by Drew Hayes
“We wanted to come show support for you and Roy on your first day of work,” Mary quickly explained. “Angela was a pleasant addition.”
“Get ready for another then. Guess who Roy is bartending with?” Alice prompted. “And Mary, no cheating.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Um, I’ll say Violet,” Vince ventured. “She seems like she would enjoy bartending.”
“A well-reasoned attempt,” Alice complimented. “But wrong.”
“Alex? No, he would have mentioned something to us,” Camille said, talking herself out of her own attempt.
“How about you just tell us,” Mary encouraged.
Alice stuck her tongue out at her dormmate in presumed retribution for killing her fun, then complied. “It’s Chad. He and Roy are both new bartenders here.”
“Darn, I should have guessed that. I did see him go talk to Mr. Mears on the first day,” Vince chided himself.
“A lot of people talked to Mr. Mears,” Camille reminded him. “I never would have guessed Chad either.”
“It is surprising,” Mary concurred. “So, how is the first day, or should I say night, going?”
“It’s still a little early, but if the last hour is any indication of what to expect, then I definitely don’t think it’s going to be boring,” Alice told her. “I’ve sold like forty shots without doing much besides walking around.”
“That’s really impressive,” Vince said.
Alice gave him a light shrug. “I think Angela has tripled that. Then again, she’s more proactive than I am.”
Almost perfectly on cue, Angela appeared across the bar, visible because she had leapt on top of a table. She held up one of the test-tube shots from her tray—one glowing a bright, toxic-looking color— and began to speak. Though the distance was far from what would stay audible in a club (read: greater than five feet away), it was still clear from contextual clues that she was making some sort of toast. When she concluded, there was a loud holler of agreement, and the large cluster of males congregated around her lifted their shots up toward the ceiling, then downed them all as a group. Angela let out a yelp of enjoyment, took steps toward the edge of the table, and leapt into the arms of one of the more muscular young men around her. In many bars, this would have been an unacceptable spectacle, however, given the rowdy nature of Six-Shooter and the number of shots she’d just sold, no manager was going to come running to chastise her actions.
“Yeah, so, it looks like I’ve still got a lot to learn,” Alice said, once The Angela Show had concluded.
“I am so incredibly glad Mr. Mears didn’t send me to interview here,” Mary mumbled, more to herself than the others.
“Well, we don’t want you to fall behind from talking to us. How about a round for the table?”
This suggestion was met with staggering silence, because it had come from the mouth of Vince Reynolds. All three women stared at him, eyes wide as each contemplated various scenarios involving doppelgangers and mind control.
“What? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in these situations? I’ve been trying to learn a little more about blending in, since we’re now working with the public. Did I screw up?” Vince’s own face was earnest and concerned.
“No, Vince, that’s what most people would do. Then again, none of us at the table are big drinkers, so I think it’s okay if you skip that social expectation on this go around,” Mary said at last.
“I’ll take one,” Camille piped up. Between the noise, the people, and the giant embarrassment of Mary telling her another man was staring at her, Camille would likely have tried elephant tranquilizer if it could help her mellow out.
“Me too,” Vince said. His own enthusiasm came more from a desire to support Alice than a need to suppress anxiety.
“In that case, I’ll volunteer to drive Camille’s car home and abstain,” Mary said. “Assuming that’s okay with you, Camille?”
Camille nodded her agreement so enthusiastically, it nearly knocked the scrunchie holding her ponytail together out of her hair.
“Then three it is,” Alice declared, passing one each to Vince and Camille while keeping one for herself. “I carpooled with Roy. Plus, there is no way I’m missing the chance to do a shot with these two. What are the odds I’ll get that chance again?”
The trio downed their drinks, and Vince handed Alice a wad of bills. They chatted for a bit longer, then Vince had to beg off after asking directions to the restroom. As soon as he was gone, Mary motioned emphatically for Alice to hop into his chair, then leaned in and whispered conspiratorially.
“Your turn to play a guessing game. Want to know who is getting some male attention?”
“Ugh, if it’s me, please don’t tell me. The looks some of these guys give me make me want to shower for days,” Alice replied.
“No, but there is a bartender you should stay clear of. We’ll talk about that later. Anyway, the answer is Camille,” Mary replied.
“Oooooh. Did Vince finally realize that he has one of the cutest girls in class right under his nose?”
Camille’s response was to blush, shake her head, set down cash, and take another of the shots from Alice’s holder. The first had taken a bit of the edge off, so she was hoping another would finish the job of settling her nerves.
“Nope, a different boy,” Mary replied. “And a pretty cute one, in my humble opinion. I think with a little eye contact, he might get up the nerve to come ask her to dance.”
“Then I will do my absolute best to keep my eyes rooted on this table,” Camille decided.
“That is your prerogative,” Alice agreed. “But, just let this mull around a bit. Men, or at least men our age, are kind of stupid. I won’t say they only want what they can’t have, but reminding them of the fact that other people want something they’re dragging their feet on can definitely give them a good kick in the ass toward action.”
“Dancing with another guy was what finally gave Hershel the guts to make a move on me,” Mary added. “It wasn’t intentional, but I certainly didn’t mind the results.”
“Anyway, I need to go sell more of these things, and Mary, don’t push her too much. If she doesn’t want to flirt, that’s okay,” Alice said. “As for you, Camille, just think about what we said. I’ll swing back by when I get free.” With that, she was gone, the only proof she’d ever been there a few empty-colored test tubes and a small girl with pale blonde hair and a growing alcoholic buzz.
26.
On the other side of the bar, things were going a bit less genially. Roy had kept an eye on Chad after his little revelation, however, it seemed his blond co-bartender had re-implemented his usual levels of control. This conclusion was based on the fact that after staring at Angela for nearly three solid minutes, Chad had blinked a few times, and then gone right back to work. If anything, he was looking over at her less, making drinks instead and attending to customers with relentless speed and efficiency. After nearly twenty minutes, Roy allowed his worry to subside a bit. It had likely been a silly concern in the first place. After all, who was more in control of his actions than Chad?
Roy was able to hold on to that delusion until he heard the glass shatter.
It came right after Angela completed her toast from atop the table and leapt into the arms of a waiting man. What the others didn’t see was that upon being caught, Angela had kissed her landing pad on the cheek and grabbed his ass before hopping out of his arms and going about her business. It was standard flirtation for someone trying to move product, nothing Roy hadn’t seen hundreds of times. For someone coping with newfound feelings, however, it was enough to make them squeeze the bottle in their hand ever so slightly.
As soon as he heard the sound, Roy glanced at Chad. The blond bartender had his right hand still half open, beer dripping through his fingers and running down his wrist. The bottle of domestic had fallen onto the mat below them, brown glass twinkling intermittently as the club lights reflected off it. The two things
to be thankful for were that it hadn’t broken anywhere near the well of ice, and that Angela’s shot show had created a lull at their bar. Chad was restocking when it happened, which meant there was no need to explain why he’d accidentally broken a bottle and had nothing more than a wet hand to show for it.
With the reaction time of a man who is accustomed to covering a lot of mistakes, Roy leapt into action. First, he threw a bar towel over Chad’s hand, squeezing it once to grab most of the moisture. Next, he grabbed the broom and dustpan from a nearby closet and swept up the glass with as much delicacy as he could muster. They’d still need to do a thorough job of cleaning it later tonight, but it wasn’t as though either man behind the bar was in danger of accidentally cutting himself. Once the glass was disposed of, he made a quick round at the bar, making sure everyone who was floating around it was either served or didn’t want a drink. Only when all that was accomplished did he turn his attention back to Chad.
“Are you going to be able to hold it together tonight?”
The words seemed to snap Chad out of whatever stupor he’d been lost in after shattering the beer bottle. “What?”
“I asked if you’re going to be able to hold it together tonight,” Roy repeated. “Because, if not, then you need to open up some skin, fake an injury, and go home.”
“Of course I can ‘hold it together.’ Look at who you’re speaking to.”
“Right now, I’m speaking to the guy who seems to be dealing with things like jealousy for the first time in a long while, if ever. A guy who just destroyed a beer bottle while watching the girl he likes smack someone else on the ass. A guy who is going to see a lot worse than that as the night wears on. Angela is a shot girl. She is going to flirt like her rent depends on it. Men are going to leer at her, though I, at least, doubt anyone will get handsy with that girl. Well, they won’t do it twice, anyway. Now, I need you to be straight with me: are you okay to keep going tonight?”
This time, Chad stopped to consider his answer. Roy had raised many valid points, and between the two of them, he was doubtlessly more experienced in matters of unintentional emotional reactions. While thinking, Chad finished drying his hand, though a mildly sticky sensation remained even when the beer had been toweled away.
“In my opinion, I should be able to suppress any overt outbursts,” Chad said. “I’ve set all the usual controls in my brain back to their standard levels. While this does help me keep a more even keel, it, unfortunately, does not undo what occurred when I let them lapse.”
“In other words, you can’t take away the knowledge that you have feelings for her?”
“Deeper than that, I’m afraid,” Chad clarified. “I cannot untemper my thoughts or memories of her. All of them now exist through a lens of romance. My ability will allow me to stop the chemical reactions, however, the memory of them and the knowledge of what I should be feeling is another matter.”
“So even you can’t turn off love. You know, Chad, some days, I almost think there’s a real guy under there,” Roy informed him.
“Your sentiment is noted and appreciated,” Chad replied, throwing the towel he’d finished using into the trash, just in case minute glass particles had gotten on it from his hand.
“I just mean it’s kind of funny that it turns out, despite all our differences, that you and I both have the same weakness,” Roy said, allowing a small chuckle to escape.
Chad’s interest immediately perked up, and the scowl vanished. Nothing held his interest like training, and learning about his own weaknesses was one of the best ways to grow past them. “What weakness do we share? If you are thinking it is mind intrusion, as is often the case with physically-based fighters, I must inform you that I’ve already made myself immune to such tactics.”
This time, Roy’s chuckle came out as a genuine guffaw. He grabbed his fellow bartender in a side-arm hug and gave him a squeeze, then pointed across the bar to where Angela was talking to a large group of clearly intoxicated men.
“Women, Chad. That’s our shared weakness. Both of us are weak to beautiful women.”
“Ah.” Chad would have debated him or lectured him on the silliness of such an idea, but the fact that he was unable to tear his gaze away from the booze-peddling blonde seemed to prove Roy’s point.
27.
Vince was on his way back from the bathroom when his lack of clubbing experience took him off course. Most people his age had maneuvered enough dens of liquor and noise to learn the tricks of finding one’s way about—using large decorations as points of reference, making sure to always know where the entrance is for orientation purposes, and checking the ceiling for identifying features that can be used as additional position markers. Vince, knowing exactly none of these techniques, promptly took a wrong turn and got lost. Since Six-Shooter was set up in a giant circle of bars and tables woven around the dance floor, he would have eventually found his table if he’d kept going. Before he could reach it, though, he was distracted by the sight of two familiar faces.
“Hey guys!” Vince called, sidling up to an open spot at Roy and Chad’s bar. There were less of those than there had been moments before, but thankfully, the surge had come at the end of their discussion on Chad’s current level of control. Still, with their combined skill, they were able to keep everyone sated and still have time for occasional conversation.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Roy said, sliding a beer into Vince’s hand without prompting. “I’d have thought it would take an act of God to get you into a club, and by yourself no less.”
“Mary and Camille are here too,” Vince corrected him. “We came to support you guys. All three of us were going to walk over together, but I got lost on my way back from the bathroom.”
“This place can be disorienting, sometimes to the point where I wonder if it is intentional,” Chad commented. “Nice to see you, Vince.”
“You too,” Vince replied. Although one might have expected animosity between them after last semester’s final match, two years of constant fighting had numbed them to the idea of holding a grudge over punches thrown. No, their relationship was the same as it had been since Camille’s birthday: respectful, if uncertain. The only new development was that Chad no longer felt he had an accurate assessment of Vince’s potential, a fact which he intended to remedy by observing him in the first group test.
“So, how’s Alice holding up?” Roy asked. “I haven’t seen much of her since the shift started.”
“Good so far,” Vince told him. “Angela seems to be helping her get used to the job. How are you two doing on your first night?”
“Rocking along,” Roy said, mostly to curtail the conversation from probing too close to the topic of Angela. Chad could make assurances all night, but Roy wouldn’t really feel at ease until the shift was over and his blond friend had had a chance to figure out how he wanted to handle his new feelings. “You know, maybe you should get back over to the girls. Leave two pretty women alone in a club like this, and you might find out that some other guy has charmed them away.”
Vince laughed. “Seeing as Mary is dating Hershel, I don’t think there’s too much to worry about.”
“What about Camille?”
“Maybe someone should ask her to dance,” Vince said. His smile didn’t waver, but something in his eyes shifted slightly. “She’s a wonderful girl, and she deserves to have some fun and be happy.”
Roy stared at his dormmate for a moment, then poured himself a stiff shot and tossed it back wordlessly. One emotional idiot he could have handled sober; two was going to require eighty proof fortification.
* * *
Camille had been drunk before. Despite her delicate image and tentative nature, she’d had a small rebellious streak in high school and gotten snockered with friends on a fifth of peppermint schnapps. The hangover from that had cooled her desire to rebel with booze; however, since being at Lander, she’d allowed herself the occasional indulgence. So Camille knew enough to recognize the stages of
escalating intoxication. She could tell the difference between buzzed, tipsy, and drunk with relative accuracy.
So, when she surmised that she was already tipsy and might be on the downhill slide toward drunk, it was not an uninformed opinion. Since Vince left, Alice had returned periodically, checking on her friends and making chit-chat. Each time she had, Camille bought a few more of Alice’s shots, quietly exchanging money for test tubes of tasty hooch while the other two girls made conversation. After a few minutes, she wondered where Vince had gone and swung her head about, searching the club for him. The sudden rotation had caused a strange effect in her vision, making it seem like the entire world was moving on a two-second delay. That was her first clue that she might have underestimated the potency of what was in those tubes.
“Uh-oh,” Camille muttered, setting her eyes back on the table.
“You okay?” Alice asked, breaking off her conversation with Mary.
“I’m good,” Camille said immediately, her innate desire not to cause trouble overtaking her actual concern.
“No, she’s not. She thinks she might have had too much too fast,” Mary informed Alice. “Could you go get her some water?”
“Not a problem,” Alice replied, immediately darting through the crowd toward the bar.
Mary patted Camille carefully on the hand and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m glad you noticed it on your own. I was about to say something if you took another shot.”
“They didn’t seem very strong,” Camille said, illustrating her own lack of bar knowledge.
“It’s my understanding that they never do,” Mary told her. “I’m sorry, this is my fault. I know how much you dislike giant crowds, and I still let you come along.”
“It’s not your fault,” Camille replied, shaking her head once before realizing that action only reminded her of the growing drunk sensation. “I made the choice to come here.”