AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yeah, man. That’d be cool.” I give him my phone number and tell him to text me the details.
Step one of my plan is a success. Form a relationship with the target -Check.
Chapter Three
Thea
Ilook over my ironed straight hair one last time before flipping off the bathroom light switch, trying to ignore the stranger in the mirror. My round, gold-wire-framed glasses are already tucked away in my vanity, replaced by contacts.
My eyelids are shadowed and lined. My lips have a sheen of lipstick that feels foreign. My usual daily routine involves concealer and mascara, anything more than that seems unnecessary for a day in the library.
It didn’t used to be this way. During undergrad, I loved getting dressed up on weekends, and doing my hair and makeup in excess. But, that was before. Before it made me uncomfortable to draw attention to myself unnecessarily. Before my innocence was ripped away from me.
I bound down the creaking wooden stairs in my house, effectively dislodging the negative memories from my brain. At least for the moment.
My Victorian-era-inspired home, built more than one hundred years ago, has its disheveled quirks, but I love it. I’ve kept the original floors and gold light fixtures and darkened the walls to give it an old Gothic feel. I thrifted my furniture to make it feel authentic, and because it’s what I could afford.
I’ve spent the last year renovating small sections at a time as my paychecks allowed. I was doing well maintaining my finances, not wanting to go into debt from all the projects, until this last one.
My usual contractor was booked for a six-month job, and instead of waiting for him, I decided to hire someone else to update the main floor bathroom. As I stand here using the full-length mirror on the back of the door, I can tell there has been almost zero progress made. The sink is sitting on the floor and the toilet isn’t connected to anything.
The new “contractor” is already two weeks past his estimation date and giving me the runaround. He’s asked for more money twice already, and like a rookie, I paid him more.
The latest issue was that my plumbing wasn’t up to code and he’d need to replace pipes. I should’ve gotten a second opinion, but I was nervous it would make him quit the whole project on me. Now I’m regretting that.
I don’t know what to do to resolve the issue with my contractor, but I do know that I am getting behind on bills and I need cash quickly. Which brings me to my unusual (for me) outfit. Light brown cowboy boots, frayed jean shorts, and a black tank top with five embroidered suns right below the top seam. My uniform.
Against Latisha’s advice, I decided to pick up a couple of shifts at Sunny’s Bar downtown. The owner goes by Sunny, hence the golden thread stretching across my chest currently. He’s also a grandparent of one of the kids I read to and offered to let me work for him two nights a week to get tips. I’ve never technically been a bartender, but I worked for a catering service throughout college and was stuck filling drink orders on understaffed nights. Rowdy wedding guests aren’t all that different from rowdy bar guests on most occasions.
I step around the porcelain sink on my way out of the bathroom, hoping I can get through this reno and I’ll put a hold on all other projects until my normal guy is available. He’s never given me any issues, cut costs where he can to help me out, and always kind of reminded me of my dad before he passed.
Kyle is the complete opposite, young, inefficient, and always gives me the creeps. In his defense, most men give me the creeps. Luckily, he’s usually only here while I’m at work and I can avoid most interactions.
By the time I get downtown and into the swing of my bar duties, my thoughts of my ridiculous outfit and frustration with Kyle are quickly replaced with drink orders and keeping customers’ tabs straight.
The bar isn’t super wild, but it’s a hometown joint and stays busy because it’s the only one. There’s a small stage for musicians and a few tables scattered throughout. No dance floor, but there are two pool tables and two dart boards that keep customers occupied.
Tonight is a jukebox night, Sunny only brings live music in on Fridays and Saturdays. Picking up a Thursday shift after working at the library makes for a long day, but this gig is only temporary. I can handle it.
I’m bouncing from one side to the other behind the bar keeping up with drink orders, when a man squeezes in between two of the regulars occupying the bar stools.
“Hey little lady, I’ve got a big one for ya.” He raises his eyebrows in my direction to enunciate his attempt at a lewd joke. As if his wrinkled shirt and the stale odor of cigarette smoke wouldn’t be enough of a reason to be put off.
Luckily, I’ve become an expert at ignoring things like that, so I continue without acknowledging his “joke.”
“What can I get for you?” I ask with a straight face. He looks unimpressed that I didn’t even give him a fake laugh, but leans against the bar anyway to place his order.
The good thing about this job is that despite being put on display for far too many eyes, I hold the power in my position. No one wants to piss off the bartender.
“I need four tall Buds and four shots of J?ger. Actually, make it five shots.” He raises his hand, flexing his fingers to clarify as if that small change of his request would be too advanced for me.
“Where’s your table? I can bring them over once I get clean glasses. My bar-back is running ragged.” I don’t mention that my bar-back is Sunny, who is just old and slow.
“Over there.” The guy indicates over his shoulder to the corner where one of our tables sits out of the way of the main bar area. “Thanks, honey.” He taps the bar top with his knuckle and throws his credit card down to start a tab, winking at me before he turns to leave. Ick.
Almost five minutes later, my skin is still crawling from the interaction as I make my way to his table, walking slower than I probably need to because I’m not super confident that I won’t drop my tray. I’m used to carrying stacks of books, but not over my shoulder like this.
“Sorry guys, I tried to get these over to you as fast as I could,” I apologize as I sit the tray down on the table, pretending not to care that I’m no longer behind the safety of the bar. It’s for the tips. I need the tips.
