“I’m glad you feel that way. I must admit, I felt like a bit of a jackass just giving you my business card and asking you to call me. A real man would have pursued you.”
“I have no doubt you’re a real man,” I remarked coyly, dancing from foot to foot. Who was this person suddenly flirting with this stranger?
“And I have no doubt I won’t stop pursuing you after this. So, Friday night. That’s tomorrow. Why don’t we bump it up a day and I’ll see you tonight?”
I rubbed at my forehead. “Well, I work tonight. It’s actually my first shift.”
“You’re too pretty to work.”
“Yeah well, pretty doesn’t pay the bills.”
“I bet it could. And so where is this new job of yours?”
I sat down on the worn couch that came with the apartment. The whole thing had come furnished, and everything that was mine was still in my suitcases, afraid to become permanent.
“It’s at Hogan’s Heroes,” I said with a hint of embarrassment. “It’s just some bar downtown.”
“Ocean Springs?”
“Biloxi.”
“What were you doing in Ocean Springs the other day?” he asked. He sounded curious, not suspicious, but it didn’t stop me from nervously sliding my feet on the carpet.
“Checking out the area, that’s all.”
“Checking out the men?”
“That was lucky,” I said breezily.
“Very lucky. For both of us. When do you get off your shift?”
“I don’t know, I think it’s just from eight till close. But I don’t work tomorrow, so you know, I’d love to see you.” I realized how desperate I sounded so I added, “You know, if you still want to go out.” Man, I was so bad at this.
Another pause. He made an agreeable little sound.
“I do. And I will see you tomorrow. I’ve got your number now and you can bet I’ll be persistent. So good luck on your first day, Eden.”
“Thank you,” I said breathlessly, then hung up. My heart was racing and my blood was on fire. Adrenaline made everything feel alive. I was almost…giddy. But whether it was because I was one step closer to my goal or because I was talking to Javier himself, I didn’t know. All I did know was that I went into my bedroom and started unpacking my suitcase, hanging things in my new closets for the first time.
***
I’d worked as a waitress for a few months in Colorado once, at this small mom and pop-style Italian restaurant. I actually did do some bartending for them on the weekends, which meant I knew how to make some drinks, even though I was underage. Of course, my resume now said I had worked at a whole slew of places that didn’t exist, with Gus acting as a fake reference for when the time came. But Eden White got lucky with Hogan’s Heroes. It seemed all I needed to work there was br**sts, ass, and sass.
It was a bit intimidating at first. The other bartenders were wearing mini-skirts and stilettos, both things I could only dream of wearing because of my scarring and nerve damage in that leg, and they seemed to know everything. They poured their drinks fast and neat, knew the names of almost every customer, and handled the men’s ogling with ease.
Me, well I messed up a lot of the first drinks I got and did a silent prayer of thanks every time someone ordered something as easy as a beer or a glass of wine. My feet, clad in wedge boots, were sore after two hours and I kept blushing and stammering awkwardly whenever some rowdy man tried to hit on me. Yeah, I had been hit on a lot before, but there was a reason I avoided clubs and bars.
Thankfully, as the hours ticked past and last call was approaching, I sort of got the hang of things. The good thing about having the men lusting after you like a bunch of drunk idiots was that they never noticed if you messed up and put Smirnoff in their top shelf gin martini or skipped the Triple Sec in their margarita. They just wanted to get drunk and then they wanted you.
“Hey, sugar tits,” I heard someone slur from behind me while I was putting cash in the register.
I rolled my eyes and took in a deep breath. I turned around to see some slobbering, ruddy-faced douche in typical collegiate gear: a burgundy and white striped polo shirt, light jeans. His hair was blonde and spikey. His eyes were glazed, complimenting his jerk face.
He was leaning over the bar, waving his hand like he was trying to grab at me. It made me uncomfortable and I backed up till my back hit the register.
“Can I help you?” I asked, deciding to ignore the sugar tits comment. He had a few buddies beside him who were chugging back beers and laughing like morons. At the other end of the bar Julie and Deanne were busy helping customers. I eyed the clock on the far wall. Last call wouldn’t come soon enough.
“Yeah I want another drink and your number.”
“You’re not getting both,” I said quickly, remembering what the manager, Steve, had told me about cutting off people who were too drunk. Hogan’s Heroes attracted the rowdies from Thursday thru Sunday, but it was a still a respectable joint where lots of regulars came to relax after work. I was fully in my right to refuse him and was expected to do so if people got out of hand.
The guy’s face grew redder. “What? You can’t refuse me a drink!”
Now his buddies had stopped laughing and were looking at me with a dumb expression, which wasn’t too far from their usual one.
I glanced down the bar again but Julie and Deanne were still busy. I was going to have to handle this on my own.
“I didn’t say I was refusing you a drink. I’m refusing you my number.” I tried to hide the shaking in my voice. It was ridiculous how out of my element I felt. Conning, sure, sometimes I had nerves of steel. But bartending? Dealing with drunk dickheads? I was shaking like a leaf.
“Listen, bitch,” the guy said harshly, leaning even more now, his hand no longer reaching for me but for the bottles of alcohol underneath the bar. “Just because you’re new here doesn’t mean you’re too good for me. I’ve been coming here for years.”
I swallowed hard and straightened up. “And I’ve been here for a few hours. But guess what, now you’re not getting a drink, either. You’re cut off. Funny how that goes.”
“Aw, what?!” one of his douchey friends said, spilling beer onto the counter. “Way to go, Tom! You’ve pissed off our bartender.”