by Helene Laval
I leaned into him. “I feel terrible having you do that. Any news on my truck?”
“Parts come in tomorrow; should have it ready for you tomorrow night.”
“Thank you.” I turned and wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him fully. His hands roamed freely, squeezing my ass, and then settled on the curve of my waist. Just as he pulled me closer to him, I broke our kiss and pushed away. My skin was hot all over, and I was trying not to pant like a puppy. Good god, the man could push my buttons.
“Yeah, before we get carried away, again, you better get me over there. I have a bartender to train tonight.”
Turns out Justin was a natural. He was chatting with a pair of pretty girls in their mid-twenties when I walked in. They were smiling, leaning over the bar, and batting their lashes. He was handsome, and I realized how beneficial it might be for my business to employ a handsome lady-killer to serve drinks. The fact that he had a family only helped. I knew he’d keep his hands to himself.
He seemed at ease and comfortable when I sidled up to the long shiny wooden bar top. Justin turned to me, placed both hands flat on the bar, and leaned forward.
“What can I get you?” He chuckled, and followed up with, “Sorry, Annie. I always wanted to say that.”
“I’ll have a plain old Coke, thank you.” Justin reached down for a glass, scooped it with ice, and filled it up with the soda gun in front of me. “Took me a while to figure out what all the buttons meant. I mean, nothing makes sense. Sprite is T, water is A. Coke is C though.”
“Hmmm, it’s something I just know. Never even thought about changing it. So, how’s it going?” I asked looking around.
“Not too bad. It’s been slow, so I’ve been cleaning and washing. I managed to fill enough mugs in a wash rack, and I learned to use the dishwasher.”
“You mean in the kitchen?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yeah, why?”
“Um…” I said as I walked around the bar to the little three-compartment sink in the middle. Inside sink number one sat a little stand of upright brushes. I filled the sink with warm water and pulled out a packet of beer soap and sprinkled it inside. “This is bar glass cleaner, we wash all bar glasses by hand at this sink. It’s a special low suds soap that keeps the glasses free of residue, which can make a beer flat. You know when you go to a restaurant and your beer has absolutely no head? Those glasses have been washed with regular soap. Pisses me off every time.”
I filled the other two sinks with water and put another packet into the third as Justin look on. “This is sanitizer.” I didn’t see any dirty glasses, so I grabbed a clean one and dunked it in and twisted back and forth around the brush. “First sink, dunk and brush.” Then I moved to the next. “Second sink rinse.” And onto the next. “Third sink sanitize.” I placed the now clean glass on the rack to drip dry. “Easy!”
Justin nodded his head in understanding. “Ohhhh… Gotcha. Sorry about that. I’ll re-wash them all, it’s still slow.”
“I’m the one that’s sorry, I should’ve been here earlier.”
He gave me a “yeah right,” side eye and started moving glasses.
He didn’t seem bothered to have to rewash all the glassware and went right to it. I watched him work for a few minutes while I sipped my Coke and watch my bar in action.
Justin did not have idle hands. As soon as he was done washing, he went to drying. He looked up to check on customers and smiled at me. I smiled back.
“I’m going to stick around tonight and run between bar and kitchen,” I announced.
“Great. Look, I can’t thank you enough. I think I’m going to like this gig. I talked to my girl, Paige, and she’s grateful too. She was pretty freaked out when I left. Now that she knows it’s all going to be okay, and I have a job—she’s still in a panic, but less so.”
“You wait until after the weekend before you thank me. It gets crazy busy in here, and the music is so loud your ears will ring until Monday afternoon. You don’t mind if I use the office, do ya?” I said as I got out of my seat.
“Nah, it’s your office, boss.”
Meandering my way across the floor, I checked in on Jimmy who was working the grill with surprising efficiency. “Why didn’t you tell me you could cook?”
The lanky kid startled at my voice. “Annie. Glad you’re back. Um, well, guess I didn’t think of it. You said you needed a barback, and so that’s what I did.” Wow. That was the longest sentence I’d ever heard the kid speak.
“Traci says you’re doing great,” I said encouraging him.
“I’m doing okay, I guess.” He shrugged, then flipped over a burger on the flat top with an expert ease.
“You want to stay in the kitchen? Change to days? Ten to six?”
“Sure. That works for me.” He looked over at me, eyes bright. He liked the kitchen, and I was a believer at putting people where they worked best.
“I’m going to work on getting more help, but you think you can do six days for now?”
“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do.” He shrugged again.
“Good, I think Cliff is getting burned out and needs a break. So it’s settled then. You’re our day cook,” I said pointing at him.
“Thanks, Annie.” Jimmy looked up at me with a grin, then slapped down two more hamburger patties. Huh? Give the kid a grill and a fryer, and what do you know? Smiles.
After squaring Jimmy away, I made it down to the office, opened my computer and went over a few orders and bills. An hour later, I closed up and went back to the floor to get ready for the dinner shift.
21
Steve
Life settled back in over the next three days. It was still cold, and it was going to stay that way. At least there were no more storms on the horizon. My warm weather blood really hated the cold, and I vowed to find better winter clothes soon. I learned that winters in the Northeast were long, dark, and cold.
Annie’s alternator was replaced, so she was heading to work on her own. We were on opposite schedules, and I hadn’t seen her much. She’d crawl into bed and wrap herself around me each night, and it was my favorite moment of my day. I never thought I’d enjoy sleeping next to a woman again, but when she curled her long lean legs around me at three a.m., it was the best feeling in the world.
She was asleep when I left early for work, like she’s been the last two days, and I watched her sprawled on her stomach and tangled in the covers. In my bed, our bed. I could get used to this. I kissed the top of her head and whispered goodbye in her ear. Yes, I definitely could get used to this.
I was pulling out dents on a busted-up Honda CRV its owner had smacked into a parking lot dumpster. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising blared through the speakers keeping Jesse, Michael and I in a good rhythm and readying us for work.
“You going to O’Dell’s tonight?” Jesse asked me as he lowered his current brake job to the ground, the hydraulic lifts letting out a soft hiss.
“Yeah, I’m going to work the door for Annie again. The John Smiths are playing and it’s going to be a packed house. You and Rina coming out?”
“Nope, we are not leaving the house tonight. We are staying in and watching a Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn marathon.”
“I can’t believe you two found each other. I mean, how many people do you know that obsess over old movies like that?”
“None. That’s why I’m going to marry her,” Jesse said.
“How about you, Mikey? Coming out to O’Dell’s?”
“It’s Michael. I’m not going,” the big guy said packing up his station.
“Why can Jesse call you Mikey?” I protested.
“He’s Jesse.”
Typical Michael answer. I wasn’t getting anything else. “Okay, Michael. Come on, what do you have going on?”
“Other work.” He mumbled, threw the last of his tools into the cabinet, and shut it tight. “Later.” And he left for the day.
Michael did have another job or something
he worked at from home. I wasn’t keen on the details. Some sort of smart guy shit with computers. He wasn’t the sharing type. One thing I did know about him was that he was loyal, dependable and a fierce motherfucker. That made him good people, and all I needed to know.
I stopped home after work to wash off the grease, grime and sweat that comes with the job, changed into clean clothes, hopped in the old pickup, and went to O’Dell’s to play doorman. I walked in the bar at seven o’clock and dragged my stool to the entrance just as I did last week. She was behind the bar laughing with whom I assume was Justin, took one look at me and scowled.
“Go home, Steve,” Annie yelled across the room.
“Not gonna happen, Tinker Bell,” I growled back at her.
“Fuck you,” she said grinning. Annie grinned at me. Playfully. I liked it.
“Maybe later, babe,” I sang back at her with a wink.
I walked over to the bar to size up this Justin guy. He put his hand out to me right away, “Hey man, you must be the notorious Steve?”
“Notorious, huh?” I winked again over at Annie who was watching our exchange. “Justin?”
“That’s me.” The guy was about my age of twenty-eight1, a few inches shorter, stocky build and a square jaw. I knew he had his own girl and a baby at home, and I didn’t feel the least bit threatened. Actually, I think I felt better knowing this guy was around. He was built like a brick shit house but moved with a casual lightness and awareness of his surroundings. I recalled the story of how he ended up at O’Dell’s because of his boxing past, and once again thought what an asshole Big Joe was.
“How’s my girl doing?” I asked the guy.
“She’s a slave driver.” He grinned.
“Hey, standing right here. Your boss. You better watch it,” Annie said walking around to where I was standing.
Justin laughed an easy laugh and said, “Just on loan, remember that.”
The two of them seemed like they’d known each other for twenty years instead of a few days. It was weird, he fit right in. Annie was right.
“So Annie, who is this band you have coming in tonight?” Justin asked.
“The John Smiths.” Annie stepped in front of me and leaned up for a quick kiss.
“I like those guys,” I said, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer, nuzzling my nose into her neck. I felt her ever present tension relax, just a tiny bit. It felt good to have that effect on somebody.
“You and the rest of town. Going to be a busy night.” She pulled away and stepped back, snapped her work face on, and posture straightened, ready to hustle.
I looked around and noticed the few early birds snagging a soon to be coveted table before the place packed in from end to end.
“Well, let’s get a rockin’ and a rollin’,” I said, quickly reaching out my hand to grab hers for one final last contact. “I’ll take my place then, and try to scare off the bad apples,” I said with a wink, and headed to the door.
Three hours later the place was hopping. The dark bar was a riot of noise, smells, and motion. A living, breathing organism sustained on music, liquor, and lust. I was loving it. Although I wasn’t drinking any alcohol tonight, I was feeling the buzz all the same.
“Steve!” I turned my head at my name being called. It was Traci, signaling me toward the band. “Trouble.”
I beelined for the stage where on the center of the dance floor was a punk ass mother fucker grabbing a girl by the hair. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he was on the cusp of some seriously violent behavior. His lips were curled back in a snarl, his face red and mottled, and I could see veins popping out of the side of his neck as his grip on the girl’s hair tightened and he whipped her down towards the floor.
She landed in a heap, legs sprawled in two directions. Her short skirt pulled up indecently, and her shirt hanging off of one shoulder. The asshole started coming at her again, and I chanced a look at the bar and saw Annie fumbling under the counter. “No!” I yelled, holding up my hand signaling her to stop.
At the same moment, a body hopped over the bar with the grace of a gymnast. Justin. Never stopping his momentum, he reached the commotion faster than I ever could wading through the sea of people between us. I was simply too far away. I watched Annie still as Justin approached the guy and caught his wrist before he struck down on the poor girl, who he had pulled back onto her feet by the hair.
The guy swung around at Justin. Justin moved fluidly out of the way, fast as hell. He held up his hand in a placating gesture. “Hey, man. Get off the girl, okay?” I made out, just as the John Smiths struck the last chord of the waning song.
“Don’t tell me what to do! This cunt…” He didn’t get past the word “cunt” before he crumpled to the floor. I didn’t even see the punch. Holy fuck. Damn the guy was dangerous. Justin stood there quietly, waiting for me to arrive through the ring of people surrounding them, relaxed as can be.
Annie broke through at the same time and ran to the girl. “Come with me, hon, we’ll get you cleaned up. Do you want to press charges? I’ll call the police in.” She ushered the girl away.
“Anybody with this douche?” I yelled out to the crowd, who all had their cell phones out filming. Nobody answered. I doubt the guy was alone, but nobody fessed up to being associated with such an asshole.
Justin bent over and slapped him across the face a few times. When the guy didn’t move, another girl standing in the circle poured her drink on his face. His eyes fluttered and his head turned as he started to come to.
“Fucker,” Justin said and pulled him up by one arm, and the two of us led him over toward the bar and sat him on a stool, still grumbling while we waited on the police.
Justin hopped over the same way he exited and landed on the other side. “Always wanted to hop a bar,” he said with a huge grin on his face. “Plus, I can’t tolerate a man calling a woman a cunt, never have.”
“Dude, remind me never to fuck with you.” I grinned and shook my head. A throng of girls eclipsed me and crowded over toward Justin as he plopped a mug of coffee in front of the guy. It was comical. If he wasn’t charming the bar before, he sure as shit was now.
22
Annie
“Thanks for the help last night. That guy—what an asshole,” I told Justin when he came in on shift the next afternoon.
“No problem. No problem at all. I would’ve done that for anybody. I can’t stand a man that beats on a woman. Deserved everything he got.”
“Yes he did. I hope he gets more than a night in the drunk tank. The girl said she was going to press charges. I hope she follows through.”
“Me too,” Justin replied.
“So, my dad calls me every Sunday night. Tomorrow, I’m going to get him to send you home. I’d rather not tell him how much you helped. I’m afraid that may cause more issues with him thinking I can’t take care of myself.”
Justin walked over, wringing a white bar towel in his hands. “I wanted to ask you something. I know it’s not even been a full week but—well, I’ve been kind of drifting for the last few years. I’ve hopped from job to job trying to find something that fits. I’ve worked security, but that’s boring as shit. Not a lot of options out there for a guy who never really made anything for himself besides fighting. I don’t know why I never considered bartending. I like it and I want to stay, even if you do convince your dad to free me of my debt.”
“What about your girl and baby?” I asked.
“We don’t really have any ties in Scranton anymore. My family moved away out of state and Paige’s family doesn’t really associate with us. I can work a few weeks and move them over here. I like it here. That is, if you’d like to keep me on?”
I was considering another bartender to free up some time, and I liked Justin. Even though I barely knew him, he felt like family. A big brother kind of family that always looked after you in high school.
“I’d like that, Justin. Let’s try to make it happen.” I realiz
ed how true that statement was as soon as it left my mouth.
“Woot! Thank you Annie, I won’t let you down,” he said sincerely, and tossed the bar towel onto his shoulder.
“I know you won’t.” I grinned back at him.
“Hello, Dad.” I said once the connection clicked through.
“Hello, sugar, how you doing?” My dad’s voice crackled through the line.
“I’m doing just fine,” I said.
“The fuck you are. Who is this Steve Vega guy?” he asked harsh and cruel, the way he did when he was ready for a fight.
“What?” It was the totality of my stunned thoughts erupting from my squeaky voice.
“Don’t ‘what’ me. Steve Vega. The guy who ran his punk ass car off the road and almost got my only daughter killed.”
Now I was pissed off. My dad was not a nice man. I never had any illusions about that. He was cruel and freely whipped insults at me. It was an abuse I was accustomed to, but I was really tired of it.
“Dad, Steve is my boyfriend.” Boyfriend? “He didn’t almost get me killed. We were hit by a sudden storm and the car slid off the road. We were both fine and—”
“I don’t fucking care about both of you, I care about you! Get rid of him,” my dad roared into the phone. I let the line fall silent while I counted to three and took a deep breath.
“I’m not getting rid of him. Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know him, I don’t know where he came from, and I don’t want a punk like that near you. If you don’t get rid of him, I will. I know he works for Singer’s, it wouldn’t be hard,” he said, calmer now, but the threat in his words was real.
