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It is nearing eight o’clock, the time Alana says things start hopping. When I reenter the bar, I find her stocking the liquor shelf with glasses, and bottles of tequila, and whiskey.
“You look great in dark hair.” She reaches up and tucks a stray hair back into the wig she loaned me. Hell, the whole outfit is borrowed. Everything from the siren red lipstick down to the pretty little heels that pinch my toes are hers. She supplied everything, even the job. “How’d you get all your hair into that wig?”
“Apparently, I didn’t.” I run my fingers around the netted edge to make sure there are no other escapees. “But what I did get into the cap is held up with a dozen or so bobby pins that are digging into my scalp. Maybe I should cut my hair?”
She gasps, “Don’t ever say that. You’re like Samson with that hair. Cutting it off would ruin your luck.”
“You’re right.” I shake my head and laugh. “Without bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”
She plops her round tray on the bar in front of me. “I need two light beers and three shots of Jack.” She grabs a wad of napkins and stocks her tray. “Are you going be okay tonight?”
Beer and shots are easy, it’s the mixed drinks I worry about. I studied a bartender’s guide all week to learn the most commonly requested drinks, and since this is a forty’s themed bar, I studied up on cocktails like the Sidecar and the Manhattan—favorites from that era. “I got it, and if I don’t, I’ll use this.” I pull my phone from the side pocket of the ridiculous red polka dot dress. “Did you know there’s a mixology app?”
Alana shrugs. “Doesn’t surprise me. There seems to be an app for everything.”
“If only that was true. I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in now.” I can think of a few apps that could come in handy. An asshole detector app would be beneficial. One, that when placed in front of a man and activated, would scan his brain for attributes like sincerity, sense of humor, compassion. Hell, even scanning for brain activity could be useful. What about an app that rates bedroom skills? Manners? Intentions? There is a lot a girl can learn from the right app.
Alana looks around the room of testosterone mixed with a bit of estrogen. “I was talking about them.” She nods toward the room full of military guys.
I pull the tap and fill two frosted mugs. Pouring beer is an art form that requires the perfect amount of foam. I read that men are particular about the amount of head they receive. No surprise there.
“I don’t have to like them, I have to serve them.”
“You can’t judge all men by the misdeeds of a few.” Alana adjusts her breasts and pastes on a smile before she turns and heads toward the group of men standing by the jukebox. V-Day is perfectly located outside the gates of Hickam Air Force Base and Pearl Harbor, now a joint base. I thought that mixing the two services would be like kenneling a dog with a cat, but it seems to work out for everybody, especially Larry. He supplies the booze. The bases supply the soldiers and sailors. They supply the cash. Everyone is happy.
Off to the right, a group of sailors approach the bar. I don’t know if it is a sixth sense or what, but it is easy for me to tell the difference between services. Maybe it’s the gleam in their eyes or … it could be the anchor tattoo most of them sport. Sailors are rugged—grittier than flyboys. “What’s it going to be, boys?” I fold my arms under my chest and lift the girls, making them appear ready to topple over the low-cut neckline. Alana swears the way to an overflowing pocketbook starts with overflowing cleavage. By the bug-eye look of my newest patrons I have to agree.
“Tequila. Keep ‘em coming.” Four shot glasses line the counter in front the men. I carefully fill each to the mark so Larry doesn’t complain to me that I’m giving his bar away for free.
He hovered over me for the first hour of my shift. That was until Alana handed him a near empty scotch bottle and told him it was under control. He disappeared into his office only to reappear at the end of my break.
My thoughts go back to Kai and his mother, Jillian. Where will they stay tonight? What will they eat tomorrow? My stomach growls at the thought of food. One wing and a fry don’t fill me up, but I’m not at risk of starvation.
“Smile,” Alana says. She is back with her tray and her next order. I look over her shoulder. The last pool table is now occupied by new arrivals—Air Force guys, if my guess is right. I swear they all went to the same barber—some guy that trims their hair one strand at a time to get the perfect look. Never too long. Never too short. Just above the collar, but still within regulation. Damn sexy if you like guys in uniform. Not me, I swore them off for life.
Next to the new arrivals stand a group of wallflower women, they lean against the jukebox waiting to be noticed. My eyes skirt the room and then come back to my best friend.
“Sorry.” I clear my head with a shake. “Deep in thought.” The presence of women means my bartending skills will be put to the test. Girls don’t order d
rinks straight up, they order drinks with cutesy names and a ton of ingredients. Alana asks for Two Screaming Orgasms and a Sex On The Beach. I’ve never had either in the figurative or literal sense. Hope springs eternal. I pull the vodka and peach schnapps from the shelf and grab the cranberry and orange juice from the refrigerator.
“Did you get the utility thing figured out?” She plucks maraschino cherry from a nearby container and pops it into her mouth. The guy at the end of the bar watches with rapt attention while she rolls and twirls it between her lips. It disappears, and in its place, comes out a stem tied into a knot. He bites his lip and tosses her a five-dollar bill. Note to self … work on that skill.
“I did that thing where I wrote a check to the gas and electric company, and then I put them in the wrong envelopes on purpose before I mailed them. I figure that should give me a week or so to come up with a plan or learn to love candied cherries.” I nod toward the guy at the end who seems to be waiting for round two. “They’ll either think I’m an idiot, or they’ll catch on to me since I did the same thing a few months ago.”
“I think you’re a genius.”
I garnish the frou frou drinks with cherries, which excites Mr. Fiver on the end. I’m pretty sure if one of those wallflower girls has even a tenth of Alana’s oral skills, she’ll be set for the night.
Chapter Two
Cade
There are only two reasons a man would come to a bar like V-Day. One is to get drunk, the other is to get laid. Every guy inside will give you a hundred reasons for being here. Justifications range from meeting with buddies, to liking the food, but not one of them will tell you the truth.
With its flashing, pink neon V, sitting prominently on the rooftop, next to the nose of a plane buried wing-deep in a mock up hangar, the place screams sex. Men don’t come here for the burgers, they come here for whiskey and women, in that order.
My eyes adjust to the darkness as my ears tune into the sounds of big band music coming from the jukebox in the corner. The smell of chicken wings and sweet perfume float through the air.
