texted Shera immediately.
“You won’t believe the night I just had,” she wrote. “I can’t wait to tell you all about it."
Lexi turned her attention then to Los Angeles, taking in as much of the night sky as the Camry’s window had to offer. Another text message lit up her phone, from a 310 area code. It was Luca.
