Not this bar, that seemed like it could have been yanked out of any major city in any state and plunked down in the middle of downtown Santa Fe. With simple, scuffed wooden floors and wide, planked tables, peanuts in the baskets thrust in front of drinking patrons at the bar, with Keith Urban playing through the loudspeakers and muted ESPN on the big screen… she could have been in Milwaukee or Seattle or back home in Florida. Where was the culture? The unique zest that this city carried?
She sipped her beer and snorted, watching a replay of a college football game on the big screen. Nothing about this evening thus far was working to her advantage, with the exception of slipping past the manny. Clearly he was new to the job if he didn’t realize she would walk in, drop her suitcase off, and go right back out again. Kat smiled a little as she reached for a peanut. Amateur.
“There’s an interesting smile.”
Kat started and looked toward the voice. A few feet away a young woman sat with her hip propped on a stainless steel cooler behind the bar, wiping out a beer mug before reaching above her head to rest it on a hook.
“Me?” Kat looked around, but she was one of only a few people in the establishment.
“Yeah. You’re here early. Most people don’t get here until late. I figure the reason you’re here is the same reason for that smile.”
Kat took in the other woman, who was probably close to her age. The bartender’s long black hair was pulled into two pigtails, which should have looked juvenile, but she’d done something with it to make the parts poof out and it almost looked… edgy instead. Combined with the tight polo shirt that exposed a few inches of pale stomach, short denim shorts and painfully high heels, she was everything Kat wished she could have been. Confident, no excuses, full stop.
“I, uh…” Kat checked her phone. “It’s, like, eight. Isn’t this when people go out for drinks? Why is it so dead in here?”
The bartender laughed, a throaty sound that fit her look, and wandered over to lean against the bar a few inches to Kat’s left. Now that she was closer, Kat could see her eyes were a gorgeous, vivid blue and were heavily accentuated with eyeliner and mascara, which should have been too much when combined with her cherry-red lips but looked just about perfect. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“That obvious, huh?” Kat smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “I asked the driver to take me somewhere for local color. I got dropped off here. How much does your manager pay for that service?”
The other woman laughed again. “Nothing. You’re early, that’s all. Give it another two hours, and this place will be standing room only.”
Kat glanced around once more, taking in the two gentlemen she’d guess were in their seventies playing a game of checkers at a table close to the door. They were the only other patrons. “Uh, yeah. Okay.”
The bartender laughed again and held out a hand. Her fingernails were painted midnight black. “I’m Sissy.”
“Sissy?” Kat asked dubiously, then mentally smacked herself. Rude. “That’s… a cool name.”
Sissy raised a brow to call her on the bullshit. “Childhood nickname, can’t seem to shake it. We all use nicknames around here, so I kept that one. Real name’s Stacy, though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to any other customers. We usually try to keep a bit of a barrier there.”
“Sure.” This was definitely a little odd but whatever. She had nowhere else to be. “I’m Kat. Also a nickname, but that’s obvious.”
“Unless your parents had a feline fetish, that’s a pretty easy bet.” Sissy grinned and propped her elbows on the bar. “What do you do for a living, Kat?”
“Normally, I’m a tennis player. Currently on a break,” she added, tilting the nearly empty bottle of beer. “Just taking in the sights somewhere else.”
“Tennis. Like, professional? Wimbledon and the US Open and all that?” Sissy’s eyes went wide. “The one where you play in the tiny skirts, right? Tell me I’m right.”
“You’d be right.” The tiny skirt didn’t bother Kat anymore, but she preferred playing in shorts when she could get away with it.
Sissy’s smile grew more calculating. “I have to admit, I don’t follow the sport, so I don’t know you. I hope that’s not going to offend you any.”
“Not a bit.” If not being recognized would piss her off, Kat would never have a happy day. “You a native to the area?” Sissy nodded. “What should I see while I’m here?”
“Tell you what,” she began, then paused when another woman dressed similarly to Sissy walked out from the back through the double swinging doors. This woman, however, was a tanned blonde with a super-high ponytail that made Kat think of a cheerleader on top of the pyramid. “Hey, Diane.”
“Hey, Siss.” She picked up a carton of something and walked back through the doors.
“Diane? So much for nicknames.”
“That is her nickname. You know, ’cause she’s the all-American sweetheart. The John Mellencamp song?” When Kat shook her head in confusion, Sissy sang, “Little ditty, ’bout Jack and Diane…”
“Oh!” Kat snickered. “I follow you. So her real name isn’t Diane.”