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But I decide against all these things.
Because I’m going to find out what the fuck Sydney’s doing here. I’m going to find out who sent her, and just why she’s got Velma thinking she’s some battered wife in need of sympathy.
Who the fuck are you, Sydney? And what are you hiding?
6
SYDNEY
“Hey,you got a place to lay your head tonight?” Velma calls out.
It’s nearing the end of the night, and I’ve been on a roll—apparently, for a first night waitressing at the saloon, I’ve set a record. Most tables served. Most bikers pleased and charmed, supplied with as much beer and salty nuts as their hearts desired. All in as little time spent training as possible. I picked up what I was supposed to be doing and how on the fly.
I’ve worked enough bars and clubs to get it. I’ve served enough drunk, impatient, leering men to know what they want and like. The second I was turned loose on the floor, I knew what to do—slip into a role that oozes fun and sex.
All eyes were already on me as the only Black girl in the saloon. Curiosity hung in the air from the moment I stepped onto the bar floor. I combated it how I always do when put in uncertain situations—with a confident vibe to my walk, nobody could tell me shit.
I was not only the finest barmaid in the saloon in my low-cut top and denim cutoffs, I was the most competent. I memorized orders with an easy smile. I flirted when I caught one of the guys eying me, always in a playful but mysterious way. That left them curious.
By the end of the night, I had the bar wrapped around my little finger. Exactly as I hoped.
I’m delivering another round to a guy named Johnny and a few others when Velma asks me about my lodging.
I turn away from the table and pause as I think on my feet. Truthfully, I haven’t thought that far ahead. After the bus terminal, I went straight to the saloon. My purse and luggage are in the back room. In the back of my mind, I was hoping I’d get lucky enough to snag a room at one of the motels in town.
But something about the way Velma asks trips me up. I make my first mistake of the night, my brow wrinkling, my gaze diverting.
“I’ll figure something out,” I say.
“Don’t go being proud. You’ll stay with us if you don’t got anywhere else.” Velma sidles over, putting an arm around me and courting me away from the table I just served. “Listen, I know how it is. Starting over’s rough. I slept in the park a few nights. Before I met the Kings. I wouldn’t recommend it. Not the safest place to lay your head at night. We got your back.”
A twinge of guilt sprouts inside me. I quickly squash it when I remember why I’m here and what I have to do. None of these people deserve my loyalty no matter how nice and accommodating they seem to be.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“We’ve got the room. Finish cleaning up, then come to the house out back. I’ll set you up with a room.” The box-dye blonde moves to walk off, then doubles back. “You’re a real one, Syd. I can tell you are. I see some of myself in you. You’ve got that spunk to you. Listen to me, and you’ll go far here. Maybe… become an old lady. Damn sure some of the fellas have taken to you.”
I look around as she says this.
More than a couple of the guys around the bar are sneaking glances in my direction. Some outright watching… but not in a threatening way. In a way that’s openly lusty. Openlywanton.
My skin flushes as I turn back to Velma.
“Thanks,” I say. “I just might take you up on that room offer.”
It’s nearing three a.m., and a couple of the tables are still going. A King or two passes out in a corner of the saloon, in need of help getting up and sobering up. The ones still hell bent on drinking chug their beers and grow louder.
We stick it out for a while before we squash it. Mick, the head bartender, cuts the remaining guys off, and the handful of barmaids on shift begin cleanup.
Something else I’m familiar with after many years in my early 20s spent waitressing and bartending.
I’m fast and proficient, wiping down tables and stacking chairs. I stick tips down my tight crop top, purposely catching the eye of several Kings.
Sex appeal is my biggest weapon during my time here. I intend on using it every chance I get.
“Imagine picking up peanut shells.”
I go still at the shrill, snarky voice coming from behind. It’s female, and whoever it belongs towantsme to know I’ve heard her. I toss a quick glance over my shoulder.
