by Grace Risata
“And how do you suggest I pay her? With magic beans that fall from the sky? You yourself just acknowledged how miserable this business is doing. Use your head.”
“I AM using my head. And it’s about time you get yours out of your ass. She must want something, everyone has a price. You need someone to do the menial day-to-day paperwork and keep up on things. Find out what she wants, make her an offer, and everyone wins.”
I was trying to make it appear as though I wasn’t eavesdropping, when a loud crash exploded toward my left. I looked through the glass windows in the factory and witnessed two men wrestling around on the floor. In between punches, they were screaming at each other. They both had uniforms on, so I assumed they were employees. All of a sudden one of them pulled a knife on the other one. Holy Fuck. What kind of place was this? Out of nowhere, Rocky slammed through the door and tackled the man who held the knife. With one quick chop to the guy’s’ wrist, the knife went flying and Rocky got him in a chokehold. Sergio came running up behind him and began screaming.
The two employees that were involved in the disagreement pointed at each other, as if to say “It was his fault, not mine.” Rocky kept the one in a chokehold and started dragging him toward the door. They stumbled past me and Rocky tossed him out on his ass.
“You’re fired!” he hollered, “If I ever see you back here, you’ll wish you’d never been born.” It must have been that guy’s fault because the other one wasn’t given the heave-ho that way. I stared at the guy who got to keep his job and I noticed the name ‘Enrique’ sewn into his shirt. I wondered what Enrique was fighting about that it escalated to the point where a knife was pulled on him. At my job, people just talked behind each other’s backs when they had a problem.
Rocky dusted off his shirt and told Enrique to get back to work, while Sergio came back over to address me.
“Now where were we before we got so rudely interrupted?” Sergio asked.
He must have seen how I was visibly trembling after that spectacle, yet he made no mention of the brawl that had just occurred. I see violence on TV, but never in real life and it was shocking. I do have to admit though; it was totally amazing how Rocky took that guy down with no thought of putting himself in harm’s way. It would be great to have that kind of balls along with the skills to back them up.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” I asked Rocky. “Are you a professional fighter or something? Like mixed martial arts? That was just…wow.”
Rocky ignored the question like it had never been asked at all and Sergio changed the subject entirely. “Violet, I was just discussing with Rocky the possibility of hiring you. It seems that we are in need of a bookkeeper, not to mention another equipment technician now, and you are perhaps a qualified candidate, so maybe we can come to an agreement of sorts?”
Sergio looked at me hopefully. It seems that the tide had turned and now I was the one in power. The gloat fell off my face when I looked at Rocky. He appeared to be in no mood to bargain. It didn’t matter anyway.
“I already have a job in case you weren’t listening. I like it and I don’t need another one.”
“What hours do you work now?” Rocky asked, “We’ll just work around your schedule.“
Was I speaking another language? I don’t know why they weren’t taking NO for an answer. I informed him that my hours were Monday through Friday from eight to five, but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t interested.
Rocky considered this and said, “Fine. You can work nights from six to eight on Monday through Thursday. What will it take for you to accept the position?”
Well, I guess I better think of something that I know he’s not going to agree to, so I can get out of here. “Teach me to fight like you just did. I want to know how to do that.”
Rocky looked absolutely livid. “No. If Sergio wants to hire you that bad, then he can fucking do it.”
Sergio did not seem at all happy with this new development. “No, I don’t think so. This is YOUR brewery and YOU know a hell of a lot more about fighting then I do. If you want to stop working sixty hour weeks, then you better suck it up and just show her a few moves. You, not me.” Oh great. Now they were pawning me off on each other. Don’t I feel like the last person picked for the kickball team!
“Why do you want fighting lessons anyway? Who are you going to punch? The grocery store clerk who crushes your bread at the bottom of the bag? I don’t see you getting into bar fights at closing time, honey.” Fuck. He had to go there. He had to call me ‘honey.’ I actually do answer the phone at work and you would not believe how many times a day I get called ‘honey.’ This is not 1954. ‘Honey’ is such a demeaning term. I am not sweet by any stretch of the imagination.
“Number one, do not call me ‘Honey.’ I hate that term. Number two, as it so happens, I am recently divorced and looking to start dating again and want to be able to defend myself in case any crazy psycho stalker murder rapists try to get all handsy on me.” This seemed like a logical explanation as it was coming out of my mouth, yet it managed to elicit a chorus of laughter from both Rocky and Sergio.
After they caught their breath, Rocky said, “I see. Then I will train you in self-defense. You will work eight hours a week in exchange for one hour of lesson time.” Wait, what? Eight hours of my time is worth one hour of his? I’m not that great at math without a calculator, but even I can see that arrangement is not doing me any favors.
“How in the hell is that fair?” I wondered aloud.
“I’m pretty sure the going rate for private self-defense lessons is somewhere in the ball park of two hundred dollars an hour. If you work eight hours at my pay rate, that puts you at twenty-five dollars an hour. I hardly think you earn twenty-five dollars an hour as a secretary. Therefore this deal is actually better for you. There are no further negotiations to discuss. No other offers on the table. Sergio and I will now escort you out.”
So that was the end of that. There was no argument because I had no idea what private training lessons really cost. As we walked to the door, I breathed a sigh of relief that this was the end of the discussion and I could safely leave.
We reached my car in the parking lot and Rocky confirmed, “We will see you on Monday at six. Don’t be late.”
I got in my car, turned up the radio, and peeled out of there. It remained to be seen if I would actually show up on Monday or not, but at least it gave me something exciting to contemplate for the rest of the weekend.
As I later found out, Rocky turned to Sergio as my car rounded the corner and ordered, “Run her plate number and find out as much as you can. No way I’m letting an outsider anywhere near the books unless she turns out to be squeaky clean and her story holds up. If she does check out, I’ll bet you fifty bucks she doesn’t show up on Monday.”
Sergio had a thing for betting and took Rocky up on his wager. “Make it a hundred, and you’re on.”
Monday
After much consideration and a chat with my best friend Stella, I found myself in the parking lot of the Grim Rock Distillery on Monday evening. Still contemplating whether to go in or not, I replayed our conversation. Stella advised me to take the job, but get paid with cash instead of self-defense lessons. Stella was very practical. She’s been my best friend since high school, so I tend to listen to her opinions because she’s never steered me wrong. She also manages to put up with my endless questions, most of them starting out with “What if?” and “Should I?”
Stella is only two years older than me, but it seems she has a lifetime more experience. She’s been married to her high school sweetheart, Max, for twelve years and they have eight year old twin daughters, Jade and Jackie. I can’t go over to her house without the twins begging me to play games with them. That’s how I found myself in her backyard on Saturday afternoon trying to kick a soccer ball past twin goalies and win the make-believe world cup championship. Stella lived about five streets over from me in a two story house with an enormous backyard. I shared th
e details of my adventurous night while running around chasing after the soccer ball.
“But Stella, what if I take the job and hate it?”
“Violet, it’s not a REAL job unless you’re paid. If you don’t like it, then quit. Tell them you don’t work for free, you looked into other training lessons online, and two hundred dollars an hour is insane in comparison to what other places charge.”
“You didn’t SEE these two guys. They looked like they walked right off the TV screen on one of my mob movies. Guys around here don’t look like that. I don’t want to pass up my chance to see them again, even if it’s just to drool from afar and make up crazy scenarios in my head.”
I have quite the active imagination sometimes. Ok, all the time. The make-believe world cup championship might have been my idea. That’s the reason the girls considered me something like an aunt and they looked forward to my visits. Or it could just be the brownies I occasionally made for them. All it takes to win the hearts of those two is anything from the chocolate family. I don’t have any kids of my own, so it’s nice to get a dose of Stella’s girls and then go home. We get to play, I spoil them with candy, and I don’t have to enforce rules or hand out discipline and punishments. It was the best of both worlds in my opinion. I could have had children of my own, but I was always more crazy about the barking, frisbee-catching, four legged furry kids than the two legged real ones. If I had a dollar for every time my mom guilt tripped me about her lack of grandkids, I could have put Stella’s girls through college. Thankfully, Frankie (Francine was my mom’s given name, but it sounded too stuffy so she preferred “Frankie”) also loved animals as much as she loved kids, so that helped hold off the nagging a bit.
“Violet, you do what you have to do. If you want to be around hot guys, just do a porn movie and get it over with. You’d get pretty good pay for that, plus you’d have a decent shot at getting some action. That’s killing two birds with one stone and then I won’t have to hear about how you’re turning into a spinster all the time.”
It’s a good thing Jade and Jackie were on the other end of the yard and didn’t hear that part of the conversation. Stella talks much more freely when they aren’t within earshot. She was currently sitting on a lawn chair painting her toenails. Stella cared infinitely more about her appearance then I did about mine. We were similar in height and weight, but everything else was in sharp contrast. She always wore the latest fashions, bought the most expensive makeup, and had her hair perfectly high-lighted. I was jealous of her layered haircut. Straight hair that never seemed out of place always pissed me off considering I had to deal with unruly curls every damn day. Stella sold insurance in an office downtown and earned a considerable amount more than I did. She could afford all the latest brands and beauty treatments. I would never waste money on half the stuff she bought.
“No thanks. I could never do porn with all my hypochondriac germ issues. I’d be convinced I had Syphilis every time I sneezed. Not to mention the amount of shaving I’d have to do on a regular basis. I guess I’ll stick with the brewery job. It sounds safer then porn.” The conversation changed to a more kid friendly topic, and that was the end of that. No other sage pieces of advice to give me courage to walk in the front door. I was on my own.
Not wanting to be uncomfortable on the first day, I just wore the clothes from my normal day job. My outfit consisted of a blue short sleeved dress shirt tucked into gray pants and pulled together with a wide black belt. I was going for a casual, yet professional vibe. With my cell phone stuck into my purse and my head held high, it was time to make my entrance. I was not expecting the welcome I received.
Rocky and Sergio had entirely different reactions to see me. Rocky looked pissed (as usual, it seemed to be his favorite expression) but Sergio looked positively giddy. It didn’t take me to long find out the source of his joy, since he exclaimed, “I knew it! Pay up, bitch!” and Rocky promptly got out his wallet and handed over some cash.
“You just cost me a hundred bucks,” he told me. “I really didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in Hell you’d walk back into this place. Maybe you have more balls then I thought, Violet McFadden.” Well that explains their little cash exchange. Nice to know they’re betting about me now.
“Maybe we shouldn’t gamble then,” I smirked, “Now am I working today or not?” Kind of brazen, but I just wanted to let them know they couldn’t intimidate me. Should I be focusing on another part of his sentence though?
“Wait, how did you know my last name? I never told you that.” I’m sure I wouldn’t have told them that on the first day. I’m pretty private and don’t give out information about myself. Even my Facebook profile had a fake name.
“Do you think I’m dumb enough to just let some girl walk in off the street and take a look at my books, my information, my personal papers, without checking her out first? You don’t know who you’re dealing with here, remember that. I know who you are, where you live, where you work, who you owe money to, and I could probably figure out what you had for breakfast if I really wanted. Keep that in mind if you have any inclination to fuck me over. Enough talking, it’s time you got to work. Follow me.” I bet he’s bluffing. I had Count Chocula Cereal. He’d never guess that.
Rocky walked me behind the big desk that made up the front reception area. He showed me where to sit, went into the enclosed office, and returned with a big box. “Here are the bills I have to pay. Some are paid and some are not. It’s a mess. Straighten it out and tell me what’s due and when.” The box was stacked to the top with crumpled invoices for insurance, utilities, distillery equipment, taxes, cell phone bills, credit card statements, credit card receipts for food and dry cleaning, a janitorial service, vendor records, health inspection reports, bank statements, and what looked like a chewed up and spit out piece of gum at the bottom. Gross. This would not be fun.
I guess actual work needed to get done and I’m not here to just stare at the beefcake. Although Rocky did smell like heaven when he leaned over to drop the box my desk. Imagine the manliest smelling cologne in the world. I wanted to just close my eyes and bask in his scent. Remember how you feel when a long winter is over, it finally starts to warm up outside, and the smell of the air makes you realize spring that has arrived? Add in some musky testosterone and that about sums it up. It was delicious. I’m lucky he walked away with his back to me, so my little moment of utter bliss went unnoticed. I sighed and started sorting the contents of the box, taking deep breaths whenever possible to appreciate the scent before it dissipated. Sergio came over a short while later and was kind enough to point out where the bathroom was if I needed a tissue. I guess my unnatural sniffing hadn’t gone under the radar after all. I told him I must be getting a cold and thanked him for his concern. Good save!
After about an hour had passed, I was interrupted by a small stocky fellow who stuck his hand in front of my face and noted, “You must be the new employee. Welcome to the Brewery. My name is Jerry.” How polite! Jerry smiled at me and restored my faith in humanity. Jerry had blonde hair, dimples, and about one hundred extra pounds on his short frame. He was wearing a uniform, stained with what could only be the remains of his supper.
His hand was still extended and it was becoming obvious he expected me to shake it. I cleared my throat and said, “My name is Violet, it’s nice to meet you.” I went to complete the handshake and found my palm stuck in the clammy grip of someone who was not looking to let it go anytime soon.
“I was just wondering, Violet, when will you start giving out the hand jobs? I want to be first in line.“
After pulling my hand away at the speed of light and feeling my face turn twelve shades of red, I did the only thing I could think of: grab the hand sanitizer in my purse and dump half the bottle on myself.
“Sorry, those were yesterday and you missed it,” I replied in a shaky voice.
Rocky chuckled behind me (when had he snuck back there?) and firmly told Jerry, “Leave her alone. She’s tryi
ng to work here and get something done, which is more than I can say for you. Go back to work and maybe you can keep your job.”
Jerry glared at Rocky and wandered off. Hopefully back to the cave where he came from.
I turned around and narrowed my eyes at Rocky explaining, “I don’t need your help. I can handle myself just fine.” Well…as long as I have a case of hand sanitizer or industrial strength bleach. I’ll have to stock up on that shit if I’m going to survive this. Did I mention I have germ issues? I always have for as far back as I can remember. One of my neurotic quirks is excessive hand washing. The mere act of looking at Jerry makes me want to jump in a hot shower until the water burns my skin.
“You’re going to have to toughen up, Violet, if you want to make it around here. I can’t teach self-defense to someone who looks like she’s going to throw up after simply shaking hands. Punching, biting, and kicking all involve touching strangers, you know.”
No, I did not know that biting would be involved. Am I suddenly rabid and stopping attackers by spreading disease? I let out a sigh of disappointment and stuck my head back in the unorganized box. The only way to prove myself around here was going to be with my organizational skills, because I clearly had no other abilities to show off.
I had a pretty good handle on things by the end of the night. All the invoices were sorted by date and company, and I just had to figure out what had been paid and what was still outstanding. Rocky came over to let me know it was time to go home and I asked, “Do you have any file folders or jumbo paper clips? I finally got this mess all straightened out and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“No. Does it look like an office supply store or a brewery here? There are no color coordinated post it notes or raspberry scented ink pens either. You’ll have to manage with a pencil and this box. That’s all we got. Show me what you’ve finished and then it’s quitting time.” I showed him my progress, he made a small grunting noise, and then he offered to walk me out to my car. I guess I should say he demanded to walk me out, because there was no question involved. “Let’s go, time to leave.” I wasn’t sure why it was that I needed to be escorted out, it’s not like there were any rubber bands or staplers I might steal, since “this was a brewery and not an office supply store.”
