Jonathan
Once he’d bid Mr. Barnaby goodbye, Charlie pulled Stephen off around the corner of the building where there weren’t quite as many people walking by. He was usually fairly understanding, but this day had gotten the best of him. “Stephen,” he said, waiting a second until he actually had the young man’s attention. “We need to talk.”
“Yes, sir,” Stephen said, a sheepish grin plastered on his face.
Looking into his eyes, Charlie wasn’t sure he could see any signs of life at all. “Stephen, I appreciate the service you’ve provided over the last few months….”
“Thank you, sir.” The smile widened.
“However, I’m afraid our arrangement simply isn’t working out,” Charlie continued.
There was a vague form of recognition now. “It isn’t?” Stephen asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Charlie replied, shaking his head. “I think it would be best if you went back to the office and collected your items.”
“But, Mr. Ashton, I’m sure, if you just give me one more chance—I know I can do better.”
“I am more than happy to give you a reference should you seek similar employment,” Charlie concluded. “I will forward your pay to you.”
While he wasn’t generally quick to grasp anything Charlie said, he finally seemed to understand this. “Yes, sir,” Stephen sighed, handing over Charlie’s attaché case and the keys he had been given. “If you should change your mind, please let me know.”
Charlie only nodded, and as the young man began to walk off, head drooping, he reached out and grabbed Stephen by the arm. The young man paused and looked at him with hopeful eyes. “The office is that way,” Charlie said, pointing him in the opposite direction.
“Right,” Stephen moaned, and then he went off headed back toward the office. Charlie was hopeful he’d be able to find the factory on his own, but he wasn’t sure. There was a good chance his personal effects would still be present when Charlie returned later that day. As for now, it was early afternoon, and though he was not one to spend a lot of time hanging out in such locations, Charlie needed to find a tavern.
Henige’s was a nice little establishment, not too crowded, but a good mix of businessmen and blue collar workers. It only took him a moment to spy the face he was looking for tending bar, and Charlie made his way over to one of the empty barstools.
As soon as the barkeep spied him, he smiled, as if he were seeing an old friend. He finished serving the customer he’d been interacting with and made his way over. “Well, Mr. Ashton, what can I get you?”
“Whiskey, straight, please,” Charlie replied.
“Coming right up.” He went over and retrieved the drink and set it down in front of Charlie who took a sip as he asked, “How was the meeting with Barnaby?”
“Good,” Charlie replied, setting the glass down. “I think we might actually do some business.”
“Glad that worked out for you,” he responded with a smile as he slid away to take care of another customer.
Charlie overheard the older man ask for a scotch and refer to the bartender as Jonathan, so at least he had a name to go with the face now. He wasn’t sure exactly how to broach the question he wanted to ask, but he felt compelled to do so. As Jonathan came back and refilled his drink, Charlie asked, “How long have you worked here?”
“Oh, a few years. Five or so. I never planned on tending bar, but one night the owner was shorthanded, and I volunteered to help out. Now, here I am.”
“I see. And what were you doing before that?” Charlie asked, taking another sip.
Jonathan motioned for him to wait one second as he went off to help another customer. Everyone seemed to know and like him, which was impressive to Charlie. He certainly seemed to do his job well.
A moment later, he returned to answer the question. “I’ve tried my hand at lots of things over the years, but I finally decided to attend NYCC to get my business degree. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to make enough money working part-time to finish my degree. So… here I am!”
Charlie nodded, and as Jonathan went to greet another guest, he analyzed that answer. He was smart, likable, knew everyone, worked hard. Just the sort of fellow Charlie was looking for. When he came back by, Charlie motioned for him to come over.
Jonathan looked at his mostly full glass and then back at him with a questioning look, as if he wasn’t sure what he might need. “How can I help you, Mr. Ashton?”
“You know that other fellow I was with earlier? The bumbling idiot who wanted to let my notes fly about all over Washington Place?”
Jonathan laughed and nodded his head. “Yes, I noticed he was no longer with you.”
“I had to let him go,” Charlie explained. “I could no longer afford to let someone else make me look ridiculous. I do just fine at that on my own.”
“All right,” Jonathan said, still snickering. “And precisely what does that have to do with me, Mr. Ashton?”
“I want you to replace him,” Charlie explained. “Be my assistant—my liegeman—my right hand man.”
“Me?” Jonathan questioned, clearly not sure he was hearing correctly. “Why ever would you want me?”
“You’re obviously very intelligent. You’re a hard worker. You’re pleasant. And I suppose if I asked you to unzip my attaché case you would know not to hold it upside down as you did so.”
The laughter was back now, and Charlie thought Jonathan might actually hurt himself he was laughing so hard. “But, Mr. Ashton, I’ve never been a second before.”
“You’d never been a barkeep before either, but you’ve made that work for five years.”
Jonathan shrugged, and as another customer motioned for him to come down to the other side of the bar, once again, he signaled to Charlie that he would be right back.
Charlie finished his whiskey, hoping that Jonathan would say yes and this arrangement would work out. Otherwise, he had no assistant and he probably just made himself look like a fool. The way his day was going, it was likely that there were several witnesses and at least one news reporter among the crowd to let everyone know Charles Ashton strikes out again—can’t meet his own fiancée, can’t get a barkeep to be his assistant.
“Mr. Ashton,” Jonathan said, as he sauntered back over. “I appreciate the offer, but…”
Charlie steeled himself for yet another rejection.
“I can’t leave the bar tonight. It’s just too busy. Would you mind if I started tomorrow?”
Charlie broke out into a huge grin, and jumped up, taking Jonathan’s hand in his and slapping him on the back with his other. “Yes, of course. Tomorrow would be just fine. Come in in the afternoon if you’d like, after you’ve gotten some rest.”
“Tomorrow morning should work,” Jonathan assured him.
“Well, all right then,” Charlie agreed, still smiling. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr….”
“Lane—Jonathan Lane,” he replied.
“Well, Jonathan Lane, I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
“A beautiful friendship indeed,” Jonathan agreed, nodding his head, smiling almost as widely as Charlie.
Charlie grabbed his case and slipped some money on the counter to cover his drink and a tip. “You know where the factory is?”
“Yes, of course,” Jonathan said, taking the money and nodding in thanks.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Very good, sir.”
As Charlie made his way out of Henige’s, he finally felt that perhaps things were starting to go his way. Perhaps if he could talk the barkeep into being his assistant he could convince his fiancée to marry him--or to at least send him a photograph. One small step at a time….
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