Paradise Road

by C. J. Duggan

  ‘I said don’t answer the phone.’

  My shoulders slumped. ‘Well, stop bloody calling me!’ I slammed down the phone. ‘Jesus!’

  I was not looking forward to continuing this day, nauseousness and blinding headache aside. Having to deal with Dean’s snappy demands was going to bring a whole other level of pain.

  I sighed, leaning against the bar, massaging my temples until I saw Cassie come tearing through the front door, juggling her jacket and bag. She looked frantic, stressed like she might have slept in her clothes. ‘Sorry, I’m late, I just –’ Cassie’s words fell away as her eyes fixed to where Dean stood, halfway up the stairs.

  ‘You’re late,’ he said, continuing down.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Dean, Holly was up half the night with a temperature and I just –’

  ‘Go home.’

  ‘W– what?’

  ‘Go home, Cassie, be with your baby.’

  ‘It’s okay. She’s with my mum, she just –’

  ‘I’m not asking, Cassie, I am telling you.’

  ‘But I was going to show the new girl the ropes today.’

  It suddenly felt very clear that I was eavesdropping, that obviously the new girl was me and that I hadn’t even cemented myself into the fold long enough to even be known as anything but the new girl. It was like high school all over again.

  ‘I’ve got it,’ he said.

  Cassie’s eyes widened, flicking from Dean to me. ‘What? You’re going to show her?’

  I didn’t much like the look of horror on Cassie’s face when she said that, I didn’t much like it at all.

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  Cassie looked at Dean. ‘It’s not you I’m worried for.’ I could tell she instantly regretted the words.

  ‘Cassie,’ Dean warned.

  ‘I’m gone, I mean I’m going,’ she took the moment to quickly make her exit before pausing at the front door. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?’

  Dean pointed. ‘Go. You would be no use to me anyway.’

  Something flashed in Cassie’s eyes, a glimmer of hurt although she masked it with a thinly veiled smile. ‘Thanks Dean,’ she said, pushing through the front door.

  Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his head like he did anytime he was nearing the end of his patience. He turned to me and took in my serious gaze. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘That wasn’t very nice.’

  Dean looked confused, doing a double-take towards the doorway. ‘What? Sending a mother home to be with her sick baby? Yeah, I know, I’m a bloody monster.’

  ‘You could have been a bit more tactful, I think she felt a little –’ I shrugged.

  ‘A little what?’ Dean snapped.

  ‘Unwanted.’

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake, what, because I said she wouldn’t be any use to me anyway?’

  I let my knowing stare tell him as much.

  Dean scoffed, shaking his head as he came closer, then leaning against the bar. ‘Let me tell you something, Lexie, managing staff 101. I don’t have time to mollycoddle my staff and hold their hands. They can either work, or they can’t. Their focus has to be here a hundred and ten per cent or they might as well just go home and not waste my time. Make no mistake, I expect nothing but the best from the people I pay.’

  I simply nodded. It wasn’t a subtle explanation from Dean. He had made his point.

  ‘Which brings me on to my next point,’ he said.

  Oh, God here we go, he was on a roll. I took in a deep breath and steadied myself for what was to come next.

  ‘Your school work.’

  My brows lowered in confusion. ‘What about it?’

  Dean looked me straight in the eyes. ‘It always comes first.’

  I didn’t know what to say. It was such an unexpected thing to come out of his mouth I must have just looked dumbfounded.

  ‘You’ll be working split shifts most weekends, with some shifts after school depending on what your homework load is like, we’ll work it out. But your school work must always come first, that’s non-negotiable.’

  My eyes flicked over his face, so serious and almost angry as he delivered his set rules. The man was a complete and utter mystery to me.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, a bit uncertainly. You just never knew what was going to come next.

  Dean’s harsh exterior slipped from his boss man stance as the tension melted a little. ‘Look, Lexie, I don’t care what you get up to in your down time, just be here when you’re here, and take your education seriously.’

  I smiled. ‘A hundred and ten per cent.’

  Dean smirked. ‘You were listening.’

  ‘How else am I going to learn?’

  ‘All right then,’ he said, tapping the top of the bar as he made his way from the front around behind it to stand beside me, with a wicked look. ‘Show me what you got.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Crap.

  When it came to bar work I knew jack. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. While I was floundering under the watchful eye of a very smug-looking Dean, he did have a request that he and I both knew I could handle.

  ‘How about you make me a Moselle and OJ,’ he asked, flashing me a smile I kind of wanted to wipe off his face with my fist.

  I straightened my spine, returning his smile. ‘Coming up!’

  Arsehole.

  Yes, admittedly after ordering one too many drinks last night I was indeed familiar as to how the devil’s brew was made. I had seen often enough the cask of Moselle being lifted out from the left mini fridge, and the OJ taken from the juice and soft drink section of the bar, next to where the glasses were kept chilled. I carried out each step with an air of confidence and speed. Scooping the ice into the tumbler I was doing fine, but when I squeezed the tab on the wine box and the passive fumes hit me I had to swallow deeply, trying not to think about the chunks that wanted to rise. I could feel Dean’s eyes on me, watching with delight as I broke out in a cold sweat and the colour drained from my face. I cleared my throat, trying to think of anything that would distract me from the drink I was creating, of how the yellowy wine trickled and melted over the ice.

  Don’t think about it, Lexie.

  Next I grabbed for the OJ, topping up the glass and leaving a little room to add a dash of raspberry cordial. I plunged in a straw and gave it a little stir so it resembled a sunset, albeit a cheap and nasty one.

  ‘Here you go!’ I sat it with an air of smugness before Dean on the bar, quite proud of myself for not vomiting all over his shoes.

  Dean picked it up with disdain, holding it up to the light, examining it like a squished bug underfoot.

  ‘Where the hell did you learn how to make that?’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s what everyone drinks in Red Hill.’

  Dean scoffed. ‘You don’t say?’

  I regretted it the moment the words fell out of my mouth. It wasn’t enough that everyone already thought I was a country bumpkin, I really didn’t have to remind them of it.

  ‘Well, are you going to drink it?’ I was thinking how much I was going to enjoy this.

  Dean shifted, as if the very thought appalled him. ‘I think you should taste it, check that it’s the right consistency.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s a foolproof recipe.’

  ‘Maybe, but remember what I said about commitment?’

  I laughed, knowing it was one thing for chefs to taste their food for flavour, but this was a bit ridiculous. He was testing me, testing my dedication, or was he desperately trying to make me sick? The thought of tasting the Moselle made my skin scrawl and my stomach twist violently. Still, the way Dean’s eyes were staring down on me in challenge was infuriating. He held out the drink to me. ‘Go on, just a sip,’ he taunted.

  If I didn’t I would be deemed a lightweight, and I couldn’t be that, I had to dedicate myself a hundred and ten per cent. Plus I’d like to see the look on his face when I did do it, I took the glass from his hand and saluted him wi
th it.

  ‘Bottom’s up,’ I said, before moving the girly straw aside and taking a deep gulp of the absolute foulness that it was. Oh God, it was bad, and it took everything I had to not go running to the sink, my eyes were watering and all I wanted to do was gag, so instead when I smacked my lips together in appreciation and sighed, ‘Delicious,’ I felt more smug than ever. Ha! Take that, Dean Saville. I held the drink out to him expectantly, until I saw his dark expression, one that wiped any moment of smugness away.

  He sighed. ‘The next rule you will learn working behind a bar,’ he said, taking the drink from my hand and pouring it down the sink, ‘is to not bow down to peer pressure. If I ever catch you drinking on the job it will be an instant dismissal.’ Gone was all of Dean’s playfulness from before, instead replaced by a cold, boss man facade that slammed down.

  He crossed his arms. ‘So you have failed a few telling tests so far,’ he said, looking rather grim.

  I could feel anger building, a raging furnace of outrage that burnt my cheeks, mostly because I felt foolish for letting him goad me into drinking that bloody drink. I wanted to yell, to scream, to argue that he had tricked me into it; that he was setting me up to fail at every turn. Instead, I did something so incredibly painful, so completely out of character. I muttered, ‘I guess I have a lot to learn.’ The admission almost killed me and it wouldn’t have been worth it had Dean not been completely surprised by it, so unexpected was my response he didn’t know what to say … until inevitably he thought of something.

  ‘You’re as raw as they come. You sure you don’t want to get a job at the ice-creamery down the road?’ he asked, sizing me up.

  Little did he know with every smart-arse quip he was actually stoking a fire inside me, one of steely determination. I squared my shoulders, ignoring the bait he so desperately wanted me to take. ‘What’s next?’ I asked.

  Dean snorted. ‘I’m a very busy man, I don’t exactly have time to be holding your hand with the nitty gritty.’

  I cocked my head. ‘Why, Mr Saville, are you giving anything less than a hundred and ten per cent?’

  Dean’s mouth twitched. ‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t show you, I just don’t have the time to.’

  ‘Well, my heart bleeds for you, it really does, but as you so subtly pointed out, I need to learn, and someone has got to teach me.’

  Dean looked at me for a long moment, the cogs turning in his mind, probably searching for ways to get out of this. Eventually, a slow smile spread across his lips. ‘Okay, less yap, more work.’

  And just like that my induction through the meat grinder began.

  •

  For someone who wasn’t very wordy, Dean sure had a lot to say.

  ‘The main bar is the hub, you’ll have orders coming in for the bistro, people coming in from the pool room, plus the social drinker at the bar. During peak hour the bar will get smashed, you have to know where everything is, how much it costs. Everything should be stocked and prepped before the rush. No empty glasses on the bar, no thirsty customers, got it?’

  I followed Dean around the bistro as he straightened up crooked tables. I almost wished I had a pen and pad in hand.

  ‘So why don’t you put a drinks bar in the bistro? Spread out the traffic a little.’ It seemed like a pretty reasonable solution, one that had Dean in deep thought for a moment.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, just worry about the job at hand.’

  He seemed annoyed and it was very clear that it was his way or the highway. So typical, I mused.

  ‘With Cassie gone, we’ll cover the lunch shift in the bar.’

  I stopped moving, my eyes wide as saucers. ‘We will?’

  ‘We have to,’ he said with a pointed look, ‘Come on, we have a bar to prep.’

  •

  What was the saying? When you get chucked in the deep end you either sink or swim? Well, I had concrete boots, because try as I might I could do nothing right. With every quick shift to get to an empty glass, I misread or wasn’t looking and either slammed into or stepped on Dean. To my surprise, he never chastised me in front of anyone. He stood beside me patiently at the till as he walked me through all the buttons. He answered each and every one of my thousand questions with surprising calmness. And even though he was diligent in his teachings, there was really one thing that was cemented in my mind.

  I couldn’t do this.

  The lunchtime shift morphed into mayhem and I felt like more of a hindrance than a help, knowing that even though Dean was cool and calm on the surface, every one of my mistakes would be noted. I was psyching myself up to head down to the ice-cream parlour after my shift to beg for a job.

  By two o’clock Dean allowed me to knock off. I sheepishly pulled the straps from my apron loose and folded it up neatly, paying great attention to it so I wouldn’t let the tears of humiliation come. This was just a lunchtime shift. How on earth was I going to do the night-time? How was I going to do school and this when I was exhausted already? I felt like a big fat failure.

  Dean came to stand next to me. ‘Lexie –’

  ‘I really don’t need a rundown of my weaknesses right now,’ I said quietly. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, I knew it wouldn’t matter what I wanted. He would tell me anyway.

  Dean sighed. I didn’t know if it was a means for him to work himself up to the whole, ‘Look, this isn’t going to work out’ speech and demote me to washing dishes, which I didn’t think my ego could take. I steadied my nerves, sliding aside the apron and turned to fix my gaze on his face, his serious business face.

  ‘You gave a hundred and ten per cent, Lex.’

  I waited for him to continue, for there to be a ‘but’ in the conversation, but there wasn’t. He looked at me with deep sincerity, no cockiness or arrogance. This was his way of complimenting me.

  ‘So I did good?’ I asked, eagerly.

  Dean scoffed. ‘Let’s not get crazy.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A new day meant a fresh start and a chance to put the horrors of my rather ordinary crash test in the bar behind me. Making my way slowly, yet confidently, I walked past Dean’s closed office door, swinging around the banister and heading down the stairs, ever aware that if Dean was at his desk he would be able to see me through the one-way glass. There never seemed to be any real privacy in a place like this and I guess that was the way it was designed. The big, imposing structure sat at the top of Arcadia Lane overlooking the arcade and the boardwalk. I slid onto one of the bar stools, looking around the eclectic get-up of the bar with its over-cluttered shelves of spirits and multicoloured cocktails.

  This place was in good need of an update, and judging by the dusty bottles on the very top shelf definitely needed a damn good clean too. In fact, the whole place needed a really good scrubbing. Nancy, the cleaning lady, bless her soul, was about four foot, and at a guess, a hundred years old. She had a huge job to do for a little lady and based on the thickness of her glasses, I was pretty sure she missed a lot of the dust simply because she couldn’t see it. The very last time I came here with my family for dinner, Dean had made reference to renovations but I had yet to see any changes.

  There wasn’t a whole lot going for the place in the light of day. It looked a bit tired, and by night the patrons were usually too drunk to care. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud next to me on the bar counter.

  ‘Dean wants you to study this while he’s gone,’ Cassie said, leaning against the bar.

  ‘What is it?’ I slid the tattered folder towards me.

  ‘It’s the Holy Grail of cocktails we serve here. Read it and commit it to memory.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ I said, ‘How’s your daughter feeling?’

  Cassie’s demeanour changed at the mere mention of her daughter; it was like a spark of pride ignited in her as she straightened.

  ‘She’s much better,’ she said with a nod of finality that had me mirroring her smile.

  ‘Excellent!’ I replied, as I flick
ed through the pages; some were stained, pages smudged, dog-eared, all from being studied by the bartenders before me, no doubt. It had me thinking. ‘Hey, Cassie, did you work with Sherry?’

  ‘I didn’t work with her per se, I replaced her,’ she said, and my curiosity was piqued.

  ‘Why did she leave?’ I asked, suddenly more curious about Sherry than ever.

  ‘Her mum got sick, so she had to leave and work some personal stuff out.’

  ‘Oh, do you think she’ll be back?’

  Cassie shrugged. ‘I think Dean hopes so. Like he keeps reminding everyone every day, we’ve got huge shoes to fill.’ Cassie tapped the folder, ‘So study hard. We’ll run through some stuff tomorrow.’

  I opened up the folder again, studying it closer. The last thing I wanted was to be a failure, well, an even bigger one. And the last thing I needed was for Dean to let me go because I was useless to him.

  ‘You should think yourself lucky. You get the grace of a few days to study properly without Dean breathing down your neck.’

  I cleared my throat, remembering how intently he watched me behind the bar, how his jawline clenched with barely controlled frustration every time I bumped into him. ‘So where is his lordship, anyway?’ I asked all casual, thumbing the pages.

  ‘Who knows? He usually grabs his keys and disappears with no real indication for what or when he’ll be back. Sometimes I think he just gets cabin fever and needs to get out.’

  Ha! Didn’t we all. And in that very moment it gave me an idea. ‘Am I okay to take this with me?’ I asked Cassie, holding up the folder.

  ‘Sure, but for Christ’s sake, don’t lose it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I promised. ‘Listen, I’m going out for a bit, I’ll be back later, okay?’

  ‘Lucky you,’ Cassie said unenthusiastically. ‘Have fun.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, sliding off my stool.

  I ran up to my room to stash the Holy Grail of cocktails under my pillow. I could study later, I thought, but for now with Dean away I was going to live it up a bit, and by living it up I meant taking a certain Tiffany Blue bike for a spin – very cool.