A Mistletoe Moment

by Natasha West

  ‘Does it?’ he asked, somewhat eagerly. Tilda went to say yes, but then it hit her just how much she truly hated this job. It had been six months of being pissed off. She was officially done.

  ‘Actually, you just get used to it. I don’t know that it really gets any easier.’

  ‘Oh’ he said with a gulp.

  ‘There’s other part time jobs for you while you get your degree. I suggest you think about getting one of them instead.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘But don’t do call centre. Or data entry. And never, ever, under any circumstances do fast food.’

  ‘You’ve had all those jobs?’

  ‘Between travels, yes. But I think it might be time to get my backpack on again.’

  ‘Where will you go?’ Mikey asked.

  ‘Dunno. Guess I’ll look at my bank balance and see what kind of ticket I can afford’ she shrugged.

  ‘You don’t even know where you’re gonna go?’

  ‘What difference does it make? Long as it’s not here.’

  With that, Tilda turned to the bar to see a woman standing waiting. She was sexy in an icy way, which wasn’t precisely Tilda’s bag of chips.

  ‘What bourbons have you got?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Just the usual suspects. Jim Beam and Jack Daniels.’

  The woman sighed, thoroughly put out by the pedestrian nature of the bar and said ‘Fine. Double Jack. No ice.’

  Tilda poured the drink and the woman took it, paying silently.

  ‘You’re welcome, arsehole’ Tilda muttered under her breath as she watched the woman slide away.

  A second woman appeared at the bar, wearing a black dress. She had a cute button nose, dark, wavy, auburn hair and deep set brown eyes. She didn’t seem too focused on getting a drink. She was watching the Ice Queen join some group of loudly laughing men at the other end of the room. Button Nose looked miserable.

  ‘Hey, what can I get you?’ Tilda asked the woman. She looked like she could do with a drink.

  ‘Vodka orange, please’ Button Nose replied, not looking at Tilda. She couldn’t seem to get her gaze off the Ice queen.

  Tilda knew that look. There was clearly some romantic history between the two women. And no doubt a bit of drama mixed in. She poured the drink and put it down. Sam began to fiddle with her purse. ‘How much?’

  ‘On the house’ Tilda said and Sam finally looked directly at her. She was tall and lean with large sparkly, blue eyes. Her blonde hair was in a messy ponytail and she looked like she couldn’t care less. Sam felt like it was the first time she’d looked at a woman other than Lara in the last three months and felt anything other than dead from the waist down.

  ‘Really? Thanks’ Sam said with a smile.

  Tilda felt her own little crackle as the woman smiled at her.

  ‘You’ve got a nice smile. You shouldn’t let anyone wipe it off your face. Even her’ she said and nodded at Lara.

  Sam felt utterly naked at the comment from the stranger. ‘Am I that see through?’ Sam asked, shocked.

  ‘Like cellophane’ Tilda said with a cheeky grin.

  Sam wondered if the woman was flirting with her. It was hard to know. ‘Easy Flirtation with a Stranger’ wasn’t something she could add to her romantic resume, presumably under Skills and Achievements. ‘Pines from Afar’ would have been a more accurate description.

  But she was saved from her tongue tied embarrassment by Gary from accounts poling up to the bar.

  ‘Err, I’d like two pints of bitter, a lager top, a gin and tonic, a Baileys…’

  Sam tutted. Poor Gary. He’d obviously been sent by the rest of the accounts department who were happy to take advantage of his good nature. And now whatever thin repartee Sam might have been able to summon was pointless. The hot bartender would be busy for a while. Sam wasn’t just gonna stand there like some desperate loser, waiting to see if the scrap of attention she’d been paid could be parlayed into anything else.

  ‘Slow down there, cowboy’ Tilda said to the sweating man in front of her and then glanced over to where Button Nose had been standing. Gone. Shit.

  Three

  It was about eleven thirty and the party was winding down. Sam realised she was almost at the finish line. She’d managed to speak to most people there, ensuring that she didn’t offend anyone by missing them out.

  She’d had a ‘fun’ conversation with her newish boss, Jack, who would no doubt be asked by the interview panel whether she was up to the job and therefore important to stay on the right side of. It had been tricky to skirt the weird line of personal conversation that didn’t tip the line into inappropriate, but she thought she’d just about pulled it off.

  She’d even danced briefly. But she’d had the good sense to wait until about ten thirty, when the floor was full enough that she wouldn’t get too much focus while she did it. But she’d been seen to do it. Like you were supposed to.

  She’d done everything you were meant to do at a party. Except enjoy it, obviously. But other than that, she had fulfilled the social contract.

  All the while, of course, she’d had her eye out for Lara. She couldn’t help it. It felt like she was forever in her eye line, looking perfectly at ease amongst the top brass among whom she now made her home.

  Even when Imogen slapped her hand and told her to stop it, that she should just relax and have another drink, it hadn’t helped at all. Relax? She could no sooner do that in a giant spider’s web. The metaphor was fitting. She’d always felt helpless with Lara. Not a victim, as such. She’d made her choice to punch above her weight during their seven months together, after all. But Sam had always felt like Lara didn’t want her like she’d wanted Lara. That she’d only ever deigned to be with her, wasting time till something better came along.

  And then it did.

  Lara got the news on a Tuesday that she’d got a job at the top. On the Wednesday, Sam got her own news.

  ‘Seeing as I’m moving on, it’s probably a good time to finish things up here. You know, with us. I mean, it was never going to be anything, was it?’ Lara said over what Sam had thought was a celebratory lunch. But no, it was the old ‘Dump her in public so she can’t make a scene.’ And Sam didn’t make a scene. She took the news quietly. There was a certain inevitability to it, after all.

  Lara got a promotion. And Sam got a demotion. She was moved down from girlfriend to nothing at all.

  And now she was here, still stuck in quicksand while Lara moved onwards and upwards. And from the looks that Sam had seen coming all night from a young woman she’d been told was Lara’s new assistant, Lara had moved on in every respect.

  And that’s what had made it feel so important for Sam to get a leg up in the company. The new job Sam was up for wasn’t Lara’s meteoric rise up the ranks, but it was forward momentum. Sam needed that more than anything right now. And at twenty-nine, she didn’t have forever to achieve it. It was time to fish or cut bait. And fish it would be.

  Sam wondered if she should have spent the night doing something other than obsessing over Lara. Like ordering numerous drinks from the bar while trying to chat up the sexy bartender.

  But that ship had no doubt sailed. It had been a brief frisson and it was gone.

  Besides, the bartender had been hard at it all night, up to her eyes with the ever drunker crowd. Sam had gone up once or twice but she’d gotten a teenage boy instead.

  The night was definitely coming up in the loss column.

  The bartender in question, Tilda, was right now cleaning up the contents of a full bottle of vodka behind the bar, smashed by Mikey.

  ‘I’m a clumsy dickhead!’ Mikey stuttered.

  ‘Accidents happen. It’s OK, mate.’

  But Mikey wasn’t comforted. ‘Dave’ll probably try and take it out of my pay, won’t he?’

  ‘He’ll try. But don’t worry about it. I’ll tell him it breaches employment law.’

  ‘Does it?’ Mikey asked, impressed by Tilda’s knowledge
.

  Tilda shrugged. ‘Dunno. Sounds convincing though, doesn’t it?’

  Mikey’s confidence shrivelled back up.

  ‘You know what? I need more rags. Can you hold down the fort while I grab some from the downstairs cupboard?’ Tilda asked, standing.

  Mikey didn’t look happy about serving solo again but Tilda was in his corner and he was prepared to give it a try for her while she cleaned his mess. ‘Yeah. I can do it.’ He didn’t sound as if he believed it.

  ‘Won’t be long’ Tilda promised the nervous boy. She stepped out from behind the bar and wandered through the crowd. She wondered briefly what had become of Button Nose. She was probably gone by now; the night was winding down. Wham’s Last Christmas was making that quite clear.

  Tilda had thought she might see her back at the bar but it hadn’t happened. It was a disappointment but life was full of those. And now there was vodka soaking through the floorboards to be dealt with.

  She ran downstairs to the cupboard, flying through the much quieter ground level bar, grabbing the rags while trying to avoid Dave. But the man had eyes in the back of his head. And as she headed for the stairs, his bleating voice punctured the peace of the dead bar.

  ‘What do you need that for?’

  Tilda sighed and turned. ‘Little accident.’

  ‘If it’s a broken bottle, it’s coming out of your pay.’

  Mikey had nailed that one, Tilda thought. But you didn’t need to be Nostradamus to see it coming. Dave was a tight bastard. And even though this wasn’t really her problem, it was Mikey’s, Tilda wasn’t about to throw him under the bus. He was hanging on by a thread as it was.

  ‘That’s illegal, Dave.’

  ‘Is it?’ Dave asked, sounding like the comment had disturbed him as much as Tilda had hoped it would. Luckily, even though Dave was the manager, he knew shit all about employment law. Mostly because he didn’t care. His word was law as far as The Brass Lantern was concerned.

  But that didn’t mean Tilda couldn’t rattle his cage a little.

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got a friend who works for a union. She told me’ Tilda lied.

  ‘You’re in a union?’ he said, troubled by how this conversation was getting away from him.

  Tilda let the merest smirk cross her face. ‘Not yet, Dave. Not yet. But maybe I’ll have a little meeting with the rest of the staff. See who else might think it’s time to get a bit organised.’

  A bead of sweat ran down Dave’s temple. But he wasn’t out yet.

  ‘Well, actually, I’ve had to give you several official warnings so I think this breakage is probably a sackable offence.’

  Tilda raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Who says? The union you’re not a member of yet? You’re sacked, effective immediately.’

  Tilda rolled her eyes at herself. Well, that backfired. But then again, hadn’t she just been thinking about quitting? Still, it chafed her arse that Dave had beat her to it.

  ‘Alright, Dave. Fuck it. You win. I’ll just say bye to Mikey and then I’m out.’

  Tilda flew up the stairs, rags still in hand. She met a few people coming out of the door to the upper bar, sliding their coats on. The Ice Queen was among them. Tilda stood back to let them through and most of them muttered a thanks. Except for one person, Ice Queen. She brushed past Tilda like she didn’t exist, even nudging her back slightly with her bag.

  ‘Oh, very nice’ Tilda called after her, now firmly in the zone of not giving a shit. ‘But I suppose it’s your world. I just live in it’ Tilda added. The woman didn’t look back.

  Tilda shook her head and pushed the door open.

  Sam was long past ready to go. But as she watched Imogen getting chatted up by a warehouse guy, the one with the tattoo of a tiger running down his enormous bicep, she knew she wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  She cursed herself for agreeing to share a taxi with Imogen. It was always like this. She’d agree a time to go and then some guy would pop up as they were about to leave, now ready to chat Imogen up after a night of drinking. Imogen pretended not to love it but the fact she’d let it drag on told Sam otherwise. And she’d be stuck waiting, getting more pissed off by the second.

  ‘Sod this. I’m going for a wee’ Sam muttered. Imogen didn’t hear her. She was squeezing the man’s arm and saying ‘Bench press 150 pounds? Really?’ as if she had any idea what he was talking about or what the hell bench pressing was.

  Sam headed for the toilets next to the bar.

  Tilda was in the midst of letting Mikey have a little cry on her arm upon finding out she’d been sacked and that it was his fault. ‘I don’t mind. I was gonna leave anyway’

  she tried to console the boy.

  ‘But, but…’

  ‘He’s a twat and I pushed my luck. It wasn’t really the vodka bottle that did it.’

  Mikey wiped his tears away and sobbed ‘I’ll miss you. You were the only cool person I met here.’

  ‘I like you too’ Tilda said fondly. ‘Let’s keep in touch. What’s your number?’

  She and Mikey got out their phones and Mikey began to recite his number.

  ‘Hang on, I don’t know how to use this thing yet. Only got it this morning.’

  ‘I can do it, I used to have that one.’

  She handed him her phone and he began to input. As she watched him, something in her peripheral vision made her turn and she saw someone waltz past the bar, headed for the toilets. Button Nose. As Tilda watched her go, she knew she wanted at least one good thing to come out of this shitty night.

  ‘Hold that thought’ she threw out to Mikey and headed after her.

  Sam headed into the small walkway that led onto the various bathrooms. Just as she put a hand on the door to the ladies, she heard a voice say ‘Hey’ from behind her. She turned, not sure if the person was addressing her. But she was. It was the bartender.

  ‘Where have you been all night? I’ve been looking out for you’ Tilda asked Sam, naughty intrigue in her voice.

  Sam’s mouth dropped open. She had no clue how to answer the question anyway, but she was mostly mute from the surprise of finding out that the bartender was interested to know. ‘Oh, erm, you know, around’ Sam finally managed to push out.

  ‘Around?’ Tilda said as she walked down the walkway toward a frozen-in-fear Sam. ‘How very mysterious.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.’

  Now they were standing together in the small walkway, just a few centimetres from each other. Sam fought the urge to take a nervous step back. Instead, she settled for looking away and playing nervously with her hair.

  ‘Well, you’ve earned the title of Woman of Mystery’ Tilda replied. ‘One minute you were there and then you vanished.’

  Sam couldn’t understand what was happening. Had the hot bartender really taken this level of notice of her whereabouts through the evening?

  ‘You looked busy, so…’

  Tilda sensed that the woman was a little jumpy and if she didn’t make a move soon, she would probably leg it. She decided to stop buggering about. Cards on table time.

  ‘Look, when a girl buys you a drink, she doesn’t do it out of the goodness of her heart.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. She’s hoping to get you talking.’

  ‘What for?’ Sam asked, genuinely bewildered.

  Tilda chose not to answer the question, instead sticking her hand out. ‘I’m Tilda, by the way.’

  Sam took the hand and said her own name quietly.

  ‘How was your night then. Fun?’ Tilda asked.

  ‘No, not really’ Sam replied with uncharacteristic honesty. But Tilda seemed like a no-bullshit type and she’d already clocked the ex-drama. ‘I’ve just been trying not to embarrass myself in front of my ex. Not to mention my boss, who pretty much decides how my future at the company goes.’

  ‘That’s a lot of power for someone to have over you.’

  ‘T
rue. Big interview on Tuesday so I guess we’ll see which way his thumb swings then.’

  ‘You’ve got an interview on Christmas Eve? That’s cruel and unusual punishment if you ask me.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not great.’

  ‘So all in all, this party has probably bitten pretty hard.’

  Sam nodded, relieved to be able to drop the façade of the fun loving party goer. ‘It really has.’