by M. E. Carter
“Will do. And do you mind giving these to your employees before they leave tonight?”
He hands me the envelopes and I take a quick peek inside so I know what to prepare for. There are several hundred-dollar bills in each of them. Stunned, I quickly close them not wanting to accidentally flash this amount of cash around. “I don’t understand. They have the tip jars already set up.”
“This is my son’s wedding and you guys are going to be busting your tails when this group gets going. You’ll just have to take my word for that.” He smiles again and I have no doubt tonight is going to end with a lot of fun stories and at least one puker. I should probably get the mop ready just in case. “I want to make sure the effort is worth it for the people working.”
“That’s really nice of you.” I think about Tammy who I know lives paycheck-to-paycheck and how much this will mean to her. This, on top of the tip jar people will be sure to fill up tonight, is going to make a big difference. “I’ll make sure they get it after everyone heads out for the night. But I only have two employees, so I don’t need this one.”
I try to hand back the extra envelope, but Jason holds up his hand. “You’re working just as hard as they are. If you don’t want to keep it for yourself, just consider it payment for the extra booze you had to order. I know you’re just starting out and I know how important you are to my kids. Man,” he wipes his hand down his face. “I have another kid. I have a daughter-in-law now. How weird is that?”
Even with as long as he’s had to prepare, he looks shellshocked by his own news. “She’s a really nice woman. I’m glad they found each other.”
“Me, too.” He knocks on the bar twice and nods. “Thanks again, Paul.”
Turning to walk back to his guests, Jason throws his massive arms out wide as he makes a joke about his own wedding day. I don’t stick around to hear the punchline. Instead, I head for the back to put this cash in the safe. By the end of the night, there will be more in the register, but I still don’t want Desiree and Tammy to see yet.
Quickly and mostly out of curiosity, I count out each envelope.
A thousand dollars apiece. That’s easily a couple of weeks’ worth of tips in one night. If I only had a pro athlete or two pop in a couple of nights a week, this place would be profiting in no time.
The thought makes me stumble as my ideas begin taking over. What if… what if I catered to the sports teams in the area. We have football, basketball, baseball, and a hockey team all within twenty-five miles of each other. All have athletes that make a shit ton of money. And I’m willing to bet they could use an out of the way place that is hard to find where they can hide out to decompress without fear of their faces being splashed all over social media. I have no idea how I’d get the word out to them, but it’s something to think on.
The idea continues to percolate as I lock the safe and head back to the front, getting back to work. As I scan the crowd, I notice at least two San Antonio Steer players, not to mention a number of retired athletes milling about.
The whole reason Jaxon asked if his reception could be held here is because of the privacy. Could this be the answer? Could the off the beaten path location and lack of marketing work to my advantage? Could I cater to professional athletes and give them a place to just relax?
I tuck the thought into the far corners of my brain when the crowd erupts into cheers as the happy newlyweds walk through the front door. I join the celebration when Jaxon and Annika raise their clasped hands in a victorious gesture.
I’m happy for them. They deserve all the happiness in the world and the excitement on their faces makes me believe they’ve found it. But how could they not? Jaxon’s a good guy, comes from money, is working hard through medical school. He’s got so much to offer an amazing woman like Annika. He’s the kind of guy who deserves to get the girl in the end so they can have their happily ever after.
Me? I’m the kind of guy who works too hard, has almost nothing to his name, and refuses to give up on a dingy bar. The idea of a relationship, someone to partner with me in life is a deep longing. Deep enough I don’t consciously remember it’s there most days. But it’s not in the cards for me. My life was never set up for me to be a good partner in return. Maybe it’s best that I keep my focus solidly on my new business.
Decision made to enjoy Jaxon’s happiness instead of focusing on me, I join Desiree behind the bar to help get this party started.
FOUR
Kiersten
Dropping down on the barstool, I peel my heels off my poor, aching feet. This reception has turned into the party of the year, and it just confirms to me that I made the right choice uprooting myself and moving here. It’s further away from my sister, who I miss terribly, but there were too many reasons to leave.
Not that I need to think about those right now. I’d rather concentrate on the little stinker across the room being tossed into the air by his Uncle Heath. My boy’s giggles are permeating the room and I’m not the only one watching.
Smiling at their interaction, I think about how it sucks that Carson doesn’t have a father. I never wanted that for him. But Heath has been the best stand-in we could ask for. I have no doubt Lauren’s beau will show up with her for every t-ball and flag football game Carson ever plays. To be honest, I won’t be surprised if he coaches some of those teams as well.
He’s not the only one. Over the last few years, Jaxon and Annika have been like family too. More like an extended family type role due to our mutual friendship with my childhood bestie, but we’ve fallen into our own solid relationships as well.
“All the single ladies out there,” the DJ calls through the microphone and I immediately begin plotting my escape because I know what’s coming. “I need y’all to gather up here for the bride to toss her bouquet.”
I groan and quickly look around, wondering if I have time to hide out in the restroom. It’s my only chance. Popping off the stool I try to make a break for it, but I’m too late.
“Oh no you don’t.” Lauren threads her arm through mine and tugs. “I know we hate these things because they’re misogynistic, outdated, and feel like way too much pressure on a topic we both despise, but Annika absolutely loathes them. The least we can do is make it quick and painless for her.”
I huff, but allow myself to be guided away, leaving my heels behind for now. “There is no such thing as painless when it comes to this antiquated tradition.”
“True.” Lauren weaves us through the small crowd trying to get to the front. “But there is safety in numbers so don’t leave my side.”
We finally push through the people to get into position and I almost laugh at the look on Annika’s face. It’s painfully obvious she’s trying to be a good sport but this clearly wasn’t her idea. My money is on the wedding planner forcing the issue. She put together a damn good wedding, but Lauren has complained about her pushy nature from day one. I thought Lauren was just trying to force her own ideas into the planning mix since Annika has almost no opinions about things like decorations and centerpieces, but judging by Annika’s expression, I may have misjudged.
At least she looks beautiful. Her dress is gorgeous but not overstated. The corseted tulle A-line gown with a cascading skirt is more of a silver color than white. Her dark hair looks delicately pinned in the back, even though I’m sure it’s secured in a hundred different places, allowing her long curled locks to tumble down her shoulders and back. The whole look is stunning but doesn’t take away from who she is—the newest intern in the training department for the San Antonio Steer and tomboy at heart. Hence why there are so many football players crowding the floor as they wait for their turn.
I sigh as we wait for the last of the single women to reach the small dance floor. There are quite a few of us, most of them the “plus one” of one of the guys. And of course, Jaxon’s twelve-year-old sister, Lucy. I’m more than happy to jump out of the way if the bouquet comes in her direction. I’m positive at her young, unjaded age she has more ro
mantic bones than I do.
Finally, we’re ready and the DJ quickly does his spiel.
“If the new Mrs. Jaxon Hart would do us the honor of turning around.”
I bark out a laugh at him calling her that. If she wasn’t in her wedding dress, I’d bet money Annika would throw the bouquet in his face for using Jaxon’s name instead of hers. But being the blushing bride she is, she follows his instructions and on the count of three, the flowers go sailing over her shoulder.
I wish I could say it went in slow motion until some smiling, excited woman caught it, delight written all over her face. That’s not how it happens at all.
Annika throws it hard with no arch whatsoever, more like a missile shooting straight into Lauren’s arms.
She looks down at the petals in disbelief. When reality finally hits, she immediately follows up with a “son of a bitch.”
The DJ continues with whatever he does during this game, but I’m not listening. I’m too busy laughing at Lauren. Annika seems just as thrilled by this turn of events as I am.
I pat Lauren on the forearm and give her a “good luck” before heading back to my post at the bar.
“Sorry about your defeat,” the beautiful bartender says wistfully, as if catching a bouquet is really an indicator of your own pending marriage. “What can I get ya?”
“Can I get a dirty martini? Extra dirty, please.”
“You got it.”
I make a quick glance around to find my son who has apparently been passed off by Heath to the father of the groom while all the single men get ready for the garter toss. I’m not surprised Carson looks perfectly content. Pushing three years old, he’s never met a stranger. It’s a great quality for him to have, and yet it terrifies me on a regular basis. If I didn’t know Heath would step in front of a moving bus for my kiddo, I’d be more concerned by a man I’ve only met a handful of times taking over baby duty.
Letting my body sink onto the stool, I take advantage of just being able to sit. Carson runs me ragged every day but pounding the pavement for the last week or so has added an extra element of exercise I haven’t had in a long time.
Unfortunately, the health benefits are the only thing I got out of it. No one was hiring. I hit as many dance studios as I could find in a ten-mile radius and they all said the same thing—they’re fully staffed now but they’ll be hiring for summer. I appreciate that more than one of them said they would call if they have an opening, but that doesn’t help me now.
“Hey, Desiree.” The red-headed waitress comes flying up to the bar. “I need a strawberry margarita, an Old Fashioned, and a Bloody Mary, stat.” Her hands fly as quickly as her words as she unloads some dirty glasses from her tray onto the rubber mat on the bar.
Desiree just nods and places my dirty martini in front of me before heading straight back to mixing.
It’s odd that the waitress just blurted out an order. As I look around more, I realize the only register they have is behind the bar. There’s no computer system. It’s straight up old school here. That’s kind of cool, actually. Gives the place an interesting feel.
As I watch them continue with their respective job duties, another thought occurs to me.
“Are there only two of you working tonight?” I ask, not because I’m making conversation but because I have an idea and I’m kind of an opportunist at this point.
The waitress looks up, almost surprised to notice me sitting here. “Us? Oh yes. The caterer brought everyone else. Only three people work here full time, including the owner. It’s all hands on deck tonight.”
I sip my cocktail with appreciation. It’s the right amount of dirty for me. “Only three total? For a place this size?”
“Well, we normally don’t have this many customers. And not a lot of people come in looking for work at an out-of-the-way place like this that doesn’t line their pockets with Jacksons.” She wipes down her tray and places it on the counter, ready to be filled with fresh drinks. “Why? Looking for a job?”
Swallowing another sip, I carefully place the glass down and grab the cocktail pick holding two olives. “Actually, I am.”
Her eyebrows raise slightly with interest. “Really. You ever worked at a bar before?”
I shake my head and snag an olive with my teeth. “Nope.”
“Got any waitressing experience?”
Another shake. “Nope. But I spent several years as a dance instructor. I also have solid references, three years of college under my belt, and a working car. Does any of that help?”
She smiles at me and ducks under the counter to the other side of the bar. Riffling around on the shelves for a second, she finally pulls out what she’s looking for and places it in front of me.
“This has been back here for a while and we’re under new management so the application is kind of old, but it should do the trick. We could use some fresh blood around here.”
Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows.
“Don’t ask.” She shoots a glance over at the bartender. Clearly, there is no love lost there. She ducks back under the bar and makes her way to my side. “The boss is great, the pay is fair, and it’s not terribly stressful. Just give that to me when you’re done. Need a pen?” Before I can respond she grabs one out of her hair and hands it to me. Just as I go to take it, a thirty-pound tornado runs right into my legs.
“Mama!” he squeals and hugs me so tightly, I can’t even pick him up. All I can do is rub his little back and tell him I love him before he’s off like a shot, chasing after Lucy, who seems to be just as enamored with him as he is with her.
The waitress nods toward Carson. “Working in a bar means being here for weird shifts. You sure you wanna do this?”
“Under the circumstances, yes. And rest assured, I have a remarkably strong support system.”
And that system started putting things in place for us before the first whine of the U-Haul’s gears. The daycare Lauren and Health found is really nice. Clean and bright, and the teachers were all lovely when we toured the place. I verified that they have a low-income program which will help me out when the time comes. If it comes. Assuming Uncle Heath hasn’t already told them to bill him for everything. Wouldn’t surprise me if years down the road I find out Carson has a college fund, too.
I know him being so actively involved with caring for my son would seem weird to some people, but I’m just grateful. Heath is a natural protector and provider. I can’t begrudge my son being the recipient of it, even if it seems a bit unconventional. Besides, kids are a long way down the road for them. If this is how Heath gets his baby fever out of his system, so be it.
“You’ll need all the help you can get with these hours. Names Tammy, by the way.” She sticks her hand out and I shake it quickly. It’s boney, matching her equally thin frame, but she’s got a solid grip. If I had to guess it’s from years of manual labor. She may be significantly older than the beautiful young bartender, but I’m willing to bet Tammy will last a lot longer on the job.
Desiree takes that moment to deliver Tammy’s drink order, without so much as glancing her way. The vibe confirms my initial impression that these two don’t get along. At all.
Tammy hikes up the tray in front of her and pats me on my shoulder. “Just get that to me when you’re done and I’ll make sure the boss man sees it.”
I smile with gratitude at her kindness. This kind of work wasn’t my goal, but my savings account won’t last forever. A job is a job at this point.
Despite the line of a dozen or so customers waiting for service, Desiree comes over and begins wiping down the counter. It’s already clean so I suspect she’s got something to say.
“You know he’s not hiring, right?” Her tone is haughty and teeters on combative.
I shrug, hoping to de-escalate the aggression she’s clearly trying to throw my way. “Neither is anyone else. I’m filling out as many applications as I can. You never know when someone is going to quit, right?”
She narrows her
eyes at me but doesn’t say anything else, instead being called over to the other end by the man I assume is the big boss. If I’m not mistaken, he looks a bit irritated she was “cleaning” instead of paying attention to the customers. Interesting. Maybe this application won’t be a waste of time after all.
FIVE
Paul
When Pat hired me, this place was named Sante. No one seemed to know where the name came from, not even Pat.
I thought it was supposed to mean “cheers” in Spanish, but without an accent mark over the e, it was spelled wrong anyway. It drove me crazy and felt like a bad omen to have a typo in the original name, so I changed it before the ink was dry on the business papers.
We now work at Frui Vita, which means “enjoy life” in Latin. That’s what I want people to do here—enjoy themselves. I want every customer to walk out with a smile on their face and a good memory to take with them. And I don’t want any more typos on the sign outdoors.
I also don’t want to keep trying to figure out why these books don’t balance.
“Fuck.” I toss the papers on my desk and dig the heels of my hands into my eye sockets until I see stars.
Math shouldn’t be this hard. This isn’t calculus. Still, I can’t figure out why we’re spending this much money on liquor. I know we don’t have enough customers to be drinking this much. Either someone is stealing bottles behind my back, or the bartenders are making extra strong drinks.
I suspect it’s the latter since I’m the only one with a key to the liquor closet. That means I’m going to have to retrain my employees and I don’t have the time or desire to do that. Tammy and Desiree have been working here for years. Hell, I worked alongside them. They should know better.