Martini in Manhattan

Bright lights in a big city. I had been to a Broadway show, gone to the top of the Empire State Building and been to the Statue of Liberty. Being a tourist in one of the world’s capitals was exhausting and I was looking for a spot to rest. I needed to re-charge my batteries before tackling the Museums. My hotel bar was a convenient spot and was bustling with tourists like me. I took a seat at the shiny mahogany bar; the place had a clubby feel and soft jazz played from the speakers. I looked around and spotted a well- dressed man sipping a martini.

“Hello, I’m Grace. What can I start you off with?” The female bartender had been in the business for years. She moved behind the bar with confidence, as if it were a well-choreographed dance. She placed a cocktail napkin in front of me and smiled.

“Hello Grace. I’ll have what that sharp dressed man eating oysters is having. I believe it’s a martini. Give me whichever vodka he called because I’m guessing it’s top shelf. I’m Cecil by the way, Cecil T. Wulfe.

Grace smiled and went to work on my drink. She palmed a stainless steel shaker from a neat stack and filled it with ice. She grabbed a frosted bottle from the top shelf and poured what was probably an exact shot or 1.5 oz. over the ice. Vermouth was next and if I wasn’t watching closely I would have missed it. Grace rapidly drew the bottle over the ice so little more than a drop flowed from the bottle. The contents were stirred and not shaken and a chilled glass was placed on my napkin. A strainer was put over the icy mixture letting only the liquid flow into my glass. With a flourish, two olives were stabbed with a toothpick and laid in my glass.

“Bravo Grace. I can see that you’ve done that a time or two,” I said. “You make it look easy. The man with the oysters seems to really enjoy his.”

“He’s among the many that come into this place and order a martini. It’s our most popular drink by far.”

“He thinks the martini adds an air of elegance to his persona. He cares a lot about what others think of him because he doesn’t think well of himself. He would do better if he wore a pair of jeans with his oxford. The man wants people to think highly of him but he’s making himself unapproachable. He certainly isn’t a person I would like to meet.”

“I think your being harsh on the poor fellow. He comes in here all the time and doesn’t bother anyone.”

“Then he’s not a hotel guest. His reputation has been ruined elsewhere. He stands the best shot of picking up women here because no one knows him. Oysters are an aphrodisiac and he’s hoping to get lucky. Has he ever left with anyone?”

“Occasionally. He prefers professional women.” Grace remarked.

“I think he’s a lonely soul lost in this big city and he’s seen too many James Bond movies thus the martinis and the formal attire. He’s about as far from 007 as you can get. He’s living in a fantasy world for a few hours until he returns to his monotonous life. He might live with his mother or he’s in some loveless marriage. I take him for someone who lives in Jersey.”

Grace moved on to another customer who also ordered a martini. It seemed as if drinks were infectious and few people had an original idea. I continued to observe the man who had polished off his ½ dozen oysters. To my amazement, a woman approached him. She had fallen into his trap. I waved at Grace to come back so I could fill her in.

“The improbable has occurred. Our friend has found a lady to entertain.”

“Cecil. We shouldn’t stare.”

“It’s like a car crash Grace I just can’t stop seeing this guy operate. Looks like you have work to do. He’s going to order her a drink. It’s the afternoon and she looks like a lightweight so I’ll say a wine spritzer.”

Grace walked over and took her order. I was wrong. The woman was a teetotaler and ordered club soda with a lime. I glanced at my watch and realized I had to leave or I wouldn’t have enough time at the Guggenheim before it closed. Before I left, I settled with Grace and left her a generous tip. Watching the sharp dressed man was amusing and a nice break from sightseeing. I told Grace, that I would likely be in again before leaving the area.

I walked out on the busy sidewalk, trying to figure out the best way to get to the museum. I saw a person in uniform and asked for help.

“Hello, I’m looking for the fastest way to get to the Guggenheim Museum on foot.”

“I’m not sure. Giving directions isn’t my specialty. I’m from the Wellness Center and I’m here to pick up a patient – I mean client, that wandered off. He comes to the Bartholomew Hotel when he leaves the center and there’s a doctor inside now, gently telling him it’s time to come back. I’m just waiting for them in case he causes a disturbance.”

“There’s a mental patient in the hotel bar?”

“Yeah but he’s never hurts anyone. He’s a real character.”

“In what way?” I was beginning to see things more clearly. I anticipated the man’s answer.

“He thinks he’s James Bond. He’s a crafty fellow and manages to wander off quite a bit.”

I smiled and walked down the street. The world I thought had many interesting people if you took the time to look.