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I shake my head. “This bar’s bottom line hasn’t improved in years and I don’t need it to. I didn’t inherit this fine establishment from Gramps and its elite clientele,” I say, waving my arm toward Sleepy Ernie, passed out in a booth in the corner, “expecting to get rich.”
“Is he OK?” Dahlia asks, switching from a winning smile to genuine concern, leaning forward to get a better look at the man in the corner booth.
Nobody ever asks about Sleepy Ernie, but of course Dahlia does.
I wave in his direction. “He works a rotating shift at the plant, it fucks with your circadian rhythm. This is his after-work drink. He’ll wake up in an hour and I’ll have a donut for him, then he’ll shuffle home to sleep for real.”
Dahlia smiles at me with her mouth closed. That kind of knowing smile she gives with a rapid series of blinks. Her face is an emoji with heart eyes.
“What?” I ask.
She squeaks. “You do like people. You take care of Ernie.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
She continues, “And who said anything about getting rich? Come on, where’s your Halloween spirit?”
“I have plenty of Halloween spirit,” I say, flailing my arms, now losing my patience. “This is the only bar that hands out candy to the downtown trick or treaters, and I hand out full size Reeses. I don’t fuck around with fun size.”
Dahlia cocks her head and gives me big doe eyes. “I’m so glad you have a heart for kids. Because, in other news...” she bites her lip in hesitation.
Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have said all that. “Oh god. What now?” I ask, pausing my table polishing to face her, because I can’t believe she’s asking me for even more help.
“Well ... this brings me to my other scheme...”
I nod and cross my arms over my chest. “At least you admit it’s a scheme. Go on.”
Dahlia ignores my jab and goes on. “Since you’re so full of Halloween spirit then you should have no problem whatsoever filling in for Doctor Howard at the dunk tank in five minutes. He usually does it but he has an emergency appendectomy.”
I go from nodding to shaking my head in defiance. “No. No fucking way.”
Dahlia presses her palms together pleadingly. “Come on, Blake, the town is counting on you.”
I turn and continue wiping tables. “No, they count on Doctor Howard. Everybody loves him. Nobody is going to pay money to throw a baseball to dunk me,” I thump my chest with my towel-wrapped fist for emphasis, “into a tank full of water.”
The cackle that comes from her is so loud it’s uncalled for. “Plenty — and I mean plenty — of people would love to dunk you. And, it’s for charity.”
I rub the scruff on my chin. For what charity would I allow myself to be humiliated, not to mention risk hypothermia?
“How cold is the water?” I ask.
As soon as I say this I know I should not have. “What kind of a man asks that question?” she says, brows furrowed in disappointment.
Hm, I think. Not that her opinion of my manhood matters, but I won’t have my masculinity called into question. I stare her down with a look that usually sends dude’s nuts shrinking up into their body cavities. Dahlia, however, doesn’t seem fazed at all by me.
I scratch my fingertips through my scalp, sending my hair flopping to the side. “If you tell me it’s to raise money for the tourism bureau, you can forget it.”
She rolls back her shoulders in a huffy, prissy and adorable way. “As a matter of fact, it’s for the children’s library. As you know, the city overshot its budget with the construction of the new clock tower, and they had to hold off on renovations to the children’s wing of the library. A very generous anonymous donor will match whatever funds we raise to help renovate it.”
Well now she’s got me. Our little town’s library is in dire need of everything. And that stupid clock tower, in my personal opinion, was nothing but a boondoggle.
I slap my towel on a table and gruffly tell Kenny to take over for me.
“Fine. Show me where to go.”
