Kiss Me, I'm Undead

by Tasha L Driver

  “How did you get home?”

  “No clue. I just woke up in bed.” I shrugged my shoulders, then quickly added, “Still dressed.” As women, that had always been and always will be a concern.

  She got that half-stern, half-concerned look on her face. “I don’t like this, Kayla. You know I’m not just going to accept that nothing happened while looking at how tore up you are. I can see right past the pretty and know that you’re lying. Don’t you know someone is running around killing men here? No gangbanger shit either. These dudes are all cut up and drained of blood. Like Dahmer done rose from the grave he been rotting in. Don’t you watch the news?”

  “I don’t have a TV, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am me again and I’ll knock your ass out myself.” Just then her lip quirked up the slightest bit, betraying her promise of an ass-kicking. “Don’t let me catch you walking home again. If that hussy Jill wants to have an all-night orgy, she better take you home first, you hear?”

  “Yes, m—Gina.”

  She pulled me down for another hug and whispered in my ear, “If anything happened to you, I’d just...” Whatever last words her breath caught on, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to hear them. I didn’t think I would ever be ready. She cared so much for me and didn’t even know my true identity.

  She abruptly pushed me away and turned back to the liquor bottles she was inventorying. “Go on now. Get your tray and bank. I left them ready down by the sinks.” She pointed toward the high-top tables by the far wall. “Go take care of Smitty and his no-good friends from the senior living apartments. If one of ‘em hits on me again, I’m gonna pull out my 9mm.” Loving, bad-assed, no-shit-taking Gina in a nutshell. I adored her.

  What Is He Doing Here?

  It was that god-awful time of night again. The senior apartment guys had spent their ten dollars, nursed their drinks, and gone home without getting on Gina’s nerves too much. The after-work-crowd had all gone back home to their families. It may be 10:47 pm, but the weekend partiers weren’t due in for at least another half hour. The lull in action grated my nerves and gave me time to realize that I was hungry again. When would this stop? Luckily, the music was too loud for anyone to hear my stomach grumbling, but I could feel the gnawing and wrenching, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

  What didn't make sense was that I’d been carrying food out all night to tables. None of it appealed to me in the slightest bit. But, fuck my life, I saw the cook, Robert, putting some raw rib eye on the flat top grill for a Philly cheese steak, and my mouth watered.

  I stood off to the side of the bar area, waiting for someone to sit in my section and seriously considering sneaking some, when Jill sauntered my way. The cheetah printed spandex dress she wore gave off a slight sheen under the dance floor lights and somehow made her look vicious rather than ridiculous.

  “I’m still mad at your bitch ass for acting like that when I. Came. To. Check. On. You.” Boy, she loved punctuating her words and leaving dramatic pauses. Who was I kidding? I did it too, but her usage was more annoying. “I’m going to put that aside right now, though.”

  I waited for her point, but it never came. Instead, I watched her smile grow wide and a glint appear in her eye. Those two things combined could only mean one thing. A boy.

  “I just saw my future husband walk in.” She jumped up and down, and I wasn’t sure what worried me more: That she might spill the drinks on her tray or that she might spill her boobs out of her top.

  “Jill, you see your future husband every shift you work. What you mean is your future BAE for the night. Or the week. Maaayyybe a month, but that’s pushing it.” It was true. She’d been looking for a knight in a white BMW to rescue her from the ghetto for much longer than I’ve known her. She just kept going about it wrong. I guess no one told her that rich guys didn’t usually marry cocktail waitresses they met in the bar and took home the very first night. For that matter, rich guys didn’t walk into Gina’s Bar on the south side of Chicago for any reason.

  She ignored my scathing remarks and went on. “This one’s different. I’ve never seen him before, and I’m certain he doesn’t live around here. Your whiteness must be attracting more of your kind. Trust me, I don’t mind at all if they are going to look like that.”

  I followed her finger and saw that who she was lusting after was who I’d been lusting after. Stalking through the sea of high-top tables and rounding the bar was my new neighbor. A strange sense of proprietorship came over me. She couldn’t be thinking of trying to hook up with Freddie. I’d kill her! I didn’t even like him, but I’d still kill her. I hated his guts, but he was off limits to her. And probably to anyone who dared to want him. It was as if I had the most nonsensical bond with him. I’d really fucking lost my mind.

  Instead of grabbing her by the long Korean strands of her weave, I deflected. “You don’t want any of that. Trust me. He’s my neighbor.”

  Jill gasped. “That...alabaster god was in the same vicinity as me just yesterday?” She was incredulous, and it was the funniest shit I’d seen. Narcissists always gave their emotions more oomph, that’s for sure. Jill grabbed my arm and pulled me farther off to the side to get an unobstructed view of him ordering at the bar. She yanked my attention back to her. “I thought you said your neighbor was a little old man.”

  “I never said he was ‘little’. They’re close to the same height, actually. But, yeah, my neighbor’s an old dude. Old enough to be in the hospital and possibly dying. So please don’t hit on his grandson who’s visiting from Germany and naturally worried about the family patriarch.”

  “He’s German? Germany has the best economy in the world. I bet he has money and good credit.” I couldn’t believe after everything I’d said, that was the detail she latched onto. How the hell did she know about Germany’s economy anyway? “Give me an intro. Now.”

  “Don’t you need to drop off your drinks first, Jillesa?”

  She looked at her tray as if she’d forgotten they were there. As she walked off with a huff, I saw her mouth mumble the words, “Stupid job...”

  It was at that moment I wished it were a half hour later and we were busier. I would have had work as an excuse to not do what I did next. But my section was a motherfucking dead zone, and I had nothing else to do except turn my toes toward the subject of my previous conversation and get to walking. His back was to me as he hunched over whatever drink he’d ordered. I wanted to see that drink. What a person drank said a lot about him. Cheap beer and he was a jock, redneck, or dirt-poor musician. Wine, in a place like this, and he was a poseur. Anything too colorful and Jillesa, and me for that matter, would be barking up the wrong out-and-proud tree.

  I’d gotten five feet away from my mark and decided I wasn’t going to talk to him. There wasn’t really anything I could think of to say other than, “Fancy meeting you here. My friend wants to bone you, but I’d rather she not.” I stood there, staring at his back like an idiot for who knows how long. Just as I’d gotten enough sense to turn around and get back to the job I’d finally remembered I was supposed to be doing, he lifted his head and slowly turned toward me. Now, I’m not a wilting flower...usually, but the smile he beamed over at me like Scotty from the Starship turned me into a wet puddle. Literally. I wanted to go find a napkin, but he’d started toward me. I looked in his hand, and he had a tumbler of brown liquor. Neat. Great. That makes him a total stud and that much harder to resist. The plain black V-neck tee and dark wash jeans he wore completed the oh-so-yummy package.

  “Hello, Kayla.” That was it. Two simple words, and then he just stared into my dumbfounded eyes.

  “Did you know I worked here?” What a dumb question. How would he know that? It was my first time working since he’d arrived.

  Though the smirk he gave me said the answer was yes, he replied, “I was bored. This is the closest bar. It’s...nice.” He looked around at the dark decor. “And also good to know you work here. Maybe I’ll come in often.”

&nb
sp; “You probably shouldn’t. I mean...” How could I say what was on my mind without sounding like a horrible person? “...this isn’t really your crowd, is it?” Oh my god, I sounded like a horrible person.

  “And how do you know what crowds I hang around?” Freddie moved closer until only an inch stood between us and leaned down until his warm, whiskey-scented breath tickled my ear. “There are Black people and Hip-hop music in Germany, Kayla.” He leaned back and scanned me up and down, really taking in what I was wearing, and laughed softly, adding a little click of his tongue. The very one that I so desperately wanted stuck down my throat. “To be honest, Kayla, I’d say you were the one that doesn’t really fit in around here.”

  He was right. I didn’t. As if he could see on my face how much those words cut me, he stopped smiling. In fact, his face looked positively grim. “You’re still not eating, are you, darling?”

  Again with the food? “I ate right before coming into work!” I had no idea why I was answering him. I didn’t want to, but it was as though the words were being pulled from me against my will. So I did what any dignified woman would do...I sassed my answers right back at him. “I’ll have you know, I ate a big, juicy steak before coming into work. So there!”

  “From whom did you take the steak?”

  Wow. His English sucked balls. “Uhh...I bought it from the meat counter at Supermercado Mas Grande. I have a question of my own. Why do you keep asking me about my eating habits? I’m not exactly skinny.” I was a solid size twelve when uncorseted, but he didn’t need to know that. “Some people would call me curvy, in fact, but you seem to act like I need to gain weight.”

  His eyes thinned to slits. “I like your body just fine, darling, and I’d like to see it stay exactly the way it is.” He tsked, and it was like I was about to be scolded by a sexy teacher. “I have a feeling I may have to feed you myself.”

  That visual was too yummy to think about too hard. It didn’t negate the fact that Freddie was as maddening as he was handsome, though. “Just ask me out and stop being weird.”

  “Pardon?” I was certain the confusion on his face was genuine and I wanted to take back the statement, but it was too late.

  “I don’t know if I’m understanding you. Maybe there’s a language issue.” Though, his accent wasn’t all that thick. “It just sounds like you may have been asking me out to dinner.” I sounded desperate to my own ears.

  He didn’t respond immediately, and I knew right then he was an alpha male like the ones I read about in the sexiest of romance novels. He was probably a Dominant, too. I could tell he enjoyed having women wrapped around his finger. After so many weird questions and backhanded compliments, I was unnerved by his silence. It went on so long that I almost missed when the softly spoken promise was uttered through his lush lips. “Not ‘out.’ I will make you a meal that will satisfy you properly anytime you wish. Just don’t wait too long.”

  I’d just been fucked. With words. And it was so damned gooood. I couldn’t respond because all the moisture from my mouth had traveled way, way south, so I was glad when I was saved from my dimwitted silence by his sudden departure. He strutted through Gina’s as if the place was about to be renamed Freddie’s. The crowd had trickled in while I was talking to him, and I was sure I was about to get a write-up if I didn’t get my ass in gear, but I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way he moved and the way other men avoided being in his way. He went to the far corner of the dance floor and took a seat at a table with his back to the wall. It was a good place to see everyone in the bar and everything that happened. I bet he was a people watcher. I wondered if he liked to watch other things.

  “Thirsty bitch.”

  “Oh shit!” Jill had appeared to my right while I was fixated on Freddie. I’d definitely been caught...thirsting, I guess. “Sorry, I know. I’m getting to my tables now.”

  Jill laughed. “Girl, I ain’t your boss, and I don’t care. You could have told me he was on your radar, though. I don’t poach in my friends’ territories.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Umm hmm.” Of course, she didn’t believe me. I didn’t believe myself. “Don’t act like I didn’t see what happened. He told you to come, and you went ‘drip, drip.’” There was that annoying cackle again. “Get back to work. Make him jealous. Make him beg you for it.”

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Freddie Schwinghammer was not the type to beg. I took a long deep breath and headed back to my section without another word. This was going to be a long night.

  Mr. Gray Eyes

  When it started getting busy in the bar, I thanked all the deities for the blessing even though I was raised a good Southern Baptist. When It came to Mr. Swinging Dick, who never left his post in the corner and watched me work all night, I couldn’t be too careful with which god I was grateful to. For all I knew, a little fat Buddha was working whatever mojo he had on me.

  Even though Freddie was sitting in my section—a very unlucky coincidence—he didn’t bother me at all, with the exception of the couple of times he raised an empty tumbler at me to indicate he needed another. And every single time I brought him one, he handed me a large bill and told me to keep the change. I wanted to be insulted, but I was way too busy, and I needed the money. Still, did he think he could buy me? Toss money around and I’d drop my still-wet panties? I may lust after him beyond the control of my own will, but I was no cheap hooker. I may have let a guy treat me like that once upon a time in my life as Kiera, but I was sixteen and very, very naive. I wouldn’t put myself in a place where I owed a guy again. He could just forget it.

  The music thumped around me as I went from table to table. Rhythmic lyrics spoke of everything from oppression to gang life, to wearing Adidas and drinking Hennessey, depending on how deep the song was. In one, I could pick out samples from a classic Rockabilly tune, but I’d never tell anyone I worked with about that. No one would believe me in a million years.

  Almost everyone there that night was a regular. One group of girls that came in every week pulled me over to chat for a bit. Surprisingly, they liked my skunky hair. They asked if it was a weave or a wig. I wanted an out for the gray streak, but I was a horrible liar, so I just told them I’d bleached it in. One of the young women, whose hair was jet black and stick straight, said she might get a few strands of white put in with her next appointment to change out her weave. Her friend with a beautiful natural ‘fro started on a tirade about how Black women needed to stop putting relaxers and weaves in their hair to live up to an ideal created by White people. I took that as a chance to back out of the conversation. Very uncomfortably, I might add.

  It wasn’t that the talk bothered me; I knew she was right. I’d seen social media posts where kids were sent home on the first day of school because their hair, neatly coiffed in braids or dreads, somehow violated the school’s dress code. It was awful, but it wasn’t my place to stay in the conversation and insert my opinion. Especially not with the bar patrons. It was very bad form to get into social injustice debates when money was involved. I grabbed the drinks they’d ordered and set them in front of each of the ladies without a word. As I did so, the au naturale woman was still going on, this time about the plight of South Asian women who shaved their heads bald in a temple as a sacrifice to their god only to have the hair end up on the head of a hood rat living on the South Side. Oh, fuck my life, I couldn’t get away from that convo quick enough. I decided to return for their payment. On my way back from the table, I spotted a bouncer and warned him to keep an eye out. The so-called hood rat looked like she was going to attack.

  The night continued without many other incidents. Jill got her ass squeezed a few times and complained about it loudly. Then she told me she gave her number to one of the ass-squeezers. I let her know she had just sent the Women’s Movement back twenty years. I’m not exactly a feminist, but there should at least be some fucking standards.

  By one o’clock in the morning, the music had somehow gott
en thumpier, and it was grating my nerves. Or maybe I was just on edge. I couldn’t deny that I was hungry. And tired. And hurting. I wanted to go home, cook up a good meal, and crawl into bed. I’d lost my willpower and grabbed a couple of pieces of the thin-sliced rib eye, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy me.

  In front of my customers, though, I kept on a happy face. Most were on the dance floor at this point. A few were still ordering drinks. I was super-surprised to see a new face sit in my half of the bar. It was late; he must’ve come in from some other party.

  The man dressed in expertly-distressed jeans and a red polo. He was a handsome Latino with a five o’clock shadow and very light-colored eyes. Steel gray. I remember the color perfectly because those gray eyes were trained on me from the moment he sat down and the entire time it took for me to make my way to him. When I greeted him, he didn’t smile. Not even a small twitch of the lips. It was eerie.

  “Whatcha drinking?” I said casually, even though his stare had me on edge.

  “Do you have an Amber?” He gave me a good look from head to toe. I was guessing he would start hitting on me soon. These were the downfalls of waitressing anywhere, but it was really bad at bars and clubs.

  I did that little thing people do, where they look up and to the left when trying to remember something. That was when I caught Freddie staring. He looked pissed. Jealous? “Yep. It’s on tap only. Is that cool?” I wasn’t going to dwell on Freddie and his sudden weird infatuation with feeding me screw up my work performance.

  “Whatever.” Still no smile, but plenty of attitude.

  ‘Whatever,’ for real. Thank every-fucking-thing the night was close to being over. Last call was in another thirty minutes, and I couldn’t wait to count my till and go. I hoped Jill could give me a ride home this time. For some reason, I was nervous about walking. I told myself that it was because I didn’t want Freddie to see me outside and offer a ride with him. I wouldn’t survive being in the close confines of a vehicle with that man.