The Hated Millionaire Heir

Georgez Bar

Wooden barrels filled with booze stationed one above the other each walled on the sides within the rectangle timber structure, open on the circular ends one faced the wall the other a cork plugged its hole on the free side. “Give me two Greshis.” The sheriff ordered, Braul also known within these parts as the sheriff, born elsewhere where they wore tight leggings with tall leather boots a metal extension on the heels, a hat with a nice stick like shape poking from the center, Braul settled on these parts of the country on a different continent from his. “We use these to round up those hot-headed bulls.” He praised, in his hand a rope, a thinner bleached like kind of rope, it was much lighter yet the strongest they could measure with, it had few crisps and a rough surface so its grip was assured while reducing needle like stabs. “In our parts every man who managed to cage those beasts of muscle had this scar as their medals to journey with their entire lives.” He claimed, pulling his shirt out he showcased the profound bull scar, a gorge from a bull’s horn into the lower waist. “Not many have been able to walk. I am one of the few, left to explore with this memorial of the horned beast.” He proclaimed, tucking his shirt into his tight jeans Braul paused his narration to grab a gulp from his beer. GEORGEZ BAR, home to all drunkards alike, reconciliation points for long lost friends, perfect venue to conduct illegal transactions, story time dome for all ages with their normal host Braul, and most certainly the gala for stress relieving booze and new friendships bonds. “Is he always that drunk when he tells those stories?” she paused, “Or is he just narrating a script from COWBOYS RAGE?” she asked, the bar tender a young lad in his twenties somber to know he was addressed turned to the lady, “That’s the thing with Braul, the fact that there is no evidence against him makes his stories worthwhile.” He answered. Grabbing a brown rug, the lad reached for the lady’s drink and raising it slightly he wiped her station placing the finger sized glass where it was. “Does he pay?” she asked, the lad frequently colliding with this question turned to the lady and quoted his own words, “He doesn’t.” he muttered. Turned back he reached for a thick hand sized glass mug, the rug placed aside he squatted to reach for the lowest barrel, there he gently pulled out the cork and concurrently little squirts of the quantities spit, eventually the cork was out and grabbing the tap plunge on top of the barrel he spoked it inside the hole ending the spilling. “Then why does he drink?” she asked, life seemed free for him, he had to drink and eat and not pay a thing, bet where he sleeps he doesn’t either, “Lucky idiot.” She cursed. “If you come here often you will notice we have fewer staff members than other bars yet we manage to maintain a high status,” he paused closing the tap he initially opened to fill his mug, “Here it is.” He addressed the male client handing him his order. “Apart from walking around in robes handing drinks, that’s it. The other jobs our narrator does it as payment.” He unveiled, briefly surprised she took her sip from her glass then let out a slight chuckle and so did the lad then whispered, “At least he doesn’t have to stress about marriage.”.

Green leggings, a similar sleeveless top, silver open flats, her black shades clipped her forehead, a brown handbag hanging on her wrist, “Bye Randy.” She bid waving as the lad disappeared in the hectic traffic. “You look good madam.” The boy commented, the lady appreciated the boy’s observations and called him briefly by the term, “Son.”, “Hey thanks for the comment now here is a little something.” She paused dipping her hands in her bag she roughed briefly before pulling out a piece of paper. “Go buy yourself some bread.” She advised handing the paper over, the boy appreciating the lady’s generosity thanked her before rushing down the street joyful his tattered shorts falling as he hurried. “Amazing! You look amazing girl.” Grew praised, her longtime friend since college, reaching out the two hugged briefly before resting her bag on the mahogany reception desk. Pursuing a much different course, Grew was into fashion and hairdressing, however, the two had almost similar classes and would meet often and eventually years down they were still friends even after graduation. She had opened a boutique shop selling teen clothes and classics, word had gone out and soon enough more so this day the shop was housed by excited youths who glorified the displayed stitched fiber clothing’s. “I need a massage and some work on this hair.” She complained childishly, Grew aware her friend was over protective about her hair and would allow only her, handle it, she guided her to the next room. “Now sit.” She spoke, the lady adherent sat on the comfortable wheeled back retractable seat and childishly began swiveling making turns till she saw the room upside down. Grew’s other business, hairdressing, was suited in the next room within her shop, economist in nature she knew paying for double rent was expensive and so she chose a different saving method. The ground floor was different from the others, each room had a smaller size inside, so she made an agreement with the man in charge, the room inside be expanded to the next and in return she would pay only half its rent instead of paying for two whole rooms. “GREW SALOON” she muttered, her hair was in thorough washing, Grew’s hands scraped her scalp roughly the shampoo puffing with each brush, “You really saved here.” She retorted, appreciating the comment she smiled her fingers clamping her hair brushing up and down.

“The power is out!” she exclaimed shockingly, it was her turn in the dryer after the lady before her was done but now she had to wait even more, “Now what?” she asked disappointment all over. “Now you wait till the power comes back up, and you keep your hair dry. You hear young lady do not take that towel off!” she warned, her friend was often used to brushing her hair, rubbing it with her fingers, but now it was washed and to avoid dust and other unwanted it was wrapped in a warm towel for the past hour indoors. “If you remove that towel I swear you will wash your hair yourself.” She muttered, Grew sure her threats were futile was still caring to utter despite her client already poking her wrapped case attempting to demolish the wrapped shield. “What did I just say?” Grew asked, her client pausing briefly stared innocently at her before continuing her attempts. “I have to eat.” She excused herself, “No way young lady that’s just a cover up so you can scrab yourself bald.” Grew opposed, her friend aware her excuse was uncovered made an attempt to flee, grabbing her handbag she charged slowly at the door despite Grew’s figure standing firm at the center. “I swear I will not open it.” She begged, “If you do, you know what happens.” She concluded, moving aside she gave her the access out and gladly she walked out. Her palm on her lips she blew with a smooch sound portraying her action as a message of love, a kiss from one girl to another, as she exited the door calmly closing the glass edges resting together the hinges in rest, she walked away the glistening glitter of the boutique glimmering in the sun’s setting, GREW BOUTIQUE.

Walking down the alley around her fellow addicts with the same diagnosis, the itch they all had to crave and satisfy, the itch to place that last bet and win the mega jackpot, that itch for a final puff of fresh cigarette before the day began, they were all addicts, they all itched. Ding! the handheld bell on the top of the door clinked after she walked in, “Hi Vall.” She greeted placing her handbag on the counter. Reaching her hand out, the two friends greeted, Vall a worker at the MORNING CAFÉ was in her list of friends she made over the years, she used to come here often and Vall would tend to her needs. Eventually their bond grew past work and conversations heightened past simple orders and receipts, “My special.” She whispered, grabbing her bag she sat on the first bench table from the door. Still itching and still fighting to not scratch it she preferred standing and her head straight instead of gazing at the phone where her hands were close to her head. “Make them to go.” She added before Vall disappeared with other paper scribbled order, two ladies one in her twenties the other in her thirties sat on the place she initially was. “Excuse me.” She whispered, barging her hips with her hand she moved to the left for the two customers to enjoy the evening broadcast on the television on top of the door.

“Sorry darling no doughnuts the oven is damaged. Also, no latte, the latte machine is giving us sour results.” She broke the bad news, still hungry and itchy and now the added bad news, she grabbed her bag on the counter and ought to leave. “Try the French shop down the alley.” Vall opinioned, glad she could help despite the unforeseen circumstances, she turned to hug her friend over the counter before walking out the door the bell sound following afterwards.

“One coffee for the gentleman and a latte for the lady. Anything else?” she smiled, “That is all. Thank you.” He responded, the couple alone at last the waiter tending to the table next to the empty table besides them. “So, what did you say?” he asked, his coffee steaming brushing his chin as he glared in her eyes, he reached for her hands and clarified, “I do like you, you aren’t like her. You are different, they say twins are connected but you are the opposite. I loved her and she stabbed me in the back, I told you how I felt and how you repaired the cave she dug.” He proposed clamping her fingers with his. “I really do like you. Will you give me the chance to love again?” he asked, the lady addressed all worthwhile listened to his pleas, how he praised her, how she was the only chance he will make him whole again; however, she still had no answer to the question he asked for the fifth time that day. “I promise to be better than anyone you had before. Mend me and I will mend you.” He promised, reaching closer, the lad gently reached for her neck and pulled her closer as he reached for her. Calmly over the table, the two eyes shut, the gap reduced, narrowed till zero was the eventual reading, his upper lip clipped her lower lip slightly before escalating, eventually the two tasted the other, which toothpaste he uses and what lipstick she prefers. While their relationship set off to sea, another world crumbled, gravity that pulled it together blown to pieces leaving masses of pain in roaming endlessly in her vacuumed heart.

“Give me one Greshi.” She ordered, placing her handbag on the counter she reached for her phone and viewed the dark screen scanning her reflection, “Here you go.” The lad muttered. Returning her phone, she grabbed the mug by the handle and raised it to her lips, there was a problem however, every time she raised her head a knot from the towel dangled on her nose causing a tingling sensation she didn’t require at the moment. She tried brushing it with her left hand to have her peaceful drink, but this knot was too playful to go away, not if it knew a certain Mrs. was stressed. Bothered enough she snapped at the towel, banging the mug on the table causing a rapid movement in the beer she reached for the towel’s tip on her head and anger pumping her muscles she ripped the towel from her head screeching, “Screw this.”. Snared by Braul’s stories, she had delayed her meeting for his story of the man in tears, however the lady beside her was calling her for a much more serious ordeal than Braul’s fantasy. Calm after two gulps, she felt a touch on her elbow, “You shouldn’t let your hair out after washing it.” She advised, “I know I was just angry and it made me lose it.” She apologized. “We all lose at some point.” She stated, “I’m Mary.”, she spoke, “I’m Angel.” She answered back.