Every person in the place glanced up at us as we entered, then went back to eating and talking as if they saw strangers every day and just didn’t care. I considered that a good sign.
“Howdy, folks,” the guy behind the bar said, wiping a spot off the wood surface in front of him. “What’s your pleasure?”
I had no idea what the guy meant. I sort of understood the words, but standing in the middle of a bar, I sure didn’t understand why he was asking me about pleasure. Just a little too personal a question for someone I didn’t know.
I glanced at Glenda, who seemed confused for a moment as well. Then she indicated I should follow her lead as she stepped toward the guy.
Glenda nodded her head at the bartender, sort of like tipping her hat as we reached the wide bar.
“A little something to drink, a little food, and a decent way to work off the debt.” Clearly it had been the right thing to say, since the guy smiled like he had just hit the jackpot.
“Strangers are always welcome in my place,” he said, reaching behind him and getting two glasses off the counter on the back wall. He put them on the bar and looked at Glenda, then me. “What’ll wet your whistle?”
At that moment I was really glad that Glenda was doing the talking. I was fairly certain he was asking what we wanted to drink, but I wasn’t totally certain, and I had no idea what he had to offer that could do that to a whistle.
“Oh,” she said, “whatever you have will be fine with us.”
The guy grabbed a large bottle of orange liquid and filled both glasses to the top. Then he slid them to the edge of the bar in front of us.