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“Okay, let’s face the facts, Lara. You go through jobs like I go through relationships. None of this is new for you. Why are you so upset?” He chews on his lip, and I recognize the look. He’s expectant, waiting for my revelation moment where I puff up my chest, regain my perspective, pick myself up, and take charge with the optimism he’s used to seeing in me.
I don’t tell him I’ve faked this optimism for as long as I’ve known him. When I continue to pout, he sighs.
“Well, at least tell me more about what this boss looks like. The sex was good, wasn’t it?”
I haven’t told him yet that my boss is Jamie Albrecht, the god Gary was in love with in high school until that fucked up night. I want to tell him everything. He’s like my best girlfriend, but I’m not sure why I can’t tell him it’s Jamie. Probably because he’d just tell me what I already know, that working for Jamie is a terrible idea.
“Sex is beside the point.”
Gary rolls his eyes. “Oh, honey, sex is never beside the point. Itisthe point.”
I sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you know what I think?”
“What?”
Gary tips his glass and finishes his drink. “I think you still want to work there.”
He knows me too well. Better than I know myself.
“And I think you’re scared,” he continues.
Jesus, Gary is annoyingly blunt sometimes. But he’s right. I should probably find a therapist to unravel these mysteries. I lean back and fold my arms across my chest. “What would I be scared of?”
“Well, think about it. You have commitment issues.”
I burst out laughing, then follow it with a frown just as quickly. “I do not.”
“You do.” His nod is firm as he stares straight at me. “Badly. Look how you are with dating apps.”
“Okay, that is so different.”
“Too tall. Too short. He’s wearing a suit. He’s a ginger. He likes cats.”
“Okay, that one’s not fair. No guy should have their cat photoshopped into every single selfie. That’s just weird.”
Gary deepens his gaze as he looks me squarely in the eyes. “My point being… you look for outs. I get it. When your creepy troll boss at the auto parts place hits on you, that’s too much. But this. You have an opportunity for regular sex with a really hot guy, and an actual job, like one that probably has benefits. It could be a career.”
“Well, we wouldn’t have sex anymore if I took the job.”
He gasps. “You’ve actually given this some thought.”
“No. I mean… maybe. A little.” I throw my hands up as I lean back on the barstool, nearly falling off the edge. “I don’t know.”
“Well, if you’re not fired for skipping out of your shift tonight, I say go back in tomorrow and see how you feel.”
My drink is empty, the ice cubes melting. “The only thing I’m going to be tomorrow is hungover.”
But Gary is right. My fear has controlled too many decisions in of my life.
As I chug down a glass of water, I make up my mind. For once in my life, I’m not going to let fear stop me from the potential to do something great for my life.
Jamie
The Sunday brunch crowd at Eden’s is not only the rowdiest, but the most amusing. There’s usually three types of men. The kind straight from church. The ones still drunk from Saturday night. And the ones who are on the hunt to get laid but are too chicken to let people know it. For whatever reason, Sunday has the highest percentage of female guests–as if the daylight validates their appetite for those things they can only find at a gentleman’s club.
I usually enjoy these crowds. Not only are they more laid back, but the tips roll in heavier. Probably because the crowd’s sense of charity for ‘those poor girls’ redeems their sins. But no matter the reasons, the dancers who do Sunday brunch are usually in a better mood. For some reason, today I’m just not feeling it.
