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Annie
The bartender’s name is James. He’s forty-four, part owner of the pub, divorced, and has two children aged fourteen and sixteen. He lives in the apartment above the pub and drives to Kingscliff a few times a week to see his kids. During the five afternoons I’ve been eating here, always before five thirty, he’s also become my only friend in this city. Though I’m not sure he sees me the same way. I’m that annoying patron who comes for the special and drinks the free tap water available on the counter.
I have my map of the city open next to my empty plate, crossing off two galleries I visited today whose staff had never heard of Bridget Wilson. I’m quickly running out of art-related establishments. I’ve even phoned every university and TAFE within one hundred kilometres of Brisbane.
James wanders over and leans on the bar, running his eyes over the map. He points to a spot a few blocks back from the river. ‘Have you tried the Queensland Art Society?’
‘It’s not on the map.’
‘It’s hardly a landmark but worth checking out.’
I mark the spot and make a note to go there tomorrow. ‘Thanks.’
I’ve also been calling shops asking about casual work, but no one wants to employ someone living in a hostel, and I don’t blame them.
James places a fresh cup of coffee in front of me. ‘This one’s on the house.’
I push it away. ‘No, you don’t have to do that. I already had one.’
‘Well, I can’t put it back in the pot, so unless you want to see it go down the sink, drink.’
I exhale, a little embarrassed. ‘I could wipe the tables down for you if you like. Work off my debt,’ I joke.
He looks over at me. ‘If you’re looking for work, I could find you something to do around here.’
I sit a little straighter on my stool. ‘But I don’t have any experience in hospitality.’
‘You just said you can wipe tables.’
‘Not well, according to my mum.’
He laughs. It’s a friendly sound that makes me warm to him even more. ‘Well, you’d have to learn on the job, then.’
‘If you’re serious, I’m up for anything you have the patience to teach me.’
He leans his weight on the bar and frowns in my direction. ‘It’ll be a lot of not very fun work initially. Dishes, toilets.’
‘I’ve been known to excel at things that aren’t very fun.’
He chuckles. ‘That right? Can you be here midday Monday for a trial?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He nods. ‘Good. It’s a nice quiet day to learn.’
I slide off the stool and fold up the map. ‘I’ll be here at twelve.’
‘Black pants and shoes you won’t tire in. I’ll have a T-shirt for you.’
This is the first thing to fall into place since I left, the smallest seed of hope. ‘Thank you.’
He goes to serve a customer at the other end of the bar, and I leave, heading straight to Kmart. I buy some black pants and manage to find a pair of shoes my size in the clearance section. I’m work-ready for less than twelve dollars.
The following morning, I throw down some cereal before heading off. It’s a fifteen-minute walk to the Queensland Arts Society, and the building is still closed when I arrive. McDonald’s is across the road, so I head there because it’s the cheapest place to buy coffee. I sit by the window and drink two cups while watching the other side of the road.
A few minutes before nine, a middle-aged woman arrives with keys to unlock the door. I’m off my chair and jogging across the road before she makes it inside.
‘Excuse me!’ I call to her.
