Jake's 8 Read Online Free PDF Page A

Big chest."
    "That’s the one."
    "She left with a pair of broad shoulders."
    I took another sip.
    "So what are you doing after closing?" I asked her.
    "Not going home with you."
    I nursed my drink, slapped a tenner on the bar and ambled on home.

Lovers in a Dangerous Time — Part I
     
     
     
     
    We were lovers in a dangerous time.
    There was disease in the water, rebels in the hills and a madman in the Presidential Palace. I drank gin and stale tonic. She drank whiskey spiked with Fernet-Branca.
    We barricaded ourselves in a fourth floor hotel room behind pillows and under blankets. We passed the time by making love and not speaking.
    This morning the mortars from the hills landed closer and the gunfire in the street grew more frequent. At dawn, she’d smoked her last cigarette. Now, she was growing nervous.
    “Is this the end?” she asked.
    “Our end?”
    “The end?”
    “Maybe.”
    “I just realized how young I am.”
    “Yes. We’re both young.”
    “You’re not nearly as young as me.”
    “True.”
    “Am I too young?”
    “In another time, you would be too young.”
    “This place ages people.”
    “Yes, this place ages people.”
    “Is this the end?”
    I went to the window. A Toyota pick up bounced down the street. The back was piled with men holding Kalashnikovs, AKs and ARs. They stopped in front of the bodega where I bought my afternoon tamale and cerveza . One of the men climbed from the bed of the pick-up, threw something. He jumped back into the truck which sped away. A few moments later the bodega exploded. There was no need for that. Luis, the owner, and his wife, Pilar, and their three children left last week with the Marines.
    “Is this the end?” she repeated.
    “Yes, this is the end. Get dressed. We’re going.”

Cocktail Accompaniment for Love on the Rocks — The Sidecar
     
     
     
     
    Love on the Rocks is primarily set on Hilton Head Island where my family spends a week every summer. I wrote it in the depths of winter, drinking the warming, brandy-based cocktail The Sidecar while yearning for a Carolina summer ocean breeze.
    Here’s how to make your Sidecar.
    First, fill your glass with ice to chill it. Next, put a small amount of sugar on a plate. Set both of these aside.
    Fill your Boston shaker halfway with ice, put in 1 ½ ounces of a decent, nice brandy. I don’t see a need for the good stuff in this. Top the brandy with 1 ounce of triple sec. Triple sec is an orange liqueur. You can get it pretty cheap or splurge for some Cointreau or even Grand Marnier. The recipe here is for the stuff that goes by the motto ‘the brand bartenders trust.’ If you go with the fancy French stuff, your budget is bigger than mine.
    Squeeze ½ ounce of lemon juice into the shaker. If you pour your lemon juice from some sort of bottle you bought and don’t fresh squeeze it, I hope you spend a little time in hell for that sacrilege.
    Now put your shaker down.
    Toss the ice out of your glass, run a bit of orange juice on the rim, invert the glass and dip it into the sugar. Let it dry a bit.
    Now pick up your shaker. Give it a shake. Now shake it some more.
    Pour the concoction out of your shaker through a strainer into your well-chilled, sugar rimmed glass.
    Find a seat, take a sip, and read Love on the Rocks .
     
    – Howard McEwen

Love on the Rocks
     
     
     
     
    It’s one in the a.m., I’m tired and completely sober. I have little idea where I’m at. I’m bumping along some back road in South Carolina with an almost complete stranger in his large pick ‘em up truck, and he’s getting all weepy. He’s got a daughter he loves, see, and she’s supposed to marry her childhood sweetheart on Saturday, but it’s all gone to hell. She’s called it off and somehow it’s become my problem.
    But at least it’s warm.
    This all started about seven hours ago. I was back in Cincinnati, quick-stepping it down Twelfth Street leaning into an Arctic blast. My goal was Molly, who stands