"What`s your friend doing?"
"Ash is Irish. She has a strong personal relationship with alcohol. Ash? What`s your verdict?"
I popped up from behind the bar. "Not top-shelf, but not rotgut, either. Good selection, good investment bottles, obviously a strong sense of 'you shouldn`t be drinking anything I wouldn`t be willing to put in my mouth.' I give it a seven out of ten as hospitality bars go. I`d host a party here."
Rick blinked at me. "Seriously? You were assessing the booze?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Does Congresswoman Wagman own this club?"
"Yes."
"Is this the employee break room and hence the employee alcohol supply?"
"Yes."
"Then yes, I was assessing the booze, because the booze is relevant. The booze tells me things." I hoisted a bottle of bourbon. "This is a thirty-dollar bottle. Not the best thing you can buy for a place like this, but a long way from the worst. This is Christmas-party bourbon. You pour it four your friends and family, for people you give a crap about. This tells me more about what sort of woman Wagman is than any amount of 'oh she gives money to animal shelters.' This tells me she`s kind."
Rick looked dubious. "What if it had been the really fancy stuff? The three-hundred-dollar-stuff?"
"That would tell me she didn`t stock her own bar, and was either too disconnected from the common man to know that you don`t need to pay that much for basic social drinking, or was trying to impress people with how generous she was. Neither of those buys you many points in my book." I put the bourbon back under the bar before leaning forward, resting my weight on my elbows and smiling at him. "Sometimes the middle of the road is the only decent place to be."
