Jillian
If you’ve come to see me, there’s a reason. Coincidence is a word we’ve made up to explain something we can’t explain. If you’ve come to see me, you are thirsty. Whatever series of events led you to this street, this door, that barstool, you are not here by mistake.
Tell me your pleasure and I’ll pour the best I have. We can leave it at that if you like. If you are too timid, too wary to risk more. There will be another time.
But there’s no guarantee I will let this time slip by so easily. Chances are I’ll push a little. It’s hard to keep the door shut if someone knocks. Hard to stay quiet. Even the most reticent will usually surrender a hesitant who’s there?
If I tell you my name, you’ll have to open the door. Just a little.
It’s Jillian.
Then, what can you do? It’s only polite to return a name for a name. You’ll surrender this one thing. A small trust will be passed. No reason to close the door again now before you have to leave. Only our names have passed between us. But you feel safe. So small a gesture, but so intimate. Like a kiss.
Maybe I’ll respect the distance left between us at first. And so, feeling at ease, you might offer up a little more. Or, I may just sit quietly on my side of the bar. Sipping from my innocent looking drink. Listening to the ice shift in my glass. And, feeling the need to fill the space, you might offer something else.
Usually we’ll start with something simple. Say, an observation. Something in your hands, your clothes, your face will start to talk before you do. Or a streak of blonde may fall loose from my baseball cap. You’ll offer, generously, that this year belongs to the Cubbies. I’ll smile a little.
People say you can tell a lot by what a person orders. But only the obvious. The stuff you don’t need to wait for them to order to know. There is so much more to learn. The way people hold their drinks gives them away. And which seat they choose. Whether they ask for a paper or read the menu. Bring their own New Yorker or check the email on their phones. Pretend to wait for someone or start talking as soon as they sit down.
Cafés and bars are better than therapy. When’s the last time your shrink gave you a drink before you started talking? Or a bowl of roasted garlic and tomato soup with sourdough bread.
If you come to see me, eventually we’ll get to it. We’ll trade stories. Share drinks. Become friends. I will listen. And I will talk. Sooner or later, you’ll get what you came for.
This is another excerpt from the novel Waking Up at Rembrandt’s. The original has been remastered and will be officially re-released by Wayfarer Books on April 14, 2026. For those who can attend, the release party is Sunday, April 19, 2026, from 11am to 3 pm at the Hub cafe in the RED district. There will be readings, signings, music, food, and beverages. And a DJ’d after-party.
Jillian is the narrator of the novel. One part bartender, one part siren, one part seasoned guide for those who seem to have lost their way in life’s wilderness. Her followers in this story include Phillip, a wanna-be wordsmith, Maggie, a world-wary lawyer, and Dillon, a broken-hearted vagabond.
You can pre-order the novel today here.
Or grab a signed copy April 19 at the release party at Hub RED.
Pity I live on the other side of the world. Lovely excerpt, Thomas!
Such wonderful "voice" in this.