by Lucy Kevin
She glanced over at the two men behind the bar. One looked to be about sixty, balding, with a large pot belly. The other couldn’t have been too much older than me and he had tattoos snaking up and down both of his arms.
“Kirk is in charge around here.”
“Which one’s Kirk?” I asked.
“The old guy. His bark is worse than his bite. You’ll win him over eventually.”
I swallowed hard. Great, another person I had to win over. First Lola and now Kirk. Why couldn’t I have gotten that damn Public Policy job my mother had been pushing on me? A bunch of nerds would have likely been easier to deal with than a psycho talk radio bitch and a more-than-a-little crazy old bartender.
Just so I knew what else I was up against, I asked, “What about the other guy?”
She smiled and her eyes got misty. “I have a feeling you’ll find out soon enough about Dillon.” After that cryptic statement she eased up out of the booth and wiped her hands off on her apron. “You can shadow me for a couple of hours until you get the hang of things.” I nodded. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the boys,” she said, walking towards the bar.
“Kirk, Dillon,” she called out across the room. “Come say hi to our new girl.”
Kirk turned around and looked me up and down for a very uncomfortable sixty seconds or so, while Dillon leaned against the back counter, wiping glasses with no expression on his face. “You know the difference between scotch and bourbon, girl?” Kirk asked.
I flushed and shook my head. “No sir,” I said, wondering where the sir had possibly come from. I couldn’t think of a single other time in my life that I had called someone sir.
He grunted, looking tired. “Come here then and get your education before you run us out of business.”
During the next half hour he must have pulled out a hundred different kinds of liquor, rattling off all of the different combinations and drinks that could be ordered with each one. My head was spinning.
While we played teacher-student, Dillon served the few customers that had already arrived for some early afternoon drinking and kept his distance.
Sensing that my input-to-understand ratio was diminishing, Kirk slapped his thick hand on the counter. “Go on and follow Sandy around for a while. I’ve got work to do.”
Somehow I kept the smile off of my face. I could tell that in his heart of hearts, Kirk had taken a liking to me. Maybe it was because I was such a quick drink study. Or maybe I reminded him of one of his kids or something. Whatever the reason, I was tremendously thankful. At least one of my jobs wouldn’t be fraught with constant drama. I would just take drink orders, serve customers, and pay my rent.
How much easier could things get?
*
For the next couple of weeks, heading off to the casino was a nice respite from being around Lola. At least when I was in the bar I didn’t feel like I was on the verge of being ambushed all of the time.
In some ways, waitressing was also a nice way to get my mind off of Steve. I couldn’t believe how much energy it took to be sexy and witty and clever during the three hours each day that I helped him with his show. Between Steve and Lola I was just plain exhausted by the time I got to the bar.
I usually perked up pretty fast, however, which might have been because, if I do say so myself, I was a pretty great cocktail waitress. I hardly ever got my orders wrong, and I must have looked pretty good in my outfit, because I often came home with outrageous tips. The money was so good, in fact, that Diane was seriously considering making the daily drive from Seattle to Harborside for some extra shopping cash.
I knew she’d never do it though, and thank god, because if the customers saw her, my tips would have dwindled down to dimes and nickels.
Diane hated anything that meant she’d actually have to work. At her current job, doing PR for a spa, she was the perfect advertisement to potential clients. Blond, shiny, and perfect. Plus, she got regular manicures and facials as part of her job.
In truth, she wasn’t looking for a career. She was looking for a lawyer, or doctor, or professional athlete to treat her in the manner to which she was accustomed. Namely, showering her with money and gifts and a lifetime of not having to go to some boring old nine to five job when she could have been shopping instead. No, I was certain Diane wouldn’t be joining me in the bar any time soon.
The day after my crazy night with Steve, Lola, and their secret love child, not to mention my awesome debut on XTRA, I was in another world. Off of my game in the bar, I narrowly missed spilling a rum and coke all over Dillon. I did, however, break the glass.
I looked up at him in alarm. Even after working with him for several weeks, I didn’t know one single thing about him. He was a complete and utter mystery.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
I was a little worried that this screw up might get me fired if he wasn’t the forgiving type. I started to reach for the shards of glass with my bare hands and lightning fast, he grabbed my hand and held it up in the air.
“Don’t touch that.”
He was squeezing my hand kind of hard, and I think I let out a cross between a whimper and gasp. I was reeling and not just because he had grabbed my hand without warning. There was something in his touch that was mesmerizing. Trying to swallow, I looked up at him and saw something in his eyes that I hadn’t expected to see.
He wanted me. As a woman.
Okay, first of all, I have to admit that I was pleased. Damn pleased. After the whole fiasco at the station with Steve and Lola and Max, and after how things had turned out with Kyle before that-or not turned out to be more exact, but let’s not get into that whole thing again-I was fighting off a bit of the “nobody loves me” blues.
Rather quickly, I was starting to realize that there was no better pick me up than being wanted by a member of the opposite sex.
But I was conflicted.
After all, hadn’t I just vowed that very morning to Diane and Seth that I was going to turn off all of my lustful urges? Cross my heart and hope to die, that was what I had said, no more men. Period. End of subject.
But then again, that was before this very interesting development. And surely, they wouldn’t want me to miss out on something so tantalizing, would they?
Especially, since, as Diane had so deftly put it, I was the closest one to sloughing off my virginity. Not that I was thinking about having sex with Dillon, mind you. Well, not very much, anyway. But I figured it wouldn’t kill me to keep my options open.
Wrong again, but how was I to know it?
The rest of the night, I made it a point to learn more about Dillon. The physical stuff was obvious. He had shoulder length dread locks and was pretty aloof with most people most of the time.
He had never struck me as being my type. Okay, he just flat out wasn’t my type. How could a guy with tattoos and dreadlocks possibly be my type when I grew up smack dab in boring, short haired, leafy treed suburbia? In the back of my mind it suddenly occurred to me that my mom would die, just up and croak, if I brought Dillon home to meet her.
A devious, evil-daughter smile crept across my face at the thought. Oh yes, suddenly I was willing to look a little deeper if necessary. A whole lot deeper, if I had to.
After all, I didn’t want to miss out on a potentially excellent relationship just because of some pre-conceived ideas I had about what my ideal guy looked like.
Just because my mother would have had a heart attack at the sight of him.
So what if Dillon was the anti-Fabio? I could roll with that. After all, I sure hadn’t gotten very far with my Mr. Perfect’s so far.
Not that Kyle had been all that perfect.
Or Steve, for that matter.
In any case, I had quickly learned that everyone who worked in the bar adored Dillon. The men all wanted to be him. The women all wanted to screw him. He was kind of like the big dog, the head of the pack that everyone follows around. He didn’t need to say much or do much, as the things he wante
d always materialized for him like magic.
The truth of the matter is I hadn’t understood Dillon’s powerful allure until the moment he touched me and pierced me with his gaze. As if a lightning bolt had hit me, now I did.
During a slow moment in the evening when several of the wait-staff were standing around the wait-station, I started to poke around in what I hoped was a charmingly inquisitive way.
Even though I know I have rarely, if ever, been thought of as charmingly inquisitive. More like the girl who asks the pain-in-the-ass questions.
“So, what’s Dillon’s deal?”
One of the girls chomped her gum really loud and snorted. “He’s got this fiancée and she is such a major bitch. I swear to god sometimes she comes in here and acts like she owns the place.”
I had never seen the fiancée before. I was definitely intrigued, but sadly to say for the content of my moral fiber, not the least put off by the fact that Dillon was already taken.
Sandy nodded. “Yeah. She’s pretty awful, that’s for sure.” She looked at me with more than a smidgen of surprise. “Why do you want to know?”
I shrugged. “He’s just such a mystery. I was wondering if he ever talks to anyone.”
Sandy laughed. “Get him high and he’ll talk. He’ll talk your ass off.”
This may sound really bad, but even though I had never done drugs before, and was, honestly, a little afraid of people who did them, all I knew is that the way he looked at me made me feel all tingly inside. I had never thought that tall, thin, and drugged out was my type, but I couldn’t deny there was something magical about Dillon.
If only I had known that “instant magic” is sorely overrated.
If only.
*
That evening I was on the air at XTRA in the midst of a riveting, “Can a girl ever have too many handbags, dresses, shoes, or underwear?” discussion, when I punched the button for line three and heard a very familiar voice.
“My little juice-box, it took me a while but I have found you again.”
Frankly, I was stunned to hear the familiar, ever so creepy voice.
“Jerry?”
“Yes cherry lips. It’s me.” he said, and I could tell how pleased he was that I recognized his voice.
I vowed to keep my shit together on the air. I’d save my freaking out for later, preferably with a bottle of Baileys and my two best friends to comfort me.
“You know what, Jerry? I really don’t want to know how you found me or even why you were searching for me. So you better make this quick before I go to the next caller.”
“Aren’t you even going to tell your listeners who I am, my crunchy dill cucumber?” he asked despondently.
I sighed. “Fine. Everyone, Jerry is what is commonly known as a stalker. And he’s got a really bad attitude and thinks all women are whores. Do I have it just about right, Jerry?” At least now if anything happened to me, the police could reference the tapes of my show.
“Yes. Thank you,” he said politely as if I had just announced his arrival at the ball.
“Your point, Jerry. Before I hang up,” I reminded him in a less-than-friendly manner.
“Oh, Georgia,” he sighed. “You are as much of a plump, fruity strawberry as ever.”
“Uh huh. I’m counting down here, I’m not kidding. You have ten seconds to spit whatever you’ve got to say out.”
He cleared his throat. “I woke up this morning and realized that when all females finally accept that they are dirty, very dirty, girls, we will have world peace. Especially you, my sour lemon bar.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny.” I was not feeling up to playing along with his sick-o antics tonight, ratings or no ratings.
“I would never joke about something that pains me so much.”
“That’s it. You’re out of here.” I hung up on him. “Sorry about that little interruption. I think it’s time for a commercial and then we’ll get back to our original topic.”
But even after I welcomed everyone back to Seattle Girl after the commercial break, my listeners couldn’t get over what Jerry had said. I have to hand it to him; he really knew how to push people’s buttons.
In fact, I was starting to wonder if he should get his own show. You know, sort of like a cross between Howard Stern and the guy from Silence of the Lambs.
Even though Jerry had tracked me all the way out to XTRA in Harborside–which really wasn’t all that much of a leap from University of Washington, so I wasn’t that impressed with his tracking skills – the more I thought about it, the less I felt like I had anything to fear from him. He was just a weirdo who wanted some air-time like the rest of us.
And that was something I, for one, could certainly understand.
*
By the next morning, I had finally managed to push all thoughts of creepy Jerry from my mind, and when Diane, Seth and I met for mocha’s I told them all about my new crush.
Seth pursed his mouth as if he had just accidentally bit into a lemon. “Let me get this straight, my darling. First, you tell us that you are swearing off men.” Imitating me, he put on a silly falsetto. “Listen up people! I am done with men forever! And ever!” Diane and I giggled. “And now, you have already given in to the pull of your nasty little sex drive. Do I have it about right?”
I gave Seth my toothiest grin. “Yup. Exactly.”
Diane clapped her perfectly manicured hands together. “Your love life is so exciting, Georgia.” Then she frowned ever so slightly. “But how am I ever going to meet anyone? There isn’t one single guy at the spa that isn’t gay and the only people who come in for treatments are bitchy rich women.”
“What about becoming a lesbian?” I suggested in my most helpful voice.
Diane rolled her eyes. “I just don’t think I have that gene.”
Seth made a face. “Me neither. Blech.”
“Maybe you could meet one of their bitchy rich sons,” I suggested somewhat facetiously.
Her face lit up. “You know what. You’re right. There’s got to be a filthy rich investment banker son lurking around somewhere. I’ll get straight to work on it.”
I smiled, certain that Diane would do exactly that. In a way I pitied the poor women who were coming into the spa, thinking they were in for nothing more than wax and rip torture, having no idea that vulture Diane was going to pick their beloved little boys right from the marrow in their bones.
Diane poked me with one magenta nail. “But back to you and your bartender. Is he hot?”
I thought for a minute and nodded. “He kind of looks like a hot, big-lipped rocker.”
“Hell,” she said. “I say go for it.”
Seth nodded, then added, “Just be sure to use a condom, girl. You don’t want to catch anything from him.”
I blinked a couple of times at the thought of catching something from Dillon. Damn, I hadn’t even thought of that.
I couldn’t help but feel like my innocence was slipping off of me in sheets recently. I was trying to pretend it was a good thing – especially since my friends were cheering me on so heartily - but deep down, the whole thing was scaring me half to death.
*
When Diane and I walked into our apartment later that evening, there was a message from my mother waiting.
“Georgia, this is your mother.”
She always said it in that same tight little voice that made it sound like I was in a hell of a lot of trouble for something that I would soon find out about.
“Your father and I would like to talk to you.”
Diane shuddered. “Good luck,” she said, closing her bedroom door behind her.
Sighing, I plopped down on the couch and dialed the house. “Hi Dad,” I said. “Mom said you wanted to talk to me.”
I knew he was nervous about something because he immediately started clearing his throat. “Uh, yes, here she is.”
God I hated how my heart started racing whenever I had to deal with my mother. Was I ever going to grow out of this?
“Georgia,” she said in her sternest voice, “I have a question to ask you.”
Uh oh. This wasn’t going to be good. I could feel it in my bones. “Uh huh?”
“Uh huh is not proper English,” she scolded.
“What is it?” I asked, wishing she would just get to it already.
“I called the radio station this afternoon to speak with you and they told me that you are working at…”
I almost laughed out loud. So, they had finally found out where their sheltered little girl was earning rent money. Well it served them right for being so non-supportive of my radio internship, didn’t it?
“A casino?” I finished for her, feeling suddenly gleeful.
I heard her gulp loudly across the phone lines. “And that you are actually working as a…”
“Cocktail waitress?”
“How could you?” she accused. “Do you think your father and I raised you to dress like a tramp and serve good for nothing drunks?”
Well, when she put it that way, I could almost see her point. Not that I would ever let her know that, of course. Putting on my best insouciant voice, I said, “I had to make rent money somehow.”
“Enough of this nonsense,” she said. “You’re going to quit that job and your father will pay your rent.”
“Really?” I said, tempted to take her up on it. How much easier would my life be if I didn’t have to work back to back jobs? How much would I love to burn my polyester uniform and never have to serve whisky on the rocks ever again?
But then it hit me. If I quit my job at the casino, I’d never see Dillon again.
And even though it probably would have been wiser, so much wiser to do just that, I was hopelessly ensnared.
“I can’t let my boss down,” I said.
My mother snorted. “They’ll find a replacement soon enough. How hard can it be to serve drinks?”
The truth was I really didn’t want to be a huge disappointment to my parents. But I also didn’t want to let them make every decision for me for the rest of my life.
Which I was sure my mother would most happily do, and before I knew it I’d have an arranged marriage to some nerdoid guy from my father’s office.
