The Tamarind Bar and Grill

The maple tree that cast a shadow over the entire street was shedding. Frank normally may have been a little peeved if leaves fell in his hair, but not now. All that mattered right now was getting lunch. Work had been especially hectic over the past few days. Frank was the the senior art director at an especially popular advertising agency. They had a couple accounts that needed their campaigns ready pronto. It sucked to have to work eighteen hour days. But all was about to be forgotten for a few precious moments. Frank passed the pile of leaves covering the sidewalk, and turned immediately into the an open doorway. Frank hugged his arms close to himself. The line in front of him were collectively rocking back and forth trying to keep warm. Damn, Frank thought to himself, why do they even have a door if they aren't going to close it? Frank wasn't normally a worrier, but the thought of an open door, and heat going on full blast just confused him. But, he wasn't paying the bills, so who was he to worry?

"Next!"

Frank pulled himself out of his thoughts. "Hi, uh..." Frank looked at the chalk menu hanging about the counter, "Just the usual."

The teen behind the counter smiled, "Which is?"

"Oh, sorry. The steak sandwich. With the sauce. What's it called?"

"Au Jus"

"Something like that. Yeah."

"Ok, that'll be $8.95"

Frank handed over the cash. He liked to pay in cash, because it differentiated him. Most people had given in, and paid with plastic. Frank knew it wasn't much, but it was his little rebellion. Sometimes people looked at him strangely, but he didn't care. He valued strangeness. As a teen, he was a fair bit of trouble, not the usual drugs and sex, none of that. Teen Frank was partial to using the word cunt. Back in middle school he realized a total nobody could gain notoriety from one little word. He used it so much he was called ‘cunt kid'. In retrospect, he realized the potential that it wasn't a complimentary nickname, but hell, it was a nickname wasn't it?

The sandwich showed up on the counter, beef flowing out of the ends. Steam floating up almost as far as the ceiling before dissipating. Frank eagerly grabbed the plate, and covering it up like a quarterback does to a football, he sat down at the table next to the door. He liked sitting so he could face the window and watch the people walk by, living their lives. He watched them talk to their friends, he watched as their breath showed up on the cold air always wondering what words made up the steam. Taking his seat, Frank rolled up his sleeves, and looked down at his sandwich, sitting there perfectly in the middle of his plate, the symmetrical bread, on the bone white plate. He was almost sorry to ruin it. He almost wanted to sit back, and watch the sandwich until the end of time. Lunch break was only thirty minutes though, not near enough time. Frank picked up the sandwich, and with after a little pause he bit into it. Perfect, he thought to himself, thirteen minutes before he was due back in the office.

Julia leaned her head onto her cellphone, so she could keep talking while she drove, looking for a place to park.

"Ok, let's finish this discussion later, ok? I'm meeting a client in a few minutes."

Julia was silent for a moment, waiting for her business partner to finish his rant about the company account.

"I promise, only a meal, no dessert. Remember, I'm just as invested in this as you are." She said. "Ok, I got a spot. Talk to you later."

Without waiting for a response, Julia shut her cellphone. Angela, her business partner was a lesbian, Julia thought that may be the reason for her bitchiness. She was generally a nice person, definitely a great businesswoman, but there are times...she shook her head. There are times.

Julia leaned on her dashboard and looked out. Tamarind: Bar and Grill said the sign. There was a little pod below it, kind of looked like a piece of shit. She didn't care. She never really ate at business lunches anyway. She just wore low cut shirts, and tried to woo investors. So far, it hadn't worked out well. She was pretty optimistic about this one. She closed the door on her Audi (business expense) and hastily walked across the street, stumbling a little bit, but steadying herself. Julia opened the door. A little bell rang. It annoyed her whenever stores did that, why do you have to announce your presence? Couldn't you just sneak in, and announce yourself whenever you are good and ready? A lot annoyed Julia. Some called her a type-A personality, and some just called her a bitch. She just liked to call herself a high powered woman. Someone who was going place, and wasn't afraid to flaunt it.

Julia found the Tamarind a little empty. There was a kid sitting at a table doing his homework, it looked like math. No potential investor, not yet. Julia sat down two tables away from the math kid. She found him interesting. His pencil moving over the paper stopping periodically whenever he questioned himself. After a moment with his calculator he found out he was correct in the first place. She never liked it when people second guessed themselves. If she had ever done that, she wouldn't be where she was, in charge of her own company. She had a strange urge to go over and tell that to the boy, teach him. Before she could, the door opened, and a mousy man walked in. He was balding a little in the back, but nothing a creative combing couldn't hide. She stood up.

"Gregory?"

He looked over, and smiled nervously. He walked her way.

"This is one of my favorites. Always really quiet."

Julia smiled, "It does have a great," she paused, searching for the right word, "atmosphere."

Gregory nodded his head. "Exactly"

Julia sat down, and tried not to stare at him. He caught her eye, and noticed she was sitting. He lowered himself into the chair across from her.

"Ok, so this is about investing, right? Because we are still about twenty percent shy of our goals."

Gregory lowered the menu he had picked up. "Should we order first?"

Julia looked a little put off, "Sure." She said with a smile on her face, but in truth she was getting a little annoyed. This one probably would turn out like the others, no money, just a lot of ogling. Gregory raised his arm.

"Waiter!"

The teen standing behind the counter sighed, and reluctantly walked towards their table,

Gregory looked over at the boy at the other table. "I'll have what he's having." He chuckled a little at his joke.

The waiter's expression didn't change. Gregory laughed nervously, "I guess I'll just take the hamburger. No cheese, ok?"

"Hamburger with cheese. ok" said the waiter, scribbling something down on his pad.

"No cheese." Gregory said.

The waiter nodded. "Yeah, what I said."

Julia flashed the waiter a sympathetic smile. "I'll just have a salad. Caesar, and a bottle of Evian please."

The waiter cocked his head slightly, "We don't sell Evian. We have Perrier, and Dasani though."

"I'm fine then, just the salad."

The waiter finished writing the salad down on the pad, and left without a word.

"So, why's it called the Tamarind?" Julia asked, trying to spark conversation.

Gregory stared absentmindedly at the boy.

Julia was about to as the question when he interrupted.

"Tell me, do you think I'll invest?"

Julia considered her words very carefully, "Well, after you hear the rest of the proposal, I am more then sure you will become an investor."

He turned his head back towards Julia, "Forget about the marketing ploy, it's just us two, nothing to worry about. Yes, or no?"

Julia sat quiet for a moment. "No," she said, her head lowering unconsciously.

Gregory looked at Julia, and for a moment, she was about ready to bolt. Whenever a balding mid-forties man stares at you too long, you feel dirty, sticky. It doesn't really matter who it is. Even if he is the greatest guy in the world, there's just something about having a walking bald spot try to look through you.

"Do you want me to tell you why?"

Julia nodded her head, then reconsidering she shook it. The food arrived on the table. Gregory's made a clattering sound as it landed on the table. Julia's was placed in front of her with a purposeful finesse. Gregory pulled on the edge of the top bun of his burger, so he could season it with his favorite, lemon pepper. Not many restaurants had lemon pepper on the tables.

Gregory cursed under his breath. Julia strained her neck to look around the bun that Gregory was holding in front of him. One slice of cheddar cheese was sitting perfectly in the middle of the patty.



Jake's drink was a Miller Lite. He liked it lukewarm and before the clock hit noon. It's not really a drink to get drunk on, it satisfied his urges just enough. He knew his tastes were strange, and the his preferred drinking time screamed ‘alcoholic', and he supposed he was an alcoholic of sorts. Not the kind in the movies who drink themselves to blackout every night. Jake was more of what he called a social alcoholic. Kind of a misnomer, because he didn't really drink with anyone else. His explanation for the title was that he was a socially acceptable alcoholic. Not many bars were too happy to serve before noon, no matter if you were a social alcoholic or not, there was on though. It was on Huntington, about two blocks from where Jake lived, and maybe ten minutes away from his work. He never really measured that in blocks, because getting back to work was more of a rush against time then a leisurely walk. Jake wasn't really the kind of person to ever carry a watch around, and getting back to work late more then a few times was enough to make him a little apprehensive. It didn't really help since everyone knew about his penchant for alcohol.

He smiled at a little boy as he turned onto Huntington. The boy smiled back, but was yanked around the corner by his mother. He had always wanted a kid, especially the time, but life had really passed him by, and he was beginning to wonder if it would ever happen. He was pretty good with kids, and expected that he would spoil his if he had any.

The street was empty, save for a few leaves starting to fall from the giant maple that spanned the entire street. The city had been trying to cut down that tree for as long as Jake remembered. They were always met with protest from the shop owners. They claimed it would be bad for business to not have the tree. It didn't really make much sense to Jake, but he was glad the tree was still there.

Jake slid into the door to the Tamarind, before it fell closed. The woman before him looked back at him, annoyed. He gave her his best smile, and walked over to the bar where he took his seat. Stool number seven. He didn't have any reason for liking stool seven. He didn't play craps, wasn't into numerology, and never played the lottery. He just sat there one day, and never really moved.

The bartender looked in Jake's direction, and help up his finger. Jake nodded. He didn't really care how long the other customers took, as long as he got back to work on time with a beer or two inside his stomach. At the end of the bar was a bowl of peanuts. Tamarind wasn't really the kind of establishment where you would just throw your shells on the floor when you were done. In fact, it was the first time peanuts had been available. A few months prior, they had tried popcorn but it never really took off. Jake had tried it once, and found it to be too bland. They probably forgot to add the salt, he had mused,

He looked at the peanuts, not sure whether to walk down and grab the bowl or not. Maybe it's bad manners, or they're reserved for someone, Jake thought. He looked at the peanuts, and found himself wondering if they had salt on them. He slid down one chair but found himself still out of arms reach of the nuts. He stood, and leaned over until his hand was in the bowl of peanuts. He grabbed some, and scooted back to his original seat. Jake opened his hand, and stared at the peanuts inside. He had grabbed four. A few less then his stool number. Further proof that it didn't matter. They were perfect, yet not. They were fully enclosed, not a sign of a seam anywhere, yet they were lopsided. None of them would sit straight in his hand. The nuts reminded him of people. Jake always thought that even the most beautiful, perfect people had problems. It was part of being human, problems. Lord knows he had many of those, but it was mostly under control now. Mostly.

The bartender walked over and stood in front of Jake who was still contemplating the peanuts.

"Sorry about that, someone was a little picky with their drinks." he said with a hint of sarcasm on his voice.

Jake looked up, "Not a problem, I'll have the usual."

"Two Millers, not cold."

Jake nodded, "That's it. I told you you'd have it."

"I didn't expect to see you here this much, I thought it would take longer."

Jake was silent. The bartender realized what the comment had sounded like.

"Oh shit, I didn't mean it that way. There's nothing wrong with you being here."

"No, don't worry," Jake said, smiling reassuringly at the bartender.

The bartender turned around and reached in the crates sitting on the floor behind him. He pulled out two bottles of beer. He set them on the bar in front of Jake.

"Anything else?"

Jake raised his eyebrow.

"Ok, ok just asking, " the bartender said, smiling slightly. He turned and started to walk toward the end of the bar.

"These peanuts?" Jake said.

The bartender turned around, "What about them?"

"They're free right?"

The bartender nodded. Jake smiled, and popped another one in his mouth. They had salt, just enough salt.