"One for the road" for PicFic Tuesday Challenge 11/22

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

The prompt:

It was quarter to three in the morning when a bedraggled Napoleon Solo sat alone at the bar in P.J. Clarke’s located on Third Avenue on the northeast corner of East 55th Street. This particular drinking establishment went way back as it was a good old fashioned saloon established in the late 1800’s.

The bar was once owned by a Patrick J. Clarke, an Irish emigrant who was hired in the early 1900s by a Mr. Duneen who ran the saloon. After about ten years working for him, Clarke bought the bar and changed the name and it had been in business under that name ever since.

Besides being open for such a long time, it had another claim to fame and that was that Nat King Cole once proclaimed in the late ‘50s that his P.J. Clarke's bacon cheeseburger was "the Cadillac of burgers!"

Whether that was true or not was immaterial to Solo at the moment; he wasn’t there to eat. All he wanted was another drink.

After ordering it with Sean Óg the bartender ( so named 'young' Sean as he was the younger of two bartenders there with the same first name) he got up from his barstool and headed over to the juke box. Putting in his money, Napoleon made his selection, though as soon as he did it...he regretted it.

“Sinatra?” Sean Óg looked up.”I wouldn’t have taken ye for an ‘Old blue eyes kinda guy Mr. Solo.”

The bartender poured another scotch but this time he placed an upturned glass on the bar in front of Napoleon. That was ‘bartender speak’ for the next drink being on the house.

“Thanks Sean,”Napoleon raised his glass, saluting the man.

The song on the jukebox played loudly to an empty place, no one was there except for Solo and the bartender.

• “It's quarter to three, there's no one in the place except you and me




• So, set 'em up, Joe, I got a little story you oughta know…”

Napoleon downed his drink, lowering his head. All he could think of was Joanna Winthrop, his Joanna.  Well not his anymore; she’d left him.

They’d spent a wonderful vacation together, but were readying to return to New York via Pullman train. They had their own private compartment where they could spend the time making love the entire trip home.

He’d professed his love for her, told her about his involvement with U.N.C.L.E….she had the right to know what she was getting into.

He left, checking on the final arrangements and waited for the luggage and Joanna to arrive from the hotel.Yet when he spotted an attendant with the cart from the hotel, something was amiss; only his suitcases were on it. Napoleon found a letter attached to his suitcase.

It was a ‘Dear John’ letter.

It was happening again...a lost love because of U.N.C.L.E. First it was Clara, and now Joanna. Still there was something inside of Napoleon that made it impossible to give up the command. It was his duty, his calling…Joanna somehow understood that, or that was what he thought.

Napoleon canted his head to one side, listening to Sinatra sing. What in heaven’s name made him pick this song?

• “We're drinkin', my friend, to the end of a brief episode




• Make it one for my baby and one more for the road




• I got the routine, so drop another nickel in the machine




• I'm feelin' so bad, wish you'd make the music pretty and sad




• I could tell you a lot, but you've got to be true to your code…”

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, reading it for perhaps the hundredth time. It was the note she'd left him. He read it one last time.

Dearest Napoleon,

I love you so much but I cannot live the life you have offered to me. To deal with your possible death day in and day out is just too much for me to bear. The thought of losing you in such a violent way is unthinkable. I can’t ask  you to stop what you do; for you to give up your life for me, that wouldn’t be fair...just as you asking me to live this way wouldn’t be fair either.

I know this is a coward's way out; running off and not even saying goodbye to you in person, but I can’t face you.
I know I’ll weaken to the  power you have over me and that will be a mistake. My instincts tell me this is the best way. Better I lose you now and not know that you’ve been tortured and killed on some foreign soil.

I’m so so sorry to hurt you and I know I’m being selfish. I guess this is my way of preserving my sanity. You’ll get over me in time, as I will get over you. Life goes on and in your case I pray it will do so for a long time. Please don’t try to find me.

Take care of yourself,

Joanna

Crumpling it to a ball, Napoleon dropped it in a nearby ashtray. Taking out a book of matches from his other pocket, he lit one and set the note on fire. Once it was nothing but blackened ashes, Sean poured a glassful of water on it, making sure it was extinguished; no questions asked.

This was one story Napoleon knew he couldn’t share with the bartender, although he was sure Sean knew his mood had to do with a woman.  With Solo it always had to do with a woman, but not like this…

Napoleon downed his last drink, whispering to himself…

“Just make it one for my baby and one more for the road...”

He gathered his coat, saluting Sean Óg and headed for the door.

“G’night Mr. Solo. Safe home to ye.”

Sean shook his head, knowing his customer was hurting bad.  At times the young bartender felt like the father confessor as his customers would, given enough drink, bare their souls to him.

He never pried though, especially with the likes of Mr. Solo. There was something different with him, something dangerous, yet he knew deep down the man was a decent sort.

Whatever was eating at him tonight, well he was hurting. That wasn’t hard to tell. Maybe someday Mr. Solo would tell him what happened, or maybe not. Still he’d be here for him if ever that day came.

Sean Óg locked up, and closed the lights. It was time to go home to his Mary. She was expecting their first child. He wouldn't know what he'd do if he ever lost her. He suddenly realized the look in Mr. Solo's eyes said it all...he'd lost someone, a special someone.

“Dear Lord and Saviour...look after Mr. Solo,” Sean suddenly whispered.” He needs it.

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

How wonderfully melancholy. The atmosphere around Napoleon was absolutely palpable. Fantastic job.

Do you want to hear something spooky? I was humming this tune when I got up this morning. I've never really liked Sinatra so I don't know why this song was stuck in my head.

(Also, the name Sean Óg makes me laugh because of Terry Pratchett. In the Discworld Novels one of the witches, Gytha Ogg, has a son called Sean Ogg. He's an idiot, LOL.)

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

See, it just goes to show you, we're psychically linked at time cuz! Funny, something at the last minute had me change the bartender's name to Sean Óg...originally it was going to be Louie, but then it being an old Irish saloon, and Irish barkeep seemed more appropriate.

Also so weird about the Sean Ogg connection....cue the Twilight Zone music.

Really glad you liked the story. It didn't coalesce until when I was laying in bed last night. I knew I wanted to tie in the song somehow.

Was frustrated as the tie in story about Joanna...I couldn't find it. I must have posted it under a different title from what I had on it in my files. I was going to add it to the end of this story, but then the post was too long. I think I covered the gist of it though enough, with his mood and the note.

Thank you for the great comment!

[pfrye.livejournal.com]

Lovely - very moody a good fit on this dark, dreary, rainy day.......

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you. Dark and dreary for all sorts of reasons. I'd decided to avoid the subject of Robert Vaughn's birthday being today, as I still find myself quite upset with his passing.

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

A very well written scene, which could indeed have happened bewtween affairs. Well done on the bartender, too.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much my friend, for the comment and the compliment!

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

So sad, but they all can't have happy endings. I thought of Sinatra's song when I read the first few words.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

So true, they can't all have happy endings. I tried to find the other story about Joanna that I was referencing.It was a picfic with a Pullman train as the prompt, but darned if I could locate it. I think I might have changed the title to it to something different from what I have in my files. I tried to add it onto this post but LJ said the file was too large. grrr.

When I saw the photo, Sinatra's song just called to me...
Thanks for reading and for commenting

Happy Thanksgiving day, and enjoy it with your family! :D