Amanda Gordon

It was the time of the evening Bob thought of as The Lull.  City workers had long gone, catching the late trains to suburbia and beyond.  Most of the day fae had gone home too, or they’d drifted off towards Brick Lane for a taste of home cooking.  The night fae would be coming soon, for a quick pint or two before going on to do whatever it was they did in the small hours.
 
So when she entered the bar, Bob noticed her.  A woman, alone, late at night.  Human, as far as he could tell.  Dressed against the chill of the night, but not in the usual tie-dye layers or faux-fae of what Peter had called the hippies.  Was she an office worker putting in the overtime?  Was she bored and looking to walk on the wild side?
 
She looked around the bar, as though she expected to recognise someone, and as she turned he saw the flash of silver at her neck.  Ah, hippy in disguise, then.
 
She walked up to the bar and smiled at him.  “Hello.  Is the owner around?”
 
“Yes, I am,” Bob replied.
 
“Oh, right.  I mean the real owner, not just, you know, the person who has the licence.”
 
“Yes, I’m here too.  Oh, I know what you’re thinking.  He’s too pretty to own a business.  Well, I get that a lot, and frankly, judging me on how good I look is insulting.”

She looked confused, an expression Bob was used to when he tried out his wit and repartee.
 
“No, I mean, it’s hard for the fae to own property, let alone get an alcohol licence, so, you know, a lot of them get a human to front the business.”  She waved a hand to indicate the pub, in case Bob was confused as to what business he was in.
 
“Nope.  Front and back, that’s what you’ve got.  How can I help you?”
 
“Oh, right, sorry.  Yes, well, I’m a rep for the AETF.”  She reached into her handbag, before suddenly pulling it out again.  “Oh, Amanda Gordon.  Sorry.”  She offered her hand.  “Rude of me.  Sorry.”
 
“Bob Andrews, and I’m not sorry for being me.”  Bob shook her hand.  She’d obviously heard somewhere that a firm handshake was crucial, so she squeezed tightly then released after one shake, making sure to stare him in the eye.  He wasn’t convinced
 
“Um, okay.  Oh, right.”  She delved into her handbag.  “As I said, I’m with the AETF.”
 
“Are you selling cookies?”
 
“What?  Cookies?  Sorry?”
 
“The AE-whatever.  Is it like the girl scouts?”
 
“Oh I see!”  She laughed, too loud, too shrill.  “No, no, the AETF.”  She handed me her card.  “The Association for the Equal Treatment of the Fae.”
 
Bob looked at the card.  An office off of Old Street.  He offered it back to her.
 
“You’ll be delighted to know I treat all my customers and staff with the same utter contempt and disdain that I treat my human customers with.  Dawn!”
 
Dawn turned from serving an elf at the bar.
 
“Do I give humans special treatment?”
 
“No,” she answered.  “You’re a miserable bastard to everyone.”
 
Bob indicated the fairy as his star witness.  “See?”
 
“Yes.  No.  You don’t understand.”  She started to blush.  “I’m not here about a complaint.  It’s just, the fae frequent this pub, right?”
 
It was The Lull.  ‘Frequent’ might be a little strong, but at this time of night Bob had to admit that, right now, the fae ‘rared’ his bar right enough.
 
“Sure.”
 
“So, would you mind if I spoke to some of them?”
 
“Oh, hell yes.”
 
“Sorry?”
 
“I very much mind, thanks for asking.  I’ll not have my customers wound up, not by God-botherers, vote-gatherers or do-gooders. Sorry.  They come here to have a good time, drown their sorrows or feed their addiction.  Anything that puts them off their desire to put coin in my pocket is a non-starter.”  He looked at her crest-fallen face and took pity.  “However, see that board there?”  He pointed to the notice board near the end of the counter.  “You have a bunch of your cards, you can stick them there.  You got a leaflet?”
 
“Um, no.  Not with me, anyway.”
 
“Okay, if you can get a leaflet, you can stick it there as well.  A small one, mind, not A4, and not so’s it covers anyone else’s notice.  You are also welcome to drink here, because I’m an equal opportunity publican, and will take money off of anyone of whatever species.  Isn’t that right, Dawn.”
 
“Sure”, said Dawn, squeezing past him to serve another customer.  “If I agree, will you stop beating me?”
 
“To be fair, I beat my human staff too,” said Bob, leaning in to share the confidence.  “It’s only fair.  Like you say, equal treatment.”
 
“I’m not sure you’re taking this seriously, Mr. Andrews.”
 
Bob sighed.  “No, you’re right.  Why?  I’m glad you asked.  Because it doesn’t matter one whit to me.  Sorry, but it doesn’t.  I’m sure there’s great injustices you need to fight, great wrongs that need righting, but if someone has the money, I will serve them a drink.  It doesn’t matter if they’re black, white or blue.  It doesn’t matter if they’re human, fairy or bogyman.  They give me money, I give them drink.  It’s a simple business plan.  Sometimes I like to make it more complicated by putting peanuts on the bar, but generally, that’s how it works.  If you want to fight the good fight, power to your elbow.  But not here.  Oh, and can I give you a word of advice?  Seriously?”
 
Her lips had grown to a thin line.  “What?” she forced past her clenched jaw.
 
“Lose the jewellery.  Mountain fairy, am I right?  Welsh?”
 
She clasped at the pendant on her neck.  “Shropshire.”
 
“Close enough.  Look, dressing up in feather hats and pixie boots will get you mocked, but wearing the genuine thing?  Whoever you bought that off, they stole it.  Maybe even killed for it.  Okay, maybe not the seller, but someone did, because Mountain fairies, they don’t give up that stuff.  It means something, you know?  Like a, I don’t know, like a wedding ring to us, I guess.  They don’t sell that stuff, is what I’m saying.”
 
“I didn’t buy it.”
 
“Okay, but the original owner, he didn’t sell it.  Flash that too much around here, and some fae is going to take it back.  Not gently, either.”
 
“You’re right.”  Amanda lifted her chin.  “The original owner didn’t sell it.  He gave it to me.  Well, my dad.”
 
“Your dad.  Right.  I’m sure that’s what he told you, but trust me – “  He paused.  Something in the back of his mind was clamouring for attention.  He glanced at the card again.  “Wait.  Gordon?”
 
She nodded.  “Yes.”
 
“Alexander Gordon?  Friend-of-the-fairies Gordon?  The guy who –“
 
“Yes, the guy who.”
 
Bob stepped back and raised his hands.  “Well, excuse me.  I didn’t know I was in the presence of greatness.  Well, the daughter of greatness, anyway.”
 
“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”
 
“No, no.  I mean it.  Here, let me get you a drink.  After all, your father was responsible for what, ultimately, led to this.”  Bob waved at the bar.  “What do you want?”
 
“I can pay for my own drinks.”
 
“Not in this bar you can’t.  Well, well, Alexander Gordon.  Who’d have thought it?  So, white wine?  Cinzano and lemonade?  Guinness?”
 
“I’ll have a red wine.”
 
“One overpriced Merlot coming up.  None of the house crap for you.”  Bob busied himself behind the bar.  “A clean glass, too.  To hell with the expense.  Hey, Dawn.  This is Amanda Gordon.  Gordon!”
 
Dawn looked at the woman deadpan and shrugged.  “You all look alike to me,” she said.  “No offense.”
 
“No, but, Gordon!”  Bob placed the glass on the bar.  “Ignore her.  She’s just jealous.  But hey, look.”  He leant forward over the bar and lowered his voice.  “I meant it about the necklace.  Keep it tucked away.  By all means show it to a fae after you’ve explained who you are, but don’t wear it out in the open like that.  Someone might not wait until you’ve explained it.”
 
Amanda took a sip of the wine.  “So, what?  Now I’m a celeb, can I talk to your clientele?”
 
“Hell, no.  Sorry, I meant what I said.  Most people here, they want to chat with their own kind, spend a few pounds, play a game of darts, even.  They don’t want a do-gooder telling them what they should be doing, no offense, not even the daughter of Alexander Gordon.  But look, I’ll tell you what.  A couple of the cards up there are past their sell-by date.  Tell you what.  Bring an A4 poster and I’ll make room for it.”