The Peculier Pub was packed; the long, low ceilinged room reverberated with a cacophony of disjointed words, laughter, and music. Henry and Tristan were seated in a booth near the rear of the bar. The table top was littered with empty shot glasses and beer bottles.

"So, where is he?" Tristan asked.

"He said he'd be here," Henry replied.

"When?"

"Ten o'clock, he said."

"It's after ten thirty."

"What are you saying Stan, you want to walk out of here?"

"I didn't say that," Tristan said defensively. "Did I say that?"

"You're just as ready to ditch this guy as I am."

"Well, yeah."

"But you don't want to be the guy that stands Owen up, do you?"

"Well, no."

"Right. He'll be here," Henry said. "Just be patient."

"Patient isn't my strong suit."

"The guy's only half an hour late. He probably just got held up someplace."

"Or you mean holding up someplace?" They both laughed.

"Get us another round," Henry said.

Tristan wolf-whistled at the waitress as she walked by and watched her as she turned and leaned over the table. With a frown she said to Tristan, "Don't do that, okay?"

"Whatever you say. We were thinking about another round for the two of us. Make it two pints of, hmm..." Tristan said, trailing off as his eyes followed his index finger down the beer menu, "make it two Brooklyn Brown Ales, two shots of Southern Comfort on the side, and two shots of Jaeger to top it off. And then as soon as that's done don't even ask, just bring it on again."

The waitress blinked and was about to walk off when Henry noticed Tristan was wearing he called his 'killer smile.' Tristan mentioned offhandedly, "Nice tat."

"Like it?"

"Tribal, huh?"

"Maori," the waitress said with a faint smile.

"It's a nice piece of work," Tristan said, touching the band of blue patterned shapes that encircled her upper left arm with a finger. "It's expressive. Primal, y'know. I love it."

The waitress smiled broadly at Tristan and walked off.

"Why do you do that?" Henry asked.

"What?"

"Flirt with waitresses like that."

"Why not?"

"Let me let you in on a little secret," Henry said, "Nobody gets to go home with the waitress. She's heard it a million times from a million guys."

"It's the best kind of flirting because it's harmless."

Henry slowly shook his head saying, "Maybe it's fun and harmless to you, but think about from her point of view. Every slob that walks in here sees that pretty waitress and thinks, Hmmm, I'd like to get a slice of that, so they pour it on, you know, turning on the charm. But the poor waitress, if she wants to make out with a decent tip she has to play along and smile, pretending that this guy, who keeps getting friendlier with every drink she serves him is actually interesting and amusing. It's actually kinda pathetic."

"I see you forgot to take your prozac this morning."

"Me," Henry continued unabated, "aside from having to much respect for a woman that serves me a drink, I just can't get up the energy to flirt unless it's for keeps."

Tristan leaned forward, looking intensely at his friend and said, "I'm gonna get up and go piss."

* * * * *

"What time is it?"

Tristan looked at his watch, a Movado, and said, "Uh, five after eleven. It's been an hour. I can't believe we're still waiting for this guy."

"Let's give him a few more minutes," Henry said.

"I'm giving this guy just five more minutes, then we're outta here, moving on with our lives."

"Relax."

"Don't tell me to relax. In fact I hate when people tell me to relax. It's condescending. Don't condescend to me you self-righteous prick."

"Uh, sorry, baby. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I forget sometimes how much of a pansy you really are."

"Apology accepted," Tristan replied. "I forgot to tell you. I spoke to Patrice yesterday."

"What's he got to say for himself?"

"He's coming in. He says he'll be here next week."

"Next week, huh? It'll be good to see him. I just hope he hasn't turned into too much of a Frog."

"If he has we'll just have to smack him around a little."

"And I hope he's retired those leather pants of his," Henry said shaking his head.

"Maybe that's the secret of his powers over women."

"Whatever it is that Patrice's got it just doesn't seem fair that one man be so blessed. It's just not right."

* * * * *

Tristan stood up. "You wanna bet me a $20 I don't get the waitress's number?"

"Don't embarrass me, please."

"Me embarrass you? You're the embarrassment, unemployed, no money, no prospects. How the fuck do live with yourself? Really, I want to know."

"Let's be nice. I'm not going to bet you. I don't think you can do it, but I'm not going to bet you."

"Come on, twenty dollars," Tristan reached into his front pocket and pulled out his silver money clip. He peeled off a twenty and waved it in front of Henry's face. "All this could be yours. You just got to have the balls to stand up to me and throw down."

"I just to see you set yourself up for a fall. It hurts me, really it does, deep inside."

"I'm gonna do it. Really I am."

"Shut up already."

"Don't try this at home, kids," Tristan said as he stood up. He ran his fingers through his hair for and walked across the room. Henry watched as he approached the waitress at the bar. Poor dumb bastard, he thought, I hope she doesn't let him down easy. I hope this gets good and messy.

After a tentative few seconds Tristan's rapport with the waitress suddenly appeared to flourish. Henry watched in quiet amazement as the moment just seemed go on and on, and one minute dragged into two, into five, into ten. Finally she pressed something into Tristan's hand, but Henry couldn't tell what it was.

Tristan turned and came back over to the table trying to suppress a smile.

"What happened?" Henry asked.

"Lena. Her name is Lena."

"Yeah, and?"

Tristan opened his hand and let a folded piece of paper drop on the table. Henry picked it up and saw a seven digit number scrawled in blue ink.

"I don't believe it."

Smiling, Tristan said, "I am a god. Feel free to worship."

* * * * *

The clock on the wall read two minutes to midnight.

"Where is he?" Tristan said irritably, finishing his ale. "This guy isn't going to show."

"He stood us up."

"I can't fucking stand being stood up."

"Okay," Henry said. "I'm drunk. I'm with you, I'm through waiting for Godot."

"Who?"

"Forget it. Let's just go."