Day 8: 16,200 words and still no plot, still many problems

I have still been able to write 2,000 words per day, which will be nice to have as a cushion in the future. I would love to finish early! 

My characters finally made it to Jackie's Place today. I don't know how to move any part of my novel forward, so for the most part nothing happened today. A lot of descriptions of Jackie's Place. But, as Jill said, it is week 2. It's not supposed to be the best week. I feel like if I just keep writing, SOMETHING will happen. 

Unlike Scottie, who had not made a point of returning to Jackie’s Place on her trips back to London, it did not appear that it had been long since Jake Kneiss had last come into this local watering hole. Although it was best to not trust the water here, either. The hole part was accurate, though. Jackie nodded at Jake, which had to be the friendliest gesture that she had ever seen him bestow on anyone. Jake gave Jackie a nod in return.

Not a word was spoken. Not a word was needed.

As one would expect for such an establishment, the place was close to empty. The Aerosmith cover band, who appeared to be calling themselves Broken Aero, were almost outnumbering the bar’s patrons. It was therefore easy to spot the man that who had to be Fire Chief Parlo Pettipiece. 

This wasn’t Scottie’s first rodeo. If she went right over to the fire chief, he was sure to be spooked and leave. No, that would not do. Her and Jake needed to blend in. Take their time. Draw Parlo Pettipiece out. 

Jake seemed to pick up on what Scottie was thinking, because he ushered her towards a pair of seats at the long bar, on the opposite end as the fire chief. The bar was a light wood that had been sanded just so it wouldn’t give splinters, but not smooth enough so that you might be tempted to linger. Jackie did not want anyone to linger. 

Scottie knew better than to try to order anything from Jackie. There were not many options at Jackie’s Place, by design. And he preferred to decide what it was that you needed, rather than to listen to what you thought that you wanted. Much like in the movie Chocolat, Jackie had a knack for guessing people’s favourites.

Sure enough, Scottie and Jake are not waiting long before Jackie drops off two drinks at their end of the bar. Scottie is not at all surprised when Jackie places a beer in front of her, with not a single flourish to be seen. Although she has been around long enough to know that the beer was expertly poured. Jackie may not care for things like ambiance or hospitality, but he wasn’t one to suffer fools—nor would he pour beer like one. 

She is surprised, however, by the drink that has been delivered to Jake. It is a light pink/ peach colour with a slight effervescence. No, the strangest part of all is the jaunty addition of drink parasol stirring sticks fashioned with bamboo skewers and handmade crepe paper Tiki cocktail umbrellas. No one would even think of arguing that they don’t add a burst of colour to the summer sip, but needless to say, they don’t exactly seem appropriate within the dusty, rusty atmosphere of Jackie’s Place. Jackie grunts, nodding his head first in our direction then in the direction of the glasses. Before I can think to ask him if he fashioned those parasols himself, perhaps with detailed instructions from Martha Stewart Crafts article, he shuffles off angrily.

Jake does not miss a beat. Completely unthreatened by the Tiki cocktail umbrella and the pink/ peach colour drink, he takes a sip. A nod and squint to Scottie wordlessly shows his approval. 

“Looks good,” Scottie says, not wanting to tell him how impressed she is that he did not whine or seem insecure by the feminine coded drink. “Jackie seems to delight in challenging sexist stereotypes.”

“Who doesn’t?” he shrugs, and takes another (summer) sip. “And I’ve seen people get thrown out of Jackie’s Place for much less than sending a drink back.”

They both shuddered at the thought of what would befall such a fool. 

Scottie tried to subtly eye Parlo Pettipiece, who looked like he was waiting for someone in a particularly dark part of the bar. She noticed that a mini militia member, clad in their yellow rain coat uniform, was watching Cocomelon on a tablet at a nearby table with headphones on. He was wielding a knife, and using it to cut up a bar of green soap. Chilling. And unsafe.

Who was he meeting? And about what? He looked slightly agitated, and was glancing at his watch. No drink had been dropped off by Jackie in front of him. What did that mean?

She shifted her eyes back to Jake, who had been looking at her. A normal person might have started up a conversation with Jake, but as usual, she was too focused on everything newsworthy that had been happening around her.

“I tried the Irish Spring body wash before coming here,” Scottie said, remembering that she was at a bar with the most handsome man she had ever seen and that conversation was typically the expectation. 

“You did,” Jake replied, his eyes lighting up.

“I did. I felt like I was transported to wee Ireland,” she said in the worst Irish accent that anyone had ever heard in their life. She could feel Jackie’s glare from across the bar, even if she could not see it.

He leaned in closer.

“I feel transported to wee Ireland by sitting next to you. Although you know that Irish Spring is American, right?”

“Well, damn it.”

“Tell me more about how you were able to manage to use five products all at once,” Jake joked.

“Well, I’m pretty sure that two of the products were just deodorant,” Scottie replied with a disappointed look. “But I feel like at least one was a prescription strength deodorant, so I think that it counts as a second product.”

Scottie felt embarrassed that she was talking about deodorant so much, right in front of her crush. So she decided to stop talking about prescription strength deodorant, and started batting her eyelashes coquettishly instead.

“Are you okay?” Jake said in alarm. “This place is extremely dusty. Sorry Jackie,” he said over his shoulder. “I know where the nearest eyewash station is. Don’t worry, I can get you there.”

Jake reached for her waist, ready to guide her to the nearest eyewash station. She knew that he looked like a guy who knew CPR, but he was also apparently a guy who knew about eyewash stations, and wasn’t afraid to use them? What a dreamboat.

“No, no, it’s okay. I think that whatever was in my eye came out,” Scottie lied. “I think I’ll be alright without the eye wash station.”

“Well, let me know if that changes,” Jake said with concern. 

Sure enough, in another dark corner of Jackie’s Place—a bar that had a higher than normal number of dark corners—there was an eyewash station.

Jackie gave Jake a nod. Jake nodded back. 

Not a word was spoken. Not a word was needed.