My little dive bar was no longer a dive.

It had received a brand new exterior paint job, the windows were clean and it even had curtains. The thing I noticed as I walked up was that we had neglected to give it a name. Now that was something to think on. The frontage area was clean and well kept and they had even managed to attach and paint trim. It actually looked like a respectable establishment.

I was slightly disappointed in an odd sort of way, I had kind of liked owning a dive bar. However the place looked great and the only thing we seemed to be lacking was a proper pub name. That was something that could be easily remedied on this visit, I just needed to think it through completely. I didn’t want my name on it, I’m not much into self-aggrandization, and I wanted the restaurants under one umbrella if at all possible. Probably something along the lines of ‘Rulo Entertainment’ or some such, I’d talk to our pet lawyer when I got back home to sort that out.

The first person I walked into as I entered the building was Mickey, our bouncer and the cooks husband. he was sitting at the bar eating lunch and sipping coffee with his back to the door and apparently concentrating on his food. There were a surprising number of customers for it being mid-day, at least a dozen either have a meal or sipping a beer. Since he had his back to the door I slipped up behind him and heartily clapped him on the shoulder.

“Howdy Mickey!”, I said in a boisterous voice, “Good to see you again”.

Well poor Mick was so startled that he dropped his coffee cup and I had to catch him to keep him from falling off his stool. After a moment to gather himself, Mickey spun around on his stool and landed a straight jab directly to my chest.

“Ya, bastid! Ya made me spill me coffee!”

I simply chuckled and smiled while I fetched him a new cup of coffee from the kitchen. Returning to the bar I pointed out to him that he shouldn’t be sitting with his back to the door, that’s just a bad idea.

“Either sit behind the bar or at the end over against the wall where no one can spill your coffee. Now where the hell is Sinclaire?”

“Bath, boss,” Mickey managed with a mouthful of food. So off I went to get cleaned up.

The backyard hadn’t changed much since we'd left. The fresh coat of paint had made a world of difference though. I made my way up the short path to the bathing tent and slipped inside as quietly as possible. Sinclaire was floating in the tub on her back, only her face and the tips of her breasts broke the surface of the water. A variety of pranks floated through my head but instead of starting trouble I merely reached out and caressed her cheek.

She still had a knee-jerk reaction, and ended up dunking herself completely. She jumped up, sputtering water in shock and surprise. I suppose I had a big old goofy grin on my face as she let out a coarse string of commentary, mostly concerning ways she planned to maim or mutilate me. That lady knew how to swear! To shut her up, I had to grab her by the sides of her face and kiss her soundly. Finally, the noise abated.

I merely said, “I need a shower,” and turned around and started undressing.

The cool water from the shower did wonders to wipe away the heat and humidity and it felt good to be clean again. All the while Sinclaire was chattering away, filling me in with the goings on and gossip of St. Charles. I just listened patiently, smiling or frowning at the appropriate times while quietly making the corresponding noise. Finally, she fell silent and had a look of apprehension on her face.

“Zach,” she started very softly so I prodded her along, “there’s a restaurant sitting empty and available up on Main Street and I . . . .” she faded off.

Well that got my interest. “You want to buy it and start a restaurant? Sinclaire that’s not a bad idea at all, tell me about it.”

Well that led to a long discussion, to the point we had to get out of the tub before we turned into prunes. We retired to the bar to discuss the idea and eventually to a walk uptown to have a look at the property, I trusted Sinclaire but it making blind financial decisions was a bit outside of that trust range right now.

Main Street was still pretty slow, the recession was ending but prosperity was just starting to poke it’s head over the horizon. This was a great time for capital investments. The building itself was a bit run down, it looked as if it had been sitting empty for the last couple years, that part could be fixed. The kitchen and cellar were in good shape, there were eight rooms on the second floor and they all needed work.

I turned to Sinclaire and asked, “So what are you going to call it?”

“I hadn’t thought about that, I was so nervous about asking you.” She stammered in reply.

“Well I think we should call it Claire’s Café, now how much do they want for it?”

“The landlord said seventy-five hundred, but that seems like a lot.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wad of bills, counting out five thousand I handed it to her. “Offer him five thousand cash and if he starts to dicker,” I counted out another thousand, “use this handle the rest.”

“I’ll be down at Mickey’s when you finish.”

“‘Mickey’s?’ What’s that?” she said, looking confused.

“It’s the name I just gave our little pub down on the strand.” I said, then I turned and left.