Counting down the minutes until her bookstore closes is Sydney's least favorite part of her day. Business is never good as the dark nears; the spineless are too afraid of the creatures of the night and the spirited just aren't interested in a good read. Evenings like this, she wishes she had chosen a different front. The tinkling of her metal wind chime raises her out of her thoughts as her friends Mel and Aaron make their way through the store.
"You two are early tonight," she says by way of greeting, catching herself before she rolls her eyes. They are never on time unless they are fighting, "Don't tell me you guys will be ducking out early on me. No make-up--"
"Excuse me," Melody interrupts, "That was one time okay? I got to get my tables ready," she snaps brushing past them on her way downstairs. After an apologetic shrug from Aaron, Sydney heads down after her friend to see if she can resolve the issue before her after-hour customers arrive.
"What's this all about Mel?" she says, leaning against the bar, "Don't tell me it's the ball, because you and him have gone through this how many years now?"
"It's not the damn ball," Melody barks before dialing down her tone, "It's about the bar; we've been lucky too long Syd. They're not about to break the prohibition, and the government is going to get a whiff sooner or later."
Heaving a sigh, Sydney launches into her usual speech, "You know that none of us can live off our income from the bookstore, what would we do?" What she doesn't do is echo her friend's thoughts out loud. The feeling has been nagging her for a while now, but she doesn't want her employees to harbor any worries.
"I know," Mel quietly concedes before heading to the kitchen to prepare herself some dinner.
When she returns, Syd is nervously watching the ball preparations on the bar's small TV and Aaron is silently opening the bar. Every year when the ball rolls around, the tension in the town skyrockets. The girls just coming of age are bouncing around the town, having heard about the annual balls ever since they could remember, while the women approaching their next decade whisper encouraging promises to their lovers, just hoping they'll return safely back into their arms. It's these people who remember a time before the night grew dangerous.
"Turn it off already Syd," Aaron pleads
as their first customers arrive, "You're just going to get the patrons
rowdy." Arching an eyebrow, Syd complies, holding back a comment on the
desperation in his voice. She can tell he's just as worried as the rest of the
men about town, having to deal with the possibility of Mel being taken from
him. As their friend goes off to deliver some drinks, he turns a serious stare
on Syd. "Her birthday is next week," he says, running his hand
through his hair, "If she comes home tomorrow night, I'm going to ask
her."
Understanding the implications, Syd expresses her
congratulations and offers to close down the bar the following week in
preparation for the wedding.
"No, I'd rather work than be pent up at home
for a week," he says, the confidence slipping from his voice as Mel
saunters back to the bar, flashing him a smile, "I don't want to plan that
far in advance anyway."
As if the three took a vow of silence, they go
about operating the bar, each lost in their own worries for the rest of the
night.
