Paradise Road
Page 14
Luckily I didn’t have to keep the bike wedged in my small room. There was an alcove where all the cleaning products were kept out the back of the kitchen that led out into the back alleyway. Apparently the alcove was safe and out of the way enough so no-one was going to break their neck tripping over a wheel, which was always a bonus. Wheeling the bike out the back I craned my neck to the sky as I walked along, basking in the open elements. I wondered if Dean really had business to attend to or was this his way of avoiding me? I couldn’t imagine Dean shying away from a challenge. He wasn’t some naive school boy. I had seen the scars lining his knuckles, and the small one just above his left eye. He had been in a few altercations and working in a place like this, it was no wonder. As soon as I left the dark, dingy alley and turned the corner, the sun hit my face and my spirits soared as high as the sun. Today was a new day, the first day of my independence and I had never felt more alive. I swung a leg over my bike and slowly began to shakily pedal along the concrete path, leading out towards the arcade.
I didn’t put a whole lot of thought into where I would be headed, how far I would go or how long it would take me. Whizzing along the path like a bat out of hell was so incredibly freeing. The blur of my surroundings and the ever-changing scenery occupied my thoughts and I wondered how long I could stay on the bike, because for the first time in a really long, long time I had nothing to decide except which path to choose, quite literally. And when I veered down a road that led me towards the beach, I lifted my legs out and let the roll of the hill take me down at an incredible speed. A fearful squeal escaped me as I steered to the right, down the very end of the hill, zooming around the curve of the road, grateful that there were no oncoming cars. What was oncoming, though, was the view of the ocean.
As I sped along the path’s barrier I glanced at the long blue stretch foaming and cresting along the yellow sand. The path petered out into a large car park. I stood up onto my pedals, pumping my legs up and down more slowly but feeling the burn in them, before sitting down once more and pedalling like a mad thing. I jilted my handlebars up a tiny lift to bounce over the guttering and into the cark park, pedalling, pedalling, until my eyes locked onto the ocean, peppered with tiny little flecks on the horizon: Surfers! A big goofy grin lined my face as I cycled past, lost in a moment of nostalgia, until I turned my attention forward, realising I was rolling into a direct line with a parked car.
Oh shit!
I swerved at the last minute, blindly panicking and clenching my handbrakes, screaming as I went sailing over the handlebars and somersaulted into a bush, which rather painfully broke my fall, if breaking my fall meant being stabbed with thousands of tiny needles, that is.
Oh my God, I groaned. Was I dead? Surely you wouldn’t feel this much pain in the afterlife? I tried to pull myself out of the bush as I heard the sound of voices nearing. Here I was spread-eagled, whimpering and bleeding – not a good look. There was no way of moving quickly, but I had to, I had to suck it up and limp on out of there with my bike. Oh shit. The front wheel of my poor beautiful, brand-new bike was buckled by the impact. There was no getting back in the saddle this time and I cursed myself for going so far afield as I squinted up at the sun high in the sky burning down on my battered and bruised body. I surveyed the damage – there was skin off my knee, a stream of blood running down my leg and a grazed shoulder that I couldn’t see but which stung like a son of a bitch. As quick as I could, and it wasn’t very quick, I picked up my wonky bike and hobbled out of the car park, wishing I could slink away into the shadows. Everything was bright and exposed and everyone who walked past me looked on with interest, and a whole lot of horror. I seriously considered hitchhiking my way back to the bar, but I didn’t fancy ending up in a shallow grave so I simply put my head down and limped the very long, long trek back to Arcadia Lane.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Seriously, Lexie? You go out for one afternoon and this happens?’
‘Oh, geez, thanks for your concern.’ I winced as I cautiously slid onto a chair. ‘I’m okay, by the way.’
Cassie let out a little snigger. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Are you okay?’
‘Well, if you must know, I wasn’t mugged or anything, I just fell off my bike.’
‘I kind of figured that,’ said Cassie, walking out from behind the bar. ‘I’ll get the first aid kit. You’re lucky Dean’s not around, he’d have a hissy fit if you bled on his floor.’
Yep, I was grateful he was not around, I couldn’t have stood his amusement at my mortifying predicament; yep, eighteen years old and still falling off my bike.
It’s amazing how much bonding can be achieved through applying ointment and bandaids. Cassie, to my surprise, was actually a country girl too, more partial to horses than people, but working at the Wipe Out Bar while she studied TAFE part-time had really helped her come out of her shell. Looking at Cassie’s cropped bleached hair and dark eye makeup gave me a little hope that working here would give me some worldly confidence too.
As Cassie opened up about the difficulties in juggling, work, TAFE and a baby, and she dabbed at my wounds with ointment, I kind of realised how good I actually had it. In the scheme of things I only had to look after myself, and sure, taking in my skinned leg and ripped shorts, I wasn’t doing the greatest job of that. For the first time in, well, forever, I was actually clear on what I needed to do. It was like a Eureka moment and I smiled widely.
Cassie looked up at me, having applied the last bandaid to my shin. Her curious gaze flicked over my scary smile. ‘You okay, Lexie?’ she asked.
‘Okay?’ I repeated, looking down at my dishevelled, dirty clothes and bloodied, grazed skin that would no doubt bruise nicely by the morning. I laughed, actually laughed, as my mind worked overtime with my new set of ideas. ‘I have never been better.’
•
Sure my bike was buckled, and my body was a little broken – I made a very slow and pained climb back up to my room – but my mind was determined. I knew exactly what I had to do to get my life back on track, and in order to do that I had to offer the best of myself. And if by doing that I had to build up my confidence and become an independent person, then all the better. A little surge of satisfaction pulsed through me. This genius plan was also about proving Dean wrong. I’d show him I could do this job and do it bloody well. I wanted to prove to all the Amandas and Lucys that I wasn’t this tragic country girl they remembered from school. Nope, I was determined to make this count, make it all count. I had been given an opportunity and I was going to grab it with both hands and run with it. Well, for now, limp with it.
•
I got stuck straight into it by studying the cocktail book with deep concentration. I knew I could do this. I’d memorised complete formulas for exams before, plus it took my mind off the aches and pains in my body. During the quieter times over the next few days, I got Cassie to run me through the motions of cocktail drills, watching the speed with which she worked and took in her interactions with the clients. I studied everyone: the waiters, kitchen hands, bar staff, door people and even the night-time security.
In order to work in this place to the best of my ability, I needed to find out how it ran, so I threw myself deep into observational study with some after-hour prac work with Cassie. I took notes on the things that worked well, the things that needed improvement and what didn’t work at all. And from what I observed, it was really clear that there was a lot that didn’t work. It would take more than a pretty girl with a cute accent out the front to lure in tourists. I saw it in their faces as families loitered out the front, contemplating whether to come inside or not. It was easy to be confused as to whether this was a family restaurant or a nightspot for drunken tourists. There was no definitive vibe. The bistro said family, but the pumping, loud, edgy music blaring out front said come on in and party. More often than not I saw uncertainty plastered over tourists’ faces as they smiled weakly and moved on, no doubt down the road to Flannigan’s, the glitzy enemy. It wa
s frustrating to see. And even more frustrating come night-time to see exactly what did come through the doors: drunken hordes of footy players on their season trips, hen’s parties and creepers. No wonder Dean had security cameras. You really had to have eyes and ears everywhere. In Dean’s absence security was more prevalent inside and out, which was reassuring, but was this the way to run a business, I wondered, as I scribbled in my notebook?
Seeing as I hadn’t officially been given the green light to work behind the bar, no doubt until Dean came back and pop quizzed me on my cocktail knowledge, I set out by using some employee initiative and followed old Nancy around the cleaning rounds, noticing all the places she seemed to miss as she continued her tried and tested routine. I didn’t say anything to her, though, as she was an endearing old soul, who really should be enjoying retirement instead of cleaning up the previous night’s vomit.
When I had casually asked if I could help her, her eyes had lit up in a way I didn’t expect as she, without hesitation, hooked me up with some cleaning gear.
‘The quicker I get through this the sooner I can get down to the club. They’ve got meat raffles being drawn today.’
I smiled, happily taking the cloth and disinfecting it for her.
Who doesn’t love a meat raffle?
Not only did it pass the time, but it was also incredibly therapeutic. I worked on taking all the spirit bottles from the highest shelves and scrubbing off the caked-on dust from years gone by, and polishing the bottles. It created a snowball effect that had me moving on to the glasses and working on replacing the blown globes that lit up the shelves with some bulbs from the storeroom.
Once I had finished, the grime was well and truly transferred from the shelves to me as I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, proudly looking on the sparkling shelves of bottles that were now glowing and shone enticingly. They shouted, ‘Drink me!’
Cassie stood next to me, nodding her head, impressed. ‘I didn’t even know there were light bulbs up there. It looks awesome. Can I take all the credit?’ she asked, smiling with a devious glint in her eyes.
I laughed. ‘Can we run through some more drinks tonight? I really want to tackle my imported beer knowledge.’
Cassie laughed. ‘Are you always like this?’
I straightened. ‘Like what?’
Organised, ambitious, structured.
‘Anally retentive,’ she answered.
My brows lowered, trying not to get offended. ‘I just like to keep busy,’ I defended.
‘Well, surely you must have better things to do? Like going to the beach with your friends, enjoying your school holidays while you can? I mean, you’re not getting paid for any of this, I just don’t see the point.’ Cassie shrugged.
I knew then that this was exactly why light bulbs never got replaced, because more often than not people only did the bare essentials. Did I want to admit that I didn’t have any friends aside from Laura, who was also working, and that the one person I had wanted to be spending time with probably didn’t want anything to do with me?
‘I just think if I do all the hard yards now, it will only make it easier for me later, and then I can go have fun,’ I said.
Cassie looked at me like I was some kind of creature from outer space. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you, Lexie. You are wise beyond your years.’
‘Yeah, well, don’t tell my parents that, they’ll put it down to a life of home schooling.’
Cassie grimaced at the thought. ‘How are you not institutionalised?’ she asked, moving back to the bar.
It was an interesting question. Maybe I was, maybe this was why I was not going out into the big, bad, wild world and getting drunk on my weekends. Instead, here I was, studying for my job. Don’t worry, I knew how tragic I was. I looked down at my grubby attire. ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ I said, giving the glowing shelves one more look; tragic or not, those shelves looked shit hot.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maybe I had gone too far? By the third day of Dean’s absence with no word on when he’d be returning, my cleaning rampage kicked into a whole new level.
‘I can’t believe you are doing this,’ called Cassie from below as she held the ladder for me.
‘Relax,’ I said, trying not to think about how rickety the ladder felt underneath me. ‘I heard him say he was going to get rid of it anyway.’
Stepping up the last step I could manage without getting too dizzy, I came face to face with my foe: Hank the inflatable shark, suspended by fish netting from the ceiling in the bistro. I shook my head. ‘Dean, what were you thinking?’ I said to myself, trying to wrestle the limp beast out of its net.
‘I don’t know, Lexie, you got some big balls doing what you’re doing. I once moved Dean’s car keys and he flipped his shit. I don’t want to even think about what he might do if you rearrange furniture.’
‘Dusting, light bulbs and moving this monstrosity is hardly anything,’ I scoffed, finally freeing Hank, punching him to the floor like a beach ball.
‘Oh God.’ Cassie watched it float and sag to the ground. ‘Okay, but I know nothing about it, capisce?’
‘Don’t worry, it was all my doing.’
‘I mean it, Lexie, I didn’t so much as hold the ladder for you, right?’
I rolled my eyes. This was exactly what was wrong with this place – nobody challenged Dean. He could have them all dressed in hot pink tutus and they would say ‘Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir.’ Well, not me. I would do my job, absolutely, but if he was going to lose his shit over an inflatable shark then he could stick his inflatable shark right where the sun don’t –
‘What are you doing?’
I nearly fell off the ladder, not from shock but because Cassie had jumped, shifting the ladder as we both locked eyes on the figure that was standing in the doorway of the bistro.
‘Oh, hey, Sherry,’ called out Cassie rather nervously.
Sherry didn’t smile. She simply looked from Cassie up to me as if we had been caught with our hands in the till or something.
‘Where’s Dean?’ she asked.
‘He’s gone away for a few days,’ said Cassie, her eyes nervously shifting back to me.
‘Did he ask you to do this?’ demanded Sherry.
‘Well, umm, not exactly, we were just –’
‘No,’ I said very clearly as I made my way down the ladder. Reaching the floor I kind of wished I had stayed up there, giving myself the advantage of Sherry looking up at me. Now I was looking up at her. She was tall and thin, with a liking for black clothing. I guess working at the Wipe Out Bar had rubbed off on her personal attire. It suited her though. She had long black hair and dark eyes; she was basically everything I was not and the thought of Ballantine liking her made something inside me pang, but I quickly wiped the thought away. She wasn’t deliberately being intimidating, I think it was just her way. I had seen her smile at a good-natured joke and I had also seen her tear down a fully grown man with a raised eyebrow. As Cassie had quoted from Dean:
Huge shoes to fill.
Sherry looked over the scene as if what we had done was a big mistake, and it had me second-guessing everything. All of a sudden I wanted to grab Hank and climb back up the ladder.
‘Did you want something to drink, Sherry?’ Cassie asked, always the barmaid.
‘Thanks, Cass, but I’ve got to go,’ she said, turning her attention away from me. ‘Can you just get Dean to give me a call when he gets back?’
‘Sure, just on your mobile?’
‘Perfect,’ she smiled, something she didn’t do very often. ‘Good luck,’ she said, as her eyes lowered to Hank, before heading out the door.
‘Oh my God, Lexie, we are so dead. You saw her face. She thinks it’s a bad idea too.’
‘Oh, please, she always looks like that,’ I said, trying to convince Cassie and myself at the same time.
‘Why don’t we just put Hank back up and ask Dean when he gets back what he wants to do?’
Cassie begrudgingly grabbed a steak knife from the cutlery drawer. ‘Remember, I wasn’t here,’ she said, slapping the handle into the palm of my hand.
‘And if he loves it?’ I asked with a smirk.
‘He won’t,’ Cassie said grimly.
‘Guess we’ll find out,’ I said, beginning to, oh, so carefully, climb the ladder, as I clenched the knife in my teeth like Rambo.
‘Hurld herh sturdy,’ I said, before taking out the knife and starting to saw at the off-white net caked in dust and passive smoke from over the years. We moved the ladder from corner to corner until finally the last piece fell. Now there was absolutely no going back.
Chapter Thirty
Life was pretty good, I thought, as I brushed my teeth. Dean’s prolonged absence had me steaming ahead with the freedom to familiarise myself with the Wipe Out Bar. I rinsed and tapped my toothbrush against the sink all smug, thinking about the look on Dean’s face when he saw me at work next. He had been gone for a week now, and no-one had put out a missing persons report because as far as I could tell, he checked in with Cassie on the phone each night, the phone I wasn’t allowed to answer – pfft. Apparently he was tending to some ‘business’ in Pascoe and would be back soon. Okay, Mr Cryptic. I pulled out the elastic band from my braid, unfolding the strands and letting my hair pool loosely around my shoulders. The sensation felt glorious as I ran my fingers along my scalp, stifling a yawn. The week had passed by quickly, busy full days and tomorrow I started back at school. I was giddy with excitement about my first day of Year Twelve and had every intention of heading to bed early, as I leant into the mirror and took in the dark rings under my eyes. I paused, hearing voices. I stood silently, trying to gauge where they were coming from and I crept over to my bedside lamp, which was only a very short three steps away. I clicked the room into darkness, although it wasn’t really dark as a bright white security light shone in the alleyway, and that was where the voices were coming from. I edged my way to the window I couldn’t see out of.