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“I love the way you handle these guys. Nobody’s ever taken you up on Vegas?”
I wipe down the bar to look busy. “Every once in a while, somebody does. I tell them to find a flight because I want to go tonight. Generally, the price tag of the same-day ticket to Vegas is more than enough for them to rethink their hastiness.”
“You don’t actually turn them down. You let them excuse themselves.”
I tuck the rag into my apron. “I mean, some of them I have to handle roughly. But most of them can be toyed with and there’s no big scene. I don’t like scenes. My boss definitely doesn’t like scenes. He always blames me if some guy gets mad when I refuse to give him a blow job in a bathroom stall.”
Gabe’s jaw tightens, and I know that look. He’s angry on my behalf. His fingers tighten on his glass until they’re white, but otherwise, he keeps it together. “And you like it here?”
A guy down the bar holds up his empty beer glass, and I give him a nod. “I didn’t say that. But it’s a job. The boss blaming me doesn’t come up that often because I know how to handle people here. Deep down, he appreciates that. Plus, I’m fast. And I’m good.”
I pull the beer and slide it down the bar to the man. Three seats from Gabe is Old Slim, who looks to be at least eighty years old but, in reality, is probably closer to fifty-five. He’s a regular. I’ve never had an ounce of trouble from him.
Slim rubs his thinning mop of gray curls. “You sure are talking to this guy a lot, Tillie. Are you sweet on him?”
I move near Gabe. “I might be.”
He nods. “About time you got yourself a feller.”
“Now, Slim, a girl doesn’t need a feller to be happy.”
Slim grips the beer he’s nursing. There’s only an inch left, and it’s bound to be warm. “That’s what two of my ex-wives said.”
Gabe and I exchange a glance.
“Draw one up for him on me,” Gabe says.
“Thank you, kindly,” Slim says.
I refresh Slim’s beer. It’s a typical crowd for a Friday night. Seventy percent men. A handful of couples. Very few single women. It’s not a safe place for them.
I really should find another bar. I’m sure there are plenty that would take someone as experienced as I am. Maybe a hotel, something classy where the tips are better and the pace a little slower.
I make my way back down to Gabe.
“You look lost in thought,” he says. “Tell me all about it.”
“I was thinking maybe I should apply around. Find another place. I could probably do better than this.”
“Hell yeah, you could,” Slim says.
I frown. I should keep quiet. I don’t need Slim accidentally blabbing to my boss that I’m looking elsewhere.
Gabe must think the same thing, because he changes the subject. “How far is the coffee shop?”
“It’s downtown. So a ways, but nothing crazy.”
“What time do you think we should get there?”
“As early as we can bear it. We don’t want to miss her.”
Gabe flips his phone over in his hand. He’s nervous now that we’re talking about Anita. “Mom says she posts her croissant picture around nine in the morning when she goes.”
“Does she post something every week?”
“No.” Gabe stares at the back of the bar, and I know he’s not really looking at anything. Just thinking. “But she’s done it enough that it’s a good shot.”
“And you’re prepared to go to the book club if not?”
