by Dale, Lindy
“Thanks,” Sam said, as he whisked the cutlery from the counter. With a wink at Alex, he disappeared to the front bar.
I was bewildered. He had winked at Alex. Where was my flash of smile? Who did he think he was? He hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself. Not that he needed to. We all knew who he was. Even after a week on the job, the gossip was rife. We watched him leave and I prised Alexandra’s fingers from my arm. I handed her an order book. There was no point in drooling. He had no interest in us. We were waitresses.
“It’s not just me, is it?” she asked, as I propelled her out into the sea of beer steins and schnitzels, “He is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, isn’t he?”
“He’s cute but he seems a bit smug. You know, up himself. He didn’t even talk to us.”
And that was my defence, feeble as it was. I ask you…what hope did I have?
Chapter 2
For the next couple of weeks I watched Sam with the eyes of a hawk, while pretending to do my work. I was mystified by the assumption everyone had that he was irresistible. Yes, he was hot and his charisma was enormous but from what I’d witnessed, so was his ego. He swanned around the place, flirting with customers and staff alike, basking in his own magnetism. He didn’t do one scrap of work. Yet, in the eyes of my colleagues, he could do no wrong.
During this time, I discovered two very important things. Firstly, and most distressingly, I was attracted to Sam’s cockiness. He was the exact opposite to the professional types I favoured under normal circumstances. He wasn’t stressed, depressed or overworked. In fact, he seemed excited about life. He was always smiling. He was also funny in a rude, sarcastic sort of way that showed his intelligence. And, despite the fact that he took the piss out of us on a daily basis, everyone still liked him. Secondly, in the space of three short weeks, Sam had transformed The Lederhosen into a cesspit of lust and desire. Women from all over the city had descended upon us just to have him pour them a beer. The cleavage I saw every shift was enough to fill a Victoria’s Secret catalogue and I appeared to be the only one who realised this. The revelation was no help at all.
Simultaneously attracted and revolted by his smugness, I delivered t-bone steaks to people who ordered Bratwurst, I poured pilsners to overflowing and, horror of horrors, I almost agreed to go out with Jason, the kitchen hand. Jason was a sad loser with greasy hair and pimples. He picked his nose when he thought people weren’t looking and wiped it under the kitchen bench. Sometimes, when a bench wasn’t handy, he ate his snot. No girl who regarded herself as sane would ever agree to go out with Jason. But I nearly had, and all the while, Sam continued to saunter in and out of the dining room for no reason I could fathom other than to amuse some small voice inside his head that told him it was time to give his adoring fans another fix. I hated him. His walk messed with my head. His smile made my knees wobble. I was so annoyed with myself. Where was the strong independent Millie?
*****
“What do you know about Sam?” I asked Dianne, during a quiet part of the Thursday evening shift. We were standing behind the bar stacking pint glasses, a duty I was now allowed to perform only under supervision since I had dropped a tray of them while looking at Sam’s bum.
Dianne didn’t bother to look away from her shelving. “Um, he’s single, from over East and is always talking on his mobile to someone called Gracie. He calls her ‘sweet cakes’.” She twitched inadvertently at the memory. “Oh, and he’s working his way around Australia. Why?”
“Just wondering…” I handed her another tower of glasses. How could he be working his way around Australia? I was positive prancing around like a model for GQ magazine didn’t count as work.
“He’s trying to break the all time ‘Shag around Australia’ record,” added Chantelle, plonking a tray of empties for the washer onto the bar.
“The what?” I paused, glass in hand.
“It’s a game he and his buddies devised. To be declared the winner he has to have enough female numbers on his mobile to clog up the sim card.”
“Oh my God.” I was traumatized. That did not sound like a game I wanted to be involved in, even if I had admitted to thinking his stubble was cute on a previous occasion. “How did you find that out?”
Chantelle raised her eyebrows at me and lowered her chin, waiting until Dianne bent under the counter. It was common knowledge Dianne had her sights set on Sam and as manager believed she had seniority. “My name’s on the list.”
I hoped that didn’t mean what I thought it did but, from the way she was smirking, I guessed it did. Satisfied I had all the ammunition I needed, I went back to my glasses. I had no interest in a man who played games like that. He was clearly not worth considering.
For weeks it went on. And on. And on. No one was immune from the charm of Sam. The barmaids were smitten. Desensitised from years of ridiculous come-ons by patrons, they were a hard bunch to crack but every time he chastised them for wasting company profits, all they could do was agree and giggle. Dianne, head of this gang, was the worst of all. She was pathetic. She undid the top button of her checked blouse and gushed like a giddy schoolgirl, leaving one of the regulars to ask, “Is that woman on something? She’s acting bloody weird lately.”
“Menopause,” I said. “She’s having the hot flushes.”
*****
“We can’t throw the baby out with the bathwater, you know,” Alex said, one night over a shared bowl of chips and gravy. We had been discussing the fact that Sam had been spotted helping old Lydia Jenkins down the stairs and into her car the previous evening, an act that appeared completely out of character. “I mean, what criminal was ever convicted on hearsay?”
“Lindy Chamberlain?”
“I don’t think a dingo eating your baby has a lot to do with this, do you? And that was thirty years ago, give or take.”
I supposed she had a point, I thought as I sucked the gravy from the end of my chip. Sam’s act could not have had any ulterior motive. He was simply being kind.
“Well, I still don’t like him.” I sighed, resigned and got up to take our bowl to the sink. No one else gave two hoots about what Sam was really like, as long as he wore those tight fitting t-shirts. Besides, Sam had no interest in me. It was widely acknowledged that he’d only said two words to me and neither of them constituted a sentence.
