With the Puritan Heritage, Irish-Catholic guilt and Protestant Work Ethic that dog this city like a rot-gut hangover,

people here need out, badly. These days, that leads them to Barcode, a new place that looks old, and not at all like Boston. The bar is bamboo and the ceiling fans twirl like palm propellers. Built for a steamy climate, Barcode has spawned its own.
Before she shows up, Hester trades her wool suit for less and tighter clothing. Arthur, his tie loose around his neck, thinks she looks familiar, or at least hopes she does. They watch each other in the movie screen of a mirror behind the bar until a meeting is fashioned. Conversation that begins with exchanges of resumé bullet points finds its way to past Mexican vacations, then tequila, then body shots. Maybe later, they decide. A blues tune languishes in the background, a subliminal soundtrack. The overhead fans do little against the heat.
It's midnight and dark and Hester and Arthur are pushed close. They don't mind. The music has been turned up and let out. Hester's hips find a groove; she's happy, he's aroused. They joke and discuss the prospect of Hester walking away from her job at Fidelity to pursue a career as an exotic dancer. Arthur applauds the idea. She doesn't think she has enough up top but would consider dropping four grand on a little plastic surgery to be a necessary investment. Plenty there as is if you ask him, he says. Corny, she knows, but appreciated. A teasing kiss follows. His hand rests on the small of her back as they walk out the door, out into a town that feels a little bit warmer.

Barcode
955 Boylston St. Boston
(617) 421-1818
Recommended drink: The Babbtini — Tanqueray gin with a splash of Chartreuse, served shaken and straight up with a sprig of rosemary.

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