Six Feet

“Do they really need two of us today?” Gina asked, looking around the restaurant.
Fabian was wiping down the bar where two guests had just closed out.
“Take care guys,” he said, as they exited the front door.
“Have a great day!” Gina called after them, in an overly sarcastic tone.
She picked up a bottle of Jameson and started wiping it down with a towel. The restuarant had been slower since the news of the coronavirus pandemic kept much of the clientele indoors. Servers wandered idly about, bored with very few guests coming in. If they had a table, they harassed them with attention; there was only so many times a guest could be asked if they were "doing alright," before it seemed intrusive.
“Do you know,” Gina said, through gritted teeth. “This is the third time I’ve wiped down these bottles in fifteen minutes? I’m losing my mind! It’s deader than a morgue in here.”
Fabian smirked. He looked outside at the rain falling, the grey-gloom of the sky made him feel oddly comfortable. He enjoyed the unpredictability of the guests that came in on rainy days. He also enjoyed Gina's complaining; her parents were loaded with money, she just liked to "slum it” with the "working class" so that she could say she didn't know what white privilege was.
“Go stand outside and show your boobs.” he said. “Your v-neck is already deeper than the Grand Canyon.”
“Tits make tips.” she said, matter-of-factly.
She pushed her breasts together with her hands before turning around to a middle-aged man whose belly nearly rested on top of the bar. With a swift movement, he threw his head back, guzzling the last of his beer.
"Another Heineken, Will?" she asked.
“Damn right.” he said, belching.
Gina grabbed an emerald bottle from the cooler, popped the cap off and slid it over to him.
“Thanks sweetheart.” he said. “Hey-ah, look at that. You guys might be scraping for change soon.”
“Huh?” Fabian asked, directing his attention to the television Will was looking at.
The news was on. California’s governor mandated that all bars, restaurants and nightclubs were to close tomorrow until further notice amid the coronavirus pandemic.
Gina grunted.
“How am I supposed to make rent with this bullshit going on?” she said. “Coronavirus is fucking with my money.”
“Just ask your parents.” Fabian said, flatly. “Don’t they still pay it, like, every other month?”
“How do you know that?” Gina asked.
“Because you splurge on expensive shit all month and then say that you'll just get your parents to loan you money for rent. But we all know it isn’t a loan, because loans have to be paid back— and I don’t even think you know what that means.”
“Oh, right.” Gina said, holding up her middle finger. “Do you know what this means?”
“Love you too.” Fabian said, emptying glasses in the sink.
Gina stared at him, eyeing his hair with an expression that vacillated between wonder and confusion.  He had grown it out so the tight-curl pattern of his hair had become an afro.
"Management lets you work like that?" Gina asked.
"Like what?"
"With your hair," she said, wagging a judgy index finger at his head. "All Scary Spice and all."
Fabian scoffed.
"They let you work with your clip-ins, don't they?" he asked.
"Dick." she said, making a face at him.
Will belched again and Gina shot a disgusted look at him.
“Won’t you miss me while we’re all in quarantine, babe?” he asked.
“Hmph, yeah.” Gina said under her breath. “You and your two dollar tips.”
"Hey Fabe'," Will said. "I know you might think Obama was a good president—but he could never handle this 'corona' the way my man Trump is."
Fabian sighed.
"Will, am I the only black person you talk politics with." he asked, stacking high ball glasses that just came out the washer.
"The only one I feel comfortable doing it with." Will said, raising his beer.
"Figured." Fabian said to himself, drying his hands on his pants.
Gina was looking at herself in her pocket-mirror when suddenly, she screamed.
"Oh my god!"
"What?" Fabian asked, plainly. "Are you finally feeling the weight of what it's like to be part of the working class?"
"Shut up," she hissed. "Get me the mint."
"Mint?"
"For mojito guy."
"Who is mojito guy—"
"God, Fabian!" she said, aggravated. "He's only the tall, dark and handsome suit-wearing lawyer that has been coming in every Monday to see me. Not even the coronavirus can stand between us."
Fabian stared at her, slightly embarrassed for how delusional she made herself seem on a daily basis. Gina paid absolutely no attention to him and occupied herself with muddling the mint leaves in a glass.
"I mean personally, when he marries me, I don't think I'll mind the dark hair so much." she said. "My parents always told me I should stick to dating men with lighter hair so that my kids come out as aryan as me."
Fabian had no idea how Gina didn't pick up on cues of when she sounded like a white supremacist, with an addiction to tanning beds and valley-girl jargon. He wasn't in the mood to remind her, it wouldn't add any additional tips to his pocket to do so.
"Oh my god, here he comes." Gina squealed, placing the mojito down in front the bar stool that the man was in route to.
He was dressed in a grey suit. It was slim-fit, indicating that he cared what he looked like. His tie was a neutral blue, suggesting he was congenial despite the focus of his dark eyes. His face was clean shaven exposing a strong, commanding jawline. His hair was kept, almost militaristic in style- the sides faded, while the top had just enough length to keep him white-collar appropriate. There was a swagger that was tamed by conduct as he walked in, as if he had refused to lose part of himself in the rigidity of his professional life.
"Oh, thanks." he muttered, flashing a subtle smile. "Am I starting to become that predictable?"
Gina grinned, her breasts sitting on top of the bar in front of where he sat.
"Hey T.J.," she said, like breathy phone sex operator.. "I put a cherry in there, just how you like it."
She winked and turned away from him, her hips swaying as she walked toward Fabian.
"Subtle." Fabian said, meaning anything but the word.
"He followed me on Instagram." she said. "I mean—I followed first, but still. He's only got one photo of himself at a golf course—so hot."
Fabian snorted, trying to hold back laughter. Gina slapped him on the arm.
"Whatever, Fabe'." she said. "I retract your invite to our wedding."
A few moments passed and Gina's attention was taken off of T.J. when a server, Theresa, came to the bar. She tapped on the bar top with her acrylic nails to get Gina's attention.
"You wanna smoke?" she mouthed silently, making smoking gestures that eliminated discretion entirely.
"Ugh, yes." Gina said. "This is my last one, before I quit. Fabian, cover for me, won't you?"
"Savor it." he called after her. "After all, it is your last one."
He turned back to check on the two bar guests he had. Will slapped twenty dollars on the bar and chugged the rest of his Heineken.
"Fabey baby, keep the change." he said, sliding off the bar stool. "Don't give any of it to Gina's ungrateful ass."
"Thanks Will." Fabian said. "Stay safe, alright?
"Will do." Will said, over his shoulder near the front door. "Hey when this quarantine bullshit is all settled, you owe me a debate over your president!"
Fabian shook his head; he glanced over at T.J., who sat with an empty glass in front for him. To spare him the experience of being smothered by Gina when she returned from her 'goodbye nicotine' party— he made another mojito and placed it gently in front of him.
"On the house." Fabian said, throwing a Gina-approved cherry in the glass.
T. J sat erect, as if suddenly awakened from sleep. He seethed with excitement, like a boy rewarded with ice cream after doing a good deed. His eyes closed with satisfaction as he tasted the drink.
"Jesus." he said, staring at Fabian. "That's amazing."
Fabian laughed.
"Was the first one not amazing?"
"It was good, but this one..." T. J. said, holding up his hand with an a-ok gesture.
"Yeah?" Fabian said, impressed by his enthusiasm. "I make mine with a bit more lime juice than Gina. I also throw a teeny-tiny bit of apple juice in there to level it out."
T.J. smiled.
"Man," he said. "I've been missing out. I see you here all the time when I come; you're so quiet though."
"I didn't usually have much to say, until now."
"Until now." T.J. repeated.
He finished the mojito and stood up, sliding his phone into his pocket.
"Fabian, was it?"
"Yeah," Fabian said, extending an elbow toward him. "We bump elbows, now, with coronavirus spreading.
T.J. nodded bringing his elbow to Fabian's. He glanced at the television which was showing footage from Chinese hospitals amid the coronavirus outbreak.
"Well, man be safe." T.J. said. "It's getting crazy out there. Maybe I'll see you around when this all calms down.
"For sure," Fabian said. "Don't know how long we'll be closed. But I'll be here when you come back."
"Look forward to it, Fabian. Take care of yourself."
"You as well."
T.J. exited, jogging to his car through the downpour. He left a one hundred dollar bill underneath the empty glass that only held ice and mint leaves. In a rolled up napkin beside the glass, there were two cherries—neither of which it seemed like he cared for.
Fabian pulled up to a gated apartment complex that flaunted the embodiment of luxury.  It's gaudiness was enough for him, and his loud-engined Honda, to feel unwelcome. On his passenger seat, was a bag he picked up from a Mediterranian restaurant. His job had been closed for a month and, with his bills due, DoorDash seemed like a quick way to make money until he could go back to bartending. He drove toward the entrance where a gate guard awaited him in a booth that made Fabian think he needed to pay a bridge toll. The guard wore a light blue button-down shirt and dark cap that sat on top of what was probably a crewcut fade. His glare could be seen from a distance; it intensified as Fabian amiably waved at him, just as the car stopped behind the barrier.
"How're you doing, sir?" Fabian asked, flashing smile that went unreturned by the guard.
"Can I help you?" the guard asked, coldly.
Fabian was convinced that some warmth had to be hidden in the man somewhere, he seized the first tangible thought that could possibly chip away at his icy disposition. He saw that the name tag on the guard's shirt said, "Vincent."
"Dropping off food, Vinny." Fabian said, holding up his hands that wore plastic gloves. "I see you've got gloves on too. Better to be safe than sorry these days, am I right?"
Vincent was unmoved by the attempt. He had a militant jaw, clenched with a sternness that seemed like it didn't relax for anyone. 
"Name?" Vincent asked.
"Oh," Fabian said, surprised. "It's Fabian, nice to meet you—"
"The name for the delivery," Vincent snapped. "Who are you delivering to?"
"Oh, um...Theodore! It's for Theodore." Fabian said, slightly embarrassed. "So how exactly does this no-contact delivery thing work here. Do I give it to you for him or—"
"Table in hotel lobby, on your right. Place bag on table, customer will pick up when you leave the premises." Vincent said, not looking at Fabian. "You may park briefly in one of the reserved parking spots in front of the lobby entrance, do not linger longer than you must."
He pressed a button and the barrier rose. 
"Alrighty, then." Fabian muttered to himself. "Thank you for all your help."
He pulled into one one of the reserved parking spots, as instructed. Walking through the automatic doors of the lobby, his sneakers squeaked on the immaculate polish of the floor. Jazz music played from the audio system. Fabian found the music relaxing, despite how the lush contralto of the singer made the lobby— which look more like a fancy foyer—seem entirely more grand. A large, crystal chandelier hung above, illuminating the room in an old Hollywood way. Just ahead, water spouted from a mermaid's mouth in a marble water fountain. 
"Sheesh," Fabian said to himself. "Is this all really necessary? We get it, you have money."
Just beyond the fountain was a desk with a sign that said "concierge." A young blonde woman sat behind it, working diligently in front of a computer. If anyone were to know about the supposed table Vincent told him of, it would be her.  
"Excuse me," he said, approaching the desk.
She was more friendly than Vincent, Fabian thought to himself.  Her blue eyes softened at him, showing an honest sense of compassion. She tucked her hair behind her ear, indicating she was listening to him.
"Hi," Fabian said, smiling. "Uh, Vincent told me about a table that was designated for dropping off orders. I can't seem to find it."
"Oh, gotcha." she said, warmly. "It's actually right behind you on the right."
Fabian turned around to a table that sat near the entrance. It had a small sign that said, "Food Delivery" in bold letters. 
"Oh," Fabian said, chuckling. "I must have missed it on the way in. I was so distracted by the—"
"Fountain?" she asked.
Fabian smiled and nodded.
"It's understandable," she said. "I used to daydream staring at it when I first started here—still do sometimes..."
She smiled and her eyes returned to the computer screen. Fabian turned on his heel and walked toward the table. He placed the food down and headed toward the exit when a voice called to him.
"Delivery for Theodore?" the voice asked.
Fabian turned around to acknowledge the voice when he suddenly realized he matched it to familiar face.
"T.J.?" he asked, bewildered. 
Walking toward him in a black t-shirt and denim jeans, was the lawyer who he had last seen at the restaurant. His converse sneakers squeaked across the floor until he stopped a distance away from Fabian. He looked so casual, it was hard to remember how he looked in his work attire. Visible on his face was the darkened shadow of stubble; his hair was still neatly tapered, though the top had grown out considerably and was gelled upwards.
"Yeah," T.J. said, smiling. "It stands for Theodore Jonathan. I know, it's a little pretentious sounding."
"You live here?" Fabian asked.
T.J. laughed nervously, nodding, raising a hand to scratch the back of his head. As he did, his bicep flexed impressively, exposing the results his frequent visits to the gym. Gina would have lost her mind— and underwear, if she saw him this way. T.J. cautiously took a few more steps forward, as if he were trying to properly keep six feet between them.
"So, you're not at the restaurant anymore?" he asked.
"Oh, no—well, kind of." Fabian said. 
"Kind of?"
"Yeah, they temporarily let us go. Not sure when they're going to open back up with the virus going on and such. So, I started delivering to keep cash coming in."
"Gotcha," T.J. said. "That's cool, man. I respect that. Sorry to hear about the restaurant though."
"It's all good," Fabian said. "Hopefully, this won't go on forever. Besides, it's good to get a break from Gina. Believe it or not, she's not the type of person I can take in large doses."
Fabian suddenly realized what he said. He couldn't speak ill of Gina to him—primarily because she had plans of marrying the man someday and, based off of the appearance of this apartment building, the two seemed like they would be a perfect match.
"But—I mean, she's cool." Fabian said, trying to rescue her reputation. "I guess I can see why you visit her so much." 
T.J. smirked.
"Well yes, I've gotten quite a large dose of her."
"Bless your soul." Fabian said.
"But there's someone else," T.J. admitted.
"I knew it." Fabian said. "She's going to be so jealous when I tell her you're not into her. She'll probably try to assault whoever you're interested in. I'll be sure to refer them to you so that they can drag her ass to court afterwords."
A moment of silence fell between them. 
"Well, I highly doubt she can do much damage to you." T.J. said. "But, if it would make you feel safer, put my number in your phone and call me if she does."
Fabian laughed, unsure of what he meant. T.J. blushed, staring at him. 
"Wait..." Fabian said. "Me?"
T.J. nodded.
"Are you not interested—"
"No," Fabian said. "I mean, yeah—I think you're, nice."
"Nice?" T.J. said, sounding discouraged.
"Looking," Fabian corrected. "Nice looking."
"Oh," T.J said, his confidence surfacing. "I think you're super handsome."
"Super?" Fabian asked, grinning. "Well, now I feel bad for saying you're just 'nice looking'."
They both laughed. T.J took out his phone.
"So, it's kind of complicated right now with all this quarantine stuff going on. But I mean, we can FaceTime. Do you mind our first date being through the phone? It's kind of cheesy. I'm aware that it doesn't sound very sexy, but I'm up for it if you are."
Fabian smiled.
"That couldn't sound sexier."
They exchanged numbers, both of them respectively wishing the distance between them could disappear. Fabian suddenly noticed that the food was still on the table beside him.
"Damnit," he said. "I'm sorry for holding you up, your food is probably going to be cold."
"Huh?—oh," T.J. said. "I honestly forgot it was even there. I got distracted..."
"That's my fault." Fabian said.
"Entirely," T.J. said. "I'm holding your charm accountable."
Fabian grinned.
"Right," Fabian said. "So I'll just leave it here and—yeah, you can get it after I leave."
He waved and exited the lobby. For all he knew, Vincent probably had his car towed for "lingering" too long in the reserved parking area. He was relieved to still find it parked. Just as he was ready to open his car door, he heard T.J.'s voice at the entrance.
"Wish we could bump elbows." T.J. said.
"Is that code for something else?" Fabian asked.
"Oh no! Damnit, I didn't mean it that way—" T.J. said.
"I'm joking." Fabian said, smiling. "Me too. But, for now, you know the rules—six feet apart!"