Ruby Tuesday

by Limey Lady

  Two, maybe three weeks of hard work, healthy living and not even masturbating . . .

  Well, maybe she had set herself a tough task, but she was sure she could do it.

  Giving up smoking was another on her list. It was a cheat given that she didn’t smoke (the odd joint or two apart), but going in smoky bars probably put her passively on twenty or more a day. Would a couple of weeks in a musty old library restore her lungs?

  Too right it would. By January she was going to be radiating well-being and more than ready for five days cohabiting with Sand. Filled with the best of intentions, she waved off her latest lovers and, glad at heart, prepared to be good as gold.

  And, at first, she succeeded.

  Well, aside from the odd jill or two, she did.

  In the event she lasted almost a week; a week in which she revised her entire first term until she knew everything inside out, back-to-front and upside down. In fact she felt able to lecture her lecturers. The second term was next on her list; she had the syllabus, so she knew what to research.

  But it was after eleven, almost lunchtime. It would be daft to kick off with the new stuff at that moment. She’d only have to re-read after she got back from the refectory.

  Assuming she went to the refectory.

  Sitting in the Thursday morning peace of the library, Angie suddenly had a mental image of Gloria’s biceps fetchingly flexing as she pulled a pint of Marston’s. Then the little red devil on her left shoulder whispered into her ear.

  ‘One pint and a baguette can’t hurt, can it? Cheese and tomato are both good for you, and the bread’s high quality. I bet one pint and a baguette has far less calories than a refectory dinner.’

  ‘No,’ Angie murmured.

  ‘But don’t you want to? Don’t you feel even the slightest, healthiest urge?’

  ‘No,’ Angie fibbed.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the devil persisted. ‘Go on, you know you want to . . .’

  *****

  Angie thought about Gloria as she walked across the campus. They hadn’t got beyond flirting as yet, mostly because of Angie’s hectic sex life elsewhere. By then Ruby had become another regular lover, along with Madhu, Sarah-Jayne, Billie, Charlie and Dani. Not forgetting a few “one night stands” which insisted on recurring.

  And recurring and recurring . . .

  They were all gone now, though. Gloria’s coast was clear. And didn’t Gloria have Thursday evenings off?

  Angie was sure that she did. She was also sure that a little renewed flirting could tip the scales.

  A night out with Gloria, culminating in kisses and clinches; what a glorious image!

  Bugger resolutions. If she was going to break one she might as well break them all.

  *****

  Almost a week since Angie’s last visit and the Union Bar hadn’t changed. Well, not much. It was short on customers but then again, the place had only just opened for the day. Pausing in the doorway, she took in the drinking clientele.

  Six people in Lesbian’s Corner: four guys around a table and two girls holding hands. The guys were in their thirties, probably attendees of one of the multitude of year-round courses. Discounting them as of no interest, she looked at the girls.

  Drat, it was Fiona and Molly; two post-grad students who were very much in love. They were in LGBT but not, as far as Angie was aware, the Lesbian Society. And they were as good as inseparable. She had never yet seen them apart and was as good as certain they lived together.

  Put bluntly, they were two very attractive lezzies who were definitely not on the market.

  Sighing wistfully, Angie looked elsewhere. There was one spotty-faced geek playing Pac-Man; all the other video machines were currently vacant. The pool table was occupied by one guy playing himself, right hand versus left. Judging by the number of stripes his left hand was winning. Judging by his face he wasn’t pleased about the way the balls were breaking.

  The only other customer was a twenty-ish girl, practicing darts. Angie had noticed her before and had her suspicions. Practicing, the girl’s darts were always in or around the trebles; if playing an opponent, they went just anywhere. Open to challenges from either sex, she’d win a game, lose a game. Offered a game for a bet, she’d always narrowly win.

  Angie knew a hustler when she saw one. That girl probably won six pints and at least a tenner every night. And she was in the Union every night without fail.

  Humming along to Gimme All Your Lovin’, Angie approached the bar and scowled. There was no sign of Gloria. Indeed there was no sign of anyone, not even Joe.

  She looked back towards Lesbian’s Corner and sighed again. Fiona was blonde and very, very pretty with a dynamite body but seemingly no tits at all. She was also very girly and, unlike the vast majority of students, always wore a dress or a skirt. Today she was in a short powder blue dress, exposing her long smooth legs.

  Molly, by contrast, was always in denims and sweatshirts or Ts. Dark-haired and curly, she was of a similar build to Angie and as buxom as any girl could ever reasonably expect to be. In Angie’s opinion she was handsome rather than pretty. That is to say he was handsome in a vaguely masculine way. It would be easy to stereotype her as butch and Fiona as femme.

  Yet Molly was drinking a titchy glass of wine while Fiona was on pints.

  Angie shook her head. She was still struggling with the need to categorize lesbians. Personally, she liked girls, full stop. Stereotyped or not, she’d fuck with either of those two at the drop of a hat.

  She scowled again as she realized other girls probably stereotyped her. In opening encounters she’d never yet made the very first move. Did that make her some sort of femme?

  Mentally she recorded another resolution: Be more assertive; don’t be afraid of getting turned down.

  Addendum: Make the next opening move last longer than ten minutes.

  Or maybe not!

  She laughed at her own wantonness.

  And still the paying customers were untended. Composing herself, Angie coughed politely.

  ‘All right, all right,’ a familiar voice called from the kitchen. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

  Sure enough, sixty seconds later Joe was banging down a tray of baguettes on the shelf at the back of the bar.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it’s you.’

  ‘Little me,’ Angie agreed. ‘I’ve forgotten what I came in for. Maybe it was my Long Service medal.’

  ‘Ho, ho.’ Joe tossed her a baguette and reached for a pint glass.

  Angie frowned as she watched him pull her beer. Joe was usually unflappable. Today he was ragged around the edges. He hadn’t put the usual sticker on her cling-filmed sandwich; it was actually cheese and tomato, but it could have been beef or ham or just about anything. And, most concerning of all, he hadn’t spared her tits as much as a glance.

  Leaning over the bar, ensuring her chest was unmissable, she asked him what the matter was.

  ‘Gloria’s broken her leg,’ he replied.

  ‘Please don’t tell me she fell off a beer barrel.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing, Joe. Forget I said it. What really happened?’

  ‘She went over on her ankle going down the stairs out there.’ Joe pointed in the general direction of the lifts and stairways.

  ‘Omigod, that sounds like a compensation nightmare.’

  ‘Luckily that’s the University’s nightmare, not mine. As it is I thank God it didn’t happen in here and on my watch. I’m not involved in the legalities; all I have to do is get along without her.’

  ‘What about the rest of your staff?’

  ‘They’re all students, home for the holidays. Meaning home nowhere near here. Ricky will be back the week after next. In the meantime I’m faced with another twelve fourteen-hour days.’

  ‘You’ll kill yourself,’ said Angie, surprised by her sincerity.

  ‘I’m feeling it already,’ Joe admitted.

  ‘And there’s no prospect of an early return for Gloria?
’

  ‘She says she wants to come back on Monday, but her sick note’s for six weeks. And she’s got one of those big boot things on, immobilizing everything from the knee down. Apparently she’s only broken a small bone, but it’s an important one.’

  ‘Still, if she wants to come back . . .’

  ‘No way is she coming back until the doctors say she’s fit. Health and Safety aside, if the University ever found out she was claiming on their insurance and working on the side . . . Well, I don’t know what they would do, but it wouldn’t be anything nice.’

  Angie thought of her resolutions. Then she thought of Joe keeling over after yet another fourteen-hour day.

  Nope, that was not allowed to happen.

  ‘Never fear,’ she said, ‘Angie’s here.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘Thanks for offering,’ said Joe, obviously doing his best not to be condescending. ‘But I haven’t time to train you up. I’m expecting a rush any minute.’

  ‘Who needs training?’ Angie countered. ‘I worked in a big pub all of last summer.’

  Joe heard where she’d worked and didn’t look particularly convinced. ‘That chain doesn’t have proper pubs,’ he said, ‘what did they have you doing, waitressing?’

  He stressed “waitressing”, making it sound lower than “streetwalking” or playing for Leeds United.

  ‘I was full-time and I did everything,’ Angie told him, trying to be positive rather than aggressive. ‘Yes, I did waitressing. I can also meet and greet. I can collect glasses and I can control a massive room full of screaming brats. But most importantly at this moment, I can pull pints like there’s no tomorrow.’

  Joe gestured for her to come behind the bar, a small ray of hope in his eye. Angie reached for a glass and, hoping her biceps were as fetching as Gloria’s, swiftly and efficiently pulled a Marston’s.

  ‘There,’ she said proudly, ‘I hardly recycled a trickle.’

  They both watched the magic, mystic swirl of settling beer as the brown liquid moved inevitably closer and closer towards perfection.

  Joe sighed loudly. ‘My hero,’ he said. ‘No, you’re my saviour. Can I please have your babies?’

  ‘I might oblige if I ever turn,’ said Angie, grinning. ‘In the meantime you’re in need and I’m willing and able. Do I get the job?’

  ‘You bet you do. Look, go drink your drinks and eat your sandwich. I reckon the rush is fifteen minutes away. Let’s cope with it and then discuss terms.’

  ‘Drinks,’ Angie echoed.

  ‘You can have the one you just pulled; it’s on me.’

  Angie laughed. ‘I think I’m going to like working with you.’

  *****

  Angie’s baguette and first pint lasted perhaps five minutes.

  ‘Where’s the rush?’ she asked Joe.

  ‘It’ll be here,’ he said confidently. Then, after checking the clock: ‘Five past twelve; that’s when it’ll kick off.

  ‘I’ll join you just after twelve then.’

  ‘That sounds good to me.’

  There were ten more minutes to kill. Acting on impulse (aware Joe had relaxed enough to be looking at her tits again) Angie strolled over to the female darts hustler, sipping her second beer as she went.

  ‘I’m Angie,’ she began boldly, ‘fancy a quick game?’

  ‘I’m Eileen,’ said the hustler, ‘I’m game for anything.’

  Angie rather doubted that claim. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to borrow your darts,’ she said. ‘I seem to have left mine at home.’

  That was a bare-faced lie. She could play darts but hadn’t ever bought a set. Even so, she could see Eileen’s were made of tungsten and state-of-the-art. The puny, publically-available blunt, plastic-tailed arrows on the ledge beneath the scoreboard were pathetic in comparison.

  ‘Have three for free,’ the hustler invited.

  Angie threw an eighty, surprising herself. ‘Nearest bull,’ she suggested.

  That first game went much as expected. Angie probably averaged forty-five. Eileen made sure that she averaged maybe forty and deliberately missed three doubles before letting Angie win.

  ‘Play you for a pint,’ she said, grinning appealingly.

  ‘I’m the new bar staff,’ Angie replied. ‘I need to be serving beer.’

  ‘Surely you can spare time for a quick 501?’

  ‘I’ll play you again anon,’ said Angie. ‘But not for a beer.’

  ‘Prefer to play for cash, do you?’

  ‘No, I have rules of my own. ‘Holding Eileen’s gaze, she continued: ‘If you win, you get to fuck me. If I win, I get to fuck you.’

  Eileen had beautiful red hair. Suddenly she had startling red cheeks to match. All of her hustler’s calm had vamoosed.

  ‘I’m straight,’ she said.

  ‘Makes it an even better bet,’ Angie countered. ‘In fact for me it makes it win-win.’

  Eileen waited a beat then laughed. ‘Coming from anyone else I’d believe you meant it.’

  ‘Oh I mean it all right.’ Angie handed the girl back her expensive darts.

  Eileen looked at her feet. ‘It’s not as if I’m not tempted . . .’

  Be more assertive, Angie’s brain cried, don’t be afraid of getting turned down.

  ‘You don’t have to decide here and now,’ she said aloud. ‘Think about it and let me know.’

  She could feel the hustler’s eyes on her all the way to the jukebox. Running down the selections, she soon found what she was looking for. A twenty pence piece and it was in the queue, somewhere after Should I Stay or Should I Go.

  Strutting her stuff, still feeling those eyes on her, she went back behind the bar, a split second before a swarm of thirsty, mostly male customers charged into the Union.

  ‘Angie to the rescue,’ she said, joining Joe beside the pumps.

  ‘Beer, beer, beer,’ ten lusty voices responded.

  And, perfectly timed, Dexys Midnight Runners came on the juke.

  Angie’s eyes flashed to the row of dartboards.

  Eileen obviously recognized the opening to the song. She turned and met Angie’s eyes, smiling.

  The lead singer began by appealing to poor old Johnny Ray.

  Angie grinned at Eileen.

  “Come on Eileen,’ the lead singer went on, ‘I swear what he means . . .”

  Eileen nodded in response.

  She wasn’t coming on . . . not just yet . . . but she would.

  Oh yes, she would, without a doubt.

  *****

  But first Angie got encouragement from a completely unexpected direction. Approaching the bar on her own, Molly gave her a wide, appreciative smile. ‘My, my,’ she said, deliberately letting her eyes slide from Angie’s face and lingering on her breasts before returning. ‘The quality of bar staff is well on the up.’

  Angie hadn’t previously exchanged as much as a word with Molly. But she wasn’t about to wimp.

  ‘I could say the same for the quality of customer,’ she retorted. ‘And by the way, has surgery been involved?’

  Molly hesitated at that. ‘Go on,’ she eventually prompted.

  ‘I thought you and Fiona were joined at the hip. I’ve never seen you more than five yards apart. Not until now. You even go to the toilet together, don’t you?’

  ‘It probably is a first,’ said Molly, laughing as if Angie had told the world’s funniest joke, ‘and I’m going to be sticking to her closer than ever. She talks about you in bed, you know; big crush or what!’

  Given the choice, Angie would have chosen Fiona. Given the circumstances, she laughed along with Molly. ‘I’d like to know what she says about me,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, well don’t hold your breath. I’m not a total snitch.’

  And that was that. Well, apart from Fiona making mild, almost obscure innuendos when she came to the bar to buy the next round.

  Hmmm, interesting or what?

  Mild flirting aside, time flew by in the best possible way. And it didn’t
take long for Angie to appreciate how on the ball Joe was with his business. Maybe her “chain pub” hadn’t been so readily predictable, but Joe knew his customers better than anyone. By half past three, exactly as he’d predicted, the rush was over.