by Sky Winters
She wasn’t a fan of the motorcycle men, and she avoided them as much as possible. For obvious reasons. “What can I get you?” she asked him.
“White Russian,” he told her-a combination of Kahlua, cream and vodka.
She went about preparing his order, and he sat there, alarmingly quiet. She was not accustomed to a biker who was not rowdy, and she snuck peaks at him as she went about his order. “Here you go,” she said and placed the glass on a napkin. She was about to move off when he started speaking.
“Sorry about that mess earlier; my boys can be…unruly at times,” he said as if choosing his words carefully.
“No sweat,” she said and attempted to move again. She got the rag from under the counter and began to wipe water marks from the wooden surface.
“I can’t help but notice that you seem different from other bartenders I’ve seen before. What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He put the glass to his lips and sipped, leaving a white moustache in its wake which he quickly swept aside with the back of his hand.
“Nothing wrong with the place; just the people who come here,” she replied cheekily.
He smiled at her response and drank some more. “You just seem too good for it,” he told her.
“The tips are good,” she added. She really wasn’t in the mood for a conversation, especially with him, and she was grateful when someone else called for her. She quickly walked away and left him to his drink.
By the time she got back to where he was, he had already gone. But he had left her a twenty dollars’ tip. She smiled as she slid the bill into the pocket of the tight jeans she wore. At least he had some class.
She didn’t see him again that night. Nor did she see Johnny again. But a bar was a bar, and when it wasn’t one thing, or person, it was another. By the time the night came to a close, she was weary. She called a cab and slumped into the seat of the yellow and black vehicle that would take her to peace.
“Rough night?” the driver asked as he moved off.
“You have no idea,” she replied as she rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes.
But then again, neither did she.
CHAPTER 2
It was some minutes past one when Trisha pushed the door to her apartment open. It was a small place she shared with her mother-now too old to work. But it turned out to be more of a convenience for her since she wound up with live in help for her two-year-old son. She was surprised to hear his voice when she stepped into the dimly lit room, and even more so when she heard the pitter patter of his tiny feet as he ran to her.
“Hey,” she said as she scooped him up into her arms. “What are you doing up? Hey ma,” she said and threw her bag onto the chair.
“Here mama,” he said and handed her a piece of paper he had in his hand. He gave her a smile and she hugged the toddler to her. That in itself constituted the best part of her day.
“Thanks sweetheart,” she said and pulled him around to her hip as she went into the kitchenette.
“I hate to see you coming home this late,” Martha said to her daughter and pulled her robe tighter around her.
“We’ve had this discussion ma,” she said, sounding exasperated as she did. “It’s not like there is anything I can get at the moment.”
“That’s not the place for a good woman,” she told her, echoing what Calvin had said to her only a few hours before. “I can talk to Brother Cedric down at the church. He has some connections he can use to get you out of that place.” She disliked that her daughter was working in a place she considered the devil’s play pen, and she made her opinions heard as often as she could.
But it didn’t make things any easier for Trisha. “I have tried to get a job before, and Brother Cedric already gave me all the leads he could find; they were no good, remember? I have to work, to pay these bills and keep things on the up for Aiden and for you.” She shifted the infant to her other hip and poured some milk onto the raisin bran cereal she was about to eat. She took up the bowl and went to sit around the small table in the corner of the room.
Her mother was quiet for a while, and Trisha sighed as she spooned cereal into her mouth and rocked her child. She gazed on him, and saw how content he was just to be there with her, and in that moment, as with so many before, she envied his innocence and his simplicity. And at present his lack of understanding of her current situation. She had gone to a decent school, and she was primed to be more. Until she found out she was pregnant. Aiden’s father was non-existent after that, and she was left with a baby to raise on her own, and an elderly mother. Work had been hard to come by, and she had been grateful when her uncle had offered her work in his bar. It was not the ideal job, but it would pay the bills, and as much as she hated it, she had had no other alternative.
“Would you like me to hold him?” she eventually asked.
“No, that’s alright,” she replied and smoothed his hair back. He soothed her in an odd way, and gave her something nothing else did. Peace.
“Okay, then its best I get to sleep then. I tried before but he would not sleep without you tonight.” She rocked herself to a standing position, and using the chair as support, was able to walk off, looking more like her old self.
“Is that true Aiden?” Trisha asked as she felt a tear roll down her cheek. She quickly pushed it back and blinked rapidly to prevent the copycats from doing the same. She smiled and squeezed him into her, and when he leaned back and stared her in the eyes, his black eyes penetrating her brown ones, she couldn’t help but think she had failed him somehow. Before the thought could take root, she kissed his cheeks and quickly replaced it with memories of better days.
“Bed,” he told her and pointed to the room they shared.
“That’s right sweetie,” she said and chuckled. “Mama’s tired too.”
She placed the empty bowl into the sink and left it there. She would get it tomorrow. She placed him in his crib and stood over him, watching his eyes flutter as sleep took hold of them. She brushed his cheek as he fell into peaceful slumber, and then went to the bathroom to wash what remained of work from her spent frame. Her legs ached, and before she slipped from her jeans, she spooned the wad of tips from her pockets. She had made eighty-nine dollars tonight. Not bad, she thought. She emptied it into a jar she kept under the sink, and closed the door again.
Soon, she would be able to afford the life she wanted. Soon, she would not need to go to that God forsaken place every night. But for now, she would need to rest to do it all again tomorrow. The thought brought Johnny’s face to memory, and she shuddered at the thought. He might be there the following day. And if it wasn’t one Johnny, it would be another.
But something better had registered in her mind, and it was Calvin. He had come to her rescue after all, but maybe he was playing his hand better than the rest, and all he wanted was a quick roll in the hay. No one was nice in that bar without ulterior motive.
“Just my luck,” she whispered to herself as she turned on the pipe and the warm water spilled out and onto her body.
CHAPTER 3
Every time the door opened Trisha jumped. She was on edge from the moment she walked into the bar; half expecting to see Calvin and fully expecting another encounter with either Johnny or another of the Devils. But things were quiet. Much quieter than she had remembered it ever being, and just as she was settling into it, she saw him at the end of the bar.
Her eyes scanned the room for any sign of the rest of this cronies, but he seemed to be alone. He signaled her, and despite what she thought or felt, it was her job to attend to him.
“You drinking alone tonight?” she asked Calvin when she got to him.
He chortled and looked around. “You noticed, huh?”
“Kinda hard to miss,” she replied. He didn’t seem like trouble, and she relaxed in the knowledge he provided her.
“Yeah, after last night, I told them to take a night off; go burn some steam riding or shooting pool or something,” he tol
d her. “Anyway, it’s just us tonight,” he said and grinned.
She gave him a half smile and leaned on the counter. “So, will it be white Russian again?”
“No, not tonight. I think I need something a bit stronger, so…serve me up some Jack Daniels.”
She was used to the gruff voices and stone faces, but he seemed different. She couldn’t get a read on him, not a full one anyway, but there was something unique about him. “So,” she said when she returned, “the head of the Devils, are you? And here you are judging my job.”
He smiled and placed the glass to his head. He gritted his teeth as the liquor coursed down his throat, and gripped the glass tightly. “I guess we are both victims of our circumstances,” he said.
“Hey, you gonna fuck him too, or you gonna give us some beer,” an angry customer shouted at her.
Trisha rolled her eyes and moved away. Once again, she could not comprehend her present circumstances. What the fuck was she doing working in a bar? Her face grew blank as she went through the motions of attending to the waiting men.
“So, you wanna…”
She moved off before she heard what the idiot who had shouted to her earlier was about to say. He did not deserve her attention.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” she heard him say when her back was turned. But she was used to it, and she simply could not be like Melissa who flirted with the lot. Melissa was the other bartender who worked on weekends and on her days off. She had seen her in action before, and how the men were all over her. She dressed provocatively too, which made Trisha feel like a Hamish woman. She looked down now at her clothing, which constituted skin hugging jeans and a loose sweater top that fell just below her waist. The shoulders were loose, which showed more skin than she would have preferred.
“How are things going?”
She looked up and saw her Uncle Ron standing there. He was unlocking the swing door to come around.
“Hey Ron,” she replied as a genuine smile lit up her features. “I’m hanging in there.”
He came over and scanned her outfit. “I swear you are going to make me lose my customers,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.
“What? What’s wrong with my clothes?” she asked and looked down.
“Nothing. It’s just…blah,” he replied.
“Would you prefer to see your niece dancing topless on the bar?” she asked cheekily.
Ron laughed and ruffled her hair. “Not at all,” he said. “But add some flair to it will you?”
“Whatever. I don’t hear anyone complaining,” she replied.
“I complain,” one of the patrons offered. “I would love to see what’s hidden under all of that. Where’d you get this bore Ron? Now Michelle…”
“Okay Dan, that’s enough,” Ron interjected. “Hey, I’ll be here for a while, so just go on ahead and deal with those customers,” he said, pointing in the direction of Calvin. “I got these.”
Trisha walked back to where the man was sitting, and apparently waiting for her to return. “Another drink?” she asked him.
“Why not?” he asked and smiled. He had grey eyes, and black hair that had silver highlights that made him appear stately. He was wearing a leather jacket as usual, and a single item of jewelry-a gold watch. She could not make out any tattoos, but she was sure they were there somewhere.
“Give me a beer,” the guy next to him said.
“Sure,” she said and moved off. When she returned she handed the men their orders.
“If it’s any consolation, I like your clothes just fine,” he said in reference to her earlier discussion with her uncle.
“Thanks,” she told him.
“So, would you allow me to take you out?” he asked.
She thought about that for about five seconds before replying. “I don’t think so,” she said. She had to move, but when she glanced back, he was gone, and in his wake, a twenty dollars’ tip again.
Somewhere inside she felt disappointed that he hadn’t persisted. But she would not be disappointed. And she was surprised that she had to will herself not to be. For the remainder of the week Calvin appeared every night, ordering the same drinks, and asking her the same question.
On one such night, she stood there and looked him straight in the eyes. “How old are you?”
“Would that make a difference?” he asked.
“It might,” she said and rocked back on her heels.
“Okay,” he replied. “I am forty-four years old.”
“That’s a clear…eighteen years older than I am.”
“What, afraid you can’t handle it?” he joked.
Trisha found his comment amusing and laughed. “It definitely isn’t that.”
“Then, how about it then? Why won’t you go out with me?” he asked and locked his fingers on the counter. He was staring at her and demanding a yes from her.
“You should,” Ron walked by and whispered.
Calvin chuckled. “You should listen to him.”
“Okay, fine,” Trisha answered. “But I want to go to an actual restaurant.”
“What are you suggesting?” he asked and relaxed onto his stool again.
“Nothing,” she said and wrote her number on a napkin. She slid it over to him and he glanced at it and stashed it away inside his jacket pocket.
“Man, get the fuck outta here!” a voice shouted from the back. Closer inspection showed that once again, one of the members of his club was involved in an altercation.
“That’s my cue,” Calvin said and got up. He smiled at her and turned around. Trisha stood there and watched as he grabbed his man by the neck and flung him into the wall. “I am fuckin’ sick of your shit Danny,” he shouted. “No more breaks!” He yanked him from the table he was crouching over and pushed him to the door. The rest of the men followed.
“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” Trisha asked, and then went about her duties like a school girl. She hoped she would find an appropriate exit from Calvin’s world. Very soon.
CHAPTER 4
Trisha was in for a major surprise the following Saturday when she was due for her date with Calvin.
“Are you sure this looks fine?” she asked her mother. She was pacing the floor nervously. She had not been on a date in a long time and she was not even sure what she was in for.
“I think so,” her mother replied. “In my time it was a shame for a woman to go out with so much skin showing.”
By so much skin she meant Trisha’s bare arms that came from the sleeveless black dress she wore; it had a low cut that showed her chest, but was not cut so low that her cleavage showed; she was still self-conscious about her date being Calvin.
“Ma, this is fine, and these aren’t your days. Things have changed a lot since then,” she replied as she fluffed her shoulder length hair in the mirror. She was smoothing her dress and turning about to view her shape when her cell phone rang. “Yes?” she answered quickly.
“I’m in the entrance hall,” he told her.
“Oh. I’m coming down. Give me a second.” She hung up, exhaled sharply and kissed her mother before hurrying out.
She was expecting to see Calvin waiting for her, leaning against his motorcycle and wearing his usual leather jacket. What she didn’t expect was to see him wearing a white button down shirt with black pants. No jacket. No motorcycle. He looked nothing like a biker and she was pleased at the change in him.
“I did not see this coming,” she told him as he opened the door to his Honda sedan.
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” he told her.
He was not kidding. He took her to an elegant little restaurant that had a garden setting. They were sheltered by a thatched umbrella nestled on a grassy lawn, and surrounded by a wooden bench. It wasn’t what she had expected, especially since her top half was largely bare, but it was a nice setting.
“I recommend the barbecued ribs,” he said and smiled.
Trisha laughed. “Why am I not surprised? Barbecue ribs
does go well with a leather jacket.”
Calvin laughed. “Just try and see how well it goes with a slinky black dress too. You look nice by the way. Not very often I get to see this side of you.”
“Thanks, but I try to keep it under wraps,” she said and blushed. “You don’t look so bad either.”
“Can’t say the same about the feel. I feel like a shark on land,” he said and shifted as if trying to get comfortable in his clothes.
Trisha couldn’t help sputtering over the water she had just sipped. “Oh stop,” she laughed. “You look just fine.” And she meant it. He looked very debonair, and she didn’t feel a hint of regret at allowing him to take her to dinner. She did take his advice and ordered the barbecued ribs, and she could not contain her surprise over the palatability of it. It came with baked potatoes and steamed vegetables, and she savored every bite.
“So, what do you think?” he asked her as he cleaned his bone.
“I concede; this is good,” she said and wiped her mouth. “I must come back here.”
“That can be arranged,” he said and smiled.
The rest of the evening found them laughing and talking about odd things and events. She found she liked his company more than she had anticipated she would, and when the left, he stopped by the park so they could take a stroll.
“I don’t get it,” she said as she walked next to him. He had his hand shoved into his pockets and was all but whistling as he walked.
“Get what?” he asked.
“You don’t seem at all like the man I see coming into my bar at nights.”
“Not any more than you look like the bartender I am accustomed to,” he shot back.
“True, but something you had said makes me wonder still. You said we are victims of our circumstances. How is it you ended up as leader of the Devils?”
“Inheritance,” he told her. “It was something my brother did, and my father before him. It just kind of fell into my lap when my brother ‘retired’,” he replied. “I was accustomed to the life, so the shoes fit. But sometimes I’m not so sure I want to be there, you know.”