Page 1 of Serve Me

Chapter One: Alexa

Job sites are the middle man, and they only exist to make money.

Who actually goes on here, and gets the job that they apply for? There is no way companies really check it, because I would have had a job after four months of searching. I am sure they just have some obscure quota to fill; how many people make an account and upload their resume. I have signed up for all of them; Snag-a-Job, Indeed, Job Finder…. they are all worthless. Rent is going to be impossible to pay next month.

I had been doing odd jobs, bartending for pretentious folk at parties and galas with open bars. But the dress shirt and black slacks isn’t me. I want to work in a real bar, with some history and character. Specifically, O’Malley’s. But a bartender wanting to work there is like an editor wanting to work for Simon and Schuster, or a pre-med student wanting to go to John’s Hopkins.

The closest thing to impossible.

I put in my resume and application there a year ago. Just after I ran from…my past.

Anyway, they filled the job and that was all she wrote. So, I looked elsewhere, leaving my odd dream behind. It sounds odd, I am aware; but I just want to be a bartender. I like making drinks, talking about people’s day even if it is just to get a better tip. It probably has something to do with my childhood, but that is so far gone, it might as well have not happened.

I left my outdated laptop and moved into the living room for some trash television before I had to be at a job later. A frat party that paid upfront, threw a bunch of cash at me. I couldn’t turn it down. That would the hard part, possibly having to ID people. I never went to college, but I know how it feels to want to fit in and go with the crowd. If the cops bust us, I can just say they were wearing so much makeup and talking so much smart shit, I didn’t know they were underaged.

A frat like that probably paid them off already anyway. I lived in a college town, of sorts. If you lived there, you went to school there or worked at the university. Iowa City isn’t exactly a fly over, but it is a tight community in some ways.

At least I wouldn’t have to dress up. I lounged on the couch for a few more hours, I started getting ready around ten. Their thing started at midnight. I think it was homecoming or some shit, I wasn’t really listening after they told me two thousand dollars for the night, plus whatever bills got thrown at me. Millennials tip well.

I dressed in washed out, worn, ripped jeans, a bralette, and a loose white tank. Since my bralette was red, it looked nice, and my breasts filled it out well. My long blonde hair was unruly and unkind most days, so I just tossed it up into a bun. My makeup was dramatic and my Doc Martens were old. I put my cross-body purse on and started the walk over to their house.

It would take about fifteen minutes, and I always passed O’Malley’s on the way. There was a line out the door and I could hear the music and life in there from a block away. I crossed the street so I wouldn’t run in there and beg for a job, I wanted it that bad. The money would be good, the location is great and the business is booming. It would be good for me.

Minutes later I was at the house. Of course, it was a mansion, complete with a brick staircase walkway. It felt odd to knock. A young man opened the door; back when I was his age I would have thought he was cute. He had blonde hair and wore khakis and a polo. He smelled like a frat boy.

“Well hello, party doesn’t start till later.” He licked his lips in a way that made me shutter. Sure, I’m only twenty-five, probably only a few years older than him. But just then he looked like a child.

“I’m the bartender.” I answered, my voice short. His blue eyes widened as he nodded.

“Oh, come on in.” He stepped to the side and let me in. The large wood door slammed shut behind us.

The entryway was massive, with a double staircase. The far wall was adorned with plaques, I think from their frat history or something. We kept going through the living room, with black porn worthy leather couches, and reached the kitchen. It was open to a second living room, that was set up with party snacks and a beer pong table. But I knew the party would end up everywhere.

“This is what we’ve got.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. It opened the butler’s pantry.

Whoa. Their collection was worth thousands, and worthy of any bar. I wondered how they even got all of it. Jack, Patron, Skyy, so many brands and so many varieties.

“Awesome.” I managed.

“People will probably just ask for a bunch of shots though.” He shrugged and took the key off the ring, then tossed it to me. “Try and keep it shut though. Our enemy frats like to steal.”

I stifled a laugh. Enemy frats. Like they were political parties or something.

“Okay.” I took my bag off and he opened a cabinet for me, directing me to leave it there.

“You can use pretty much everything once you find it. Don’t worry, the maids keep it clean.” He winked. Then his eyes went back to my chest, and I sighed. I would probably be getting a lot of that tonight.

“Thanks.”

He shuffled around on his feet and looked me over, like he was working up the courage to ask me into the pantry for a quickie. It made bile rise in my throat but I ignored it and started pulling the glasses from the cabinet. Easy guess, they were right by the sink.

“I uh, have to finish setting up.” He finally left, whistling his own tune to himself.

I shuddered and kept working. I set up some glasses, but used the plastic cups they bought for everything else. I didn’t want all their glasses to end up broken. I wondered why they needed me anyway, most people like to make their own drinks. But then I remembered their liquor cabinet was worth nearly as much as a house.

People didn’t start filing in until twelve-thirty. After that it was a bustle of people of all ages and sizes. They were nicer than I thought they would be.

I didn’t leave until almost four in the morning, when their president gave me the cash. He was older, had darker hair, and didn’t look at me like meat. The thought of fooling around with him crossed my mind, but with my luck he would end up being underaged. I blamed it on my dry spell of a few months, I just needed to get laid.

I should have brought a jacket. I hugged myself on the walk home. O’Malley’s was open but it had quieted down. I walked on that side, and I was glad I did because I saw a scribbled ‘now hiring barkeeps’ sign taped to the front window.

My luck had just changed.

Chap

ter Two: Alexa

I slept until two in the afternoon. It was a Saturday, so I didn’t feel too bad about it. That and I was up very late. I wrote checks to pay all my bills and ate old Chinese fried rice. It didn’t satisfy me at all, but I had to get to the bar to put another application in. I might as well have dreamed about that hiring sign. I imagined it there a hundred times before, but I never thought it would be up again.

I wore jeans with no holes, and a respectable tee shirt. I let my hair down and wore comfortable sneakers for the walk. I was so nervous; I clutched the folder with my resume in it so tight it crinkled. There wasn’t much on it but proof of graduating high school and all the bars I had hopped around working for the past few years.

I was prepared to beg them not to put my resume in some obscure pile. I had to stand my ground and get the job. The sign had only just come up that night, so I knew I had to be of the first few to apply. But then I thought, what if they just choose someone else from a back list? It was very possible, especially if they needed the position filled quickly.

I reached the door and just hoped that I wasn’t too late.

It was four PM, so there weren’t many people, but the place wasn’t empty either. It had an old look to it, and it kind of felt like stepping into Ireland for real. All the tables were an old, worn wood. And there were a lot of them nicely placed. A room off to the left held billiards and such, and longer wooden tables. I looked back to the bar, on the right wall from the door. Behind the big, black wood bar was a wall of impressive alcohol collections. Most were Irish brands, of course, but they had all the common stuff as well. There were three people on the stools but no one behind the bar.

My spirits lifted slightly.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward, I wondered if I should have made an appointment. I had no idea where any of the employees were. Each time I was here I had only seen a bartender. I didn’t frequent because I didn’t really have friends and didn’t like going alone, but the women around always talked about how hot the owners were. Apparently, they were three guys, one of them still had an Irish accent, but I always thought that they were a myth.

I heard noise in the kitchen, and it seemed to be the best place to look since no one was out waiting tables. How did they do so well if they had virtually no staff? I shrugged it off and peered in the kitchen window, but couldn’t see anything. Hmm. I went around the other side to the wide window backed up to the billiard room, where people pick their food up. I guess that’s why there is no wait staff, I never ordered food here to figure that out.

From there though, I could see where the cook was. Though he looked nothing like a chef. His back was to me, and he had a shoulder piece on his right rear delt of a Celtic cross. It was very intricate, with lines and thorns that told a story. And the rest of him…goodness. His shoulders were broad, wide, and an imitation of boulders. I shook the course of heat from my body and got his attention.

“Excuse me?” I called out, hoping he would hear me over the noise. He seemed to be stirring some sort of broth.

He turned quickly, his bright blue eyes a contrast to his dark, cut hair. “Yeah?” He boomed, looking me over. His eyes left a trail of heat, and I knew he was checking me out.

“I saw your sign out front, I was hoping I could meet with the manager about the open bartender position.”

He licked his lips before he smirked. I swallowed a forming lump in my throat.

“Sure. Wait there.” He nodded and wiped his hands on a towel. He disappeared behind the back door.

I shifted on my feet and aimlessly watched the baseball game playing. There were five flat screens strategically placed on the walls.

“This is her?” A deeper voice appeared close behind me. I turned slowly, knowing he was talking about me. I turned just in time to see them exchange some silent wink and nod.

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