Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  “Trudy is my name. Let me know if ya’ need anythin’ else,” she says.

  The name Trudy is so far off my radar, but I think I nailed her name as far as similarity. If there were a genre for names, Mavis and Trudy would be in the same category.

  I slide my key into the lock of door number three. It’s an actual key, not a keycard, but an honest to goodness key with a plastic, green keychain attached with a big gold 3 etched on the front. The back of the keychain says ‘Shady Lane, where real people come to relax.’ Well, I guess until this moment, I was living a disingenuous life. I thought I was a real person, but when I went somewhere to relax it usually housed a spa, and didn’t sell Mickey Big Mouth beer in a refrigerator of the lobby.

  I slowly open the door and walk into my twenty-eight-dollar-a-night dwelling. In all honesty, the place isn’t bad. It smells clean, and it’s air-conditioned. There is a microwave and a small refrigerator. A hotplate sits on the counter.

  Priority number one is to take a shower and remove the layers of sweat and dirt that one gets from sitting on the side of the road waiting for a rescuer. Once I’m clean, I collapse on the king-sized bed, glad to be somewhere safe and cool. I pick up the remote and scroll through the channels. I’m tickled that the property has cable. Sitting comfortably against the headboard, I watch two episodes of Chopped. Why the combination of squid, black beans, grape jelly and pork rinds would be appealing, I have no idea. I hear the rumble of my stomach and acquiesce to its need to feed.

  I shove all but twenty dollars cash into a spare shoe that I place in the microwave. No one is going to look there if I’m robbed. Shady Lane seems rather shady, and I’m not in the most trusting of moods these days. The jerk at the car dealership told me he would sell the car I bought to his grandmother, that’s how solid performing it would be. Well, he must hate his grandma, or she’s dead. The sleazy dealer should have had a sleazy name like Vinnie, at least that would put people on guard. Nope, his name was Ben. It’s an innocuous name. I would feel safe around guys named Ben.

  I stumble into the heat, rush across the street and into Last Resort. I walk into the bar and grill and notice I may be the only female in the place. Adjusting to the dark room after entering from the bright light of day, I find an empty table in the corner. I climb up onto a stool, take a seat, and look around at my surroundings. I would say this is probably what I would have described if you asked me to tell you what my idea of a biker bar looked like. I could have a field day in here making up names for people all day. I can already see the names flash in front of me. Names like Weasel, Frog, and Moose come to mind. The big guy in the corner probably goes by Tiny or Little Al.

  Neon signs advertising every type of beer imaginable hang from the walls. The wooden bar seats twelve. Mounted above it is a classic Harley Davidson painted black with shiny chrome accents. The well-worn booths are placed around the perimeter and bar tables with stools are littered throughout the space. Off to the right is a small stage that looks ready for either Karaoke or live music. Directly in front of the stage is a small empty section of worn flooring that would be perfect for three or four couples to dance.

  It’s nicer inside than the outside would lead you to believe. I look around at the people occupying the seats. I see mostly middle-aged men with beer bellies and beards. Biker bandanas are tied around nearly half of the balding heads. A younger crowd is seated to my left. Tougher looking men with tattoos and women who look rode hard and put away wet are playing darts and pool. It’s difficult to discern some of the men from the women. All in all, they seem harmless and engrossed in each other.

  I lean against the wall and wait for someone to come and take my order. After ten minutes or so I walk to the bar to see if I can get some service. I lean against the wood counter and wait.

  “Ring the bell,” says the man to my right. “He’s probably upstairs.” I pick up the bell at the end of the bar and shake it back and forth. Every eye in the room looks toward the sound. I blush under their stares. I hear the thunder of boots coming down the wooden stairs directly in front of me. I watch as the boots turn into a full-grown man.

  “Hi, I was waiting for service, but it never appeared. Can I order something from you? I’m starving.” I wait for recognition from him, but he gives me none. He looks at his watch and cusses.

  “Damn her, this is it. She was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago. Do you know how to wait tables?” He glowers at me as he waits for my response.

  “What? I want to eat, not work. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” I look at him as he looks around the room.

  “I’m thinking you owe me. I need a hand. It’s Friday night, and things are going to get busy here fast.” He tosses me an apron and a wet towel and looks toward the empty table that needs cleaning.

  This man once again leaves me speechless. I look at him and then back to the tables. I don’t know what drives me to put the apron on and clean off the tables. Maybe he frightens me, or deep down inside some part of me knows I owe him. Who knows what would have happened to me if he hadn’t stopped. I clean off the tables and make my way back to the bar.

  I pile the dirty dishes into the grey plastic bin at the end of the bar and look around for anything else that I can do. My stomach roars so loudly that several people sitting at the bar stare at me. The gruff man, who demanded I work to return his favor, looks down to my stomach and shakes his head.

  “You really should take better care of yourself,” he says gruffly. He hands me a menu and says, “Order what you want. I’ll pay you minimum wage and you keep all the tips you earn. It’s going to be busy tonight because we have live music. The band gets here at seven.”

  “Okay,” I say meekly. I have no idea what to do. I’ve never waited a table in my life. I’m a software engineer, schooled at USC. “I don’t know how to bartend. Will I need to do that?” I ask.

  “Can you draw a beer?” He walks over to the taps and grabs a glass.

  “I can draw a beer with a pencil and paper, but to actually pour a beer, no, I haven’t done that.” I raise my hands and shrug. This isn’t my life.

  He shows me how to slowly open the tap so the foam doesn’t get too big. Lord knows a man wouldn’t want too much head. I laugh at my errant thought. In what life would a man not want a lot of head? All right, obviously my hunger is making me delirious. I tell him I want a burger and fries and proceed to follow him around the bar. He shows me a list of the most popular drinks and how to make them.

  The door opens and we both look up. A sleek-looking, young blonde walks in. She can’t be more than eighteen. She makes a direct line to the bar and looks up at the man standing next to me. She’s all doe-eyed and smiles as she beams at him. He says nothing but nods toward the stairs. She obediently walks up them. She reminds me of a Hannah and so in my mind that’s what I’ll call her.

  “I’ll be back in a bit.” He trots up after the young miss “Hannah”.

  I stare after them. What the hell is going on here? He is short-handed, but seems to find the time for a quickie upstairs with a girl who probably just learned to tie her own shoes.

  I hear the clicking of a glass on the counter and look in that direction. Standing at the end of the bar is my first customer.

  “What can I get you?” I ask as I nervously wipe the counter in front of me. The man sits his beer mug down and tells me to fill it up with Bud. He then orders ten hot wings with blue cheese instead of ranch. I pour his beer and look around to find an order pad. I write the entire order out long hand and ask the man his name. He tells me people call him “Bug”. That’s one I wouldn’t have guessed.

  I search around for a window to pass my order thru. The only access to the kitchen is through the swinging door to the right of the bar. A grey-haired cook stands in front of the grill looking at me as I enter his domain.

  “Bathrooms are at the other end of the bar, darlin’.” He winks and points to the door.

  “I’m temporary help. My name is Alexa
, and I have a food order. He looks at the scrap of paper I hand him and begins to laugh. “What? It says exactly what I need.”

  “Darlin’, I need you to be less wordy. In an hour, you will be writing one of these every two or three minutes, and I don’t want you to get carpal tunnel your first day on the job.” He pulls me to the prep counter and writes CW 10 BC. “Something like this will do. If I have questions, I’ll ask. Welcome aboard, my name’s Bud, just like the beer, only I am fuller bodied and get better with age.” He chuckles as he opens the freezer to pull out a bag of wings. “Listen for the cowbell. It means you have an order up.”

  I walk out the door and into chaos. In the few minutes I was gone, nearly every table has filled up. I reach for the order pad and make my way around the room. I have mentally numbered the tables so that I know what will go where. I begin to pour beer after beer and make my deliveries. In the distance, I hear the sound of a bell and rush to the kitchen to pick up my wings and drop off three more food orders. Bud looks at the tickets and smiles.

  “You’re a quick learner. Audrey was a dumbass, and even after six months, she was still tryin’ to figure it out. You should consider stayin’.” He slaps my orders up on the board in front of him and begins to cook.

  “Did you get my order of a burger and fries? I will collapse if I don’t eat something soon.”

  “Nope, but I’ll whip yours up right away. We can’t have you sprawled out on the floor, the clientele might just use you as a carpet.”

  The next hour breezes past me. My pockets are chock full of dollar bills. I now see why so many people turn to waiting tables. You get cash every day, and your checks are just a bonus. Most servers don’t make minimum wage though, they typically get a substandard hourly rate that when added to their tips makes for something just above the poverty level. I wonder if Mr. Bar Owner always pays minimum wage, or if he is paying me more because he shanghaied me into helping him out tonight.

  I hear the clomp of heavy shoes on the stairs, and my eyes go directly to the place where little miss prom queen “Hannah”, and the nameless man disappeared. As he descends the steps, I see him buttoning up his shirt. Of course he is, he doesn’t even have the courtesy to fully dress himself upstairs. I bet he left her naked and wanting while he got what he wanted––what he needed. You can’t punish all men because Tyler was an ass, my inner voice reminds me.

  “How are things going?” He adjusts his belt as he takes his place behind the bar.

  I narrow my eyes at him. I have no idea how things are going. I’ve done the best I can. I inhale deeply, catching a whiff of him as he passes by me. He smells fresh and clean, like soap and leather. I inhale his scent and let it cleanse my senses.

  “I’ve broken two glasses and dropped one order of wings, but I’m getting the hang of it. I need to eat or I won’t be able to continue. Bud made me a burger that’s getting cold in the back. Can you watch things out here for a minute while I swallow it hole?”

  “Yes, and take your time. I’m sorry I forgot to put your order in.” He looks genuinely unhappy with himself.

  “No problem, I can see that your mind was elsewhere.” I look toward the stairs before I dash into the kitchen.

  ~ * ~

  Nearly seven hours later, he locks up the front doors as the last patron departs. I wipe the tables and sweep the floor before I walk up front to leave.

  “I’m out of here, you’ll have to re-lock the door behind me,” I call out to him.

  “Wait up. I’ll walk you across the street. You don’t want to exit a bar alone this late at night.” He shuts the cash register drawer he was counting and walks me outside. He pulls three twenties out of his pocket and puts them in my palm. His hand is warm, almost hot. I feel him shift his palm and place it on the small of my back as he ushers me across the street.

  “Thanks,” I say. I suppose I can use this to pay for my car to be towed. I meant to put towing on my insurance, but it slipped my mind.

  “Listen, today was a crazy day for me. I had a lot of things going on, and I wasn’t the most pleasant of people. I apologize. I don’t think I even asked your name. I’m Zane.”

  “I’m Alexa. It’s nice to meet you, Zane. Thanks for the ride, a meal and the job.” I offer my hand for him to shake. He looks at my hand and then back at me. He doesn’t offer me his hand in return. What a strange guy. Who names their kid Zane? I’m not doing well in the name game these days. I would have never come up with that one.

  “Since you are going to be here for a few days, why don’t you fill in at the bar? I could use the help, and you can probably use the money. It doesn’t look like Audrey is coming back, so I have an open position. If I recall, you are going wherever the wind blows you, so it’s not like you have any commitments. Why don’t you let the wind settle here for a few days?” He gives me a questioning look. I almost see a bit of pleading in his eyes. Oh, those blue-grey eyes. I can see why the little blonde got all doe-eyed in his presence. He’s the perfect mix of boy-next-door and bad-boy with a dash of mystery thrown in.

  “Why don’t you use the other girl that came in tonight? She appears to be happy to help you out in whatever way she can.”

  “I need her for other things. Besides, she’s not old enough to serve liquor. Just give me a few days. I can really use the help.”

  I bet he needs her for other things I think to myself, as I remember the young blonde who walked upstairs and never returned. Curiosity gets the better of me and I find myself saying yes before I can think things through.

  “All right, what time do I need to be there tomorrow night?” I have nothing better to do so, why not?

  “How about six to close; same pay, same deal. See you tomorrow, Alexa.”

  “See you tomorrow, Zane.” I put my key into the lock and turn the knob. He waits until I’m safely inside before he walks across the street. I peel back the curtain and watch as he walks away. I watch as his long legs stride across the street and disappear into the bar. The man is a mystery.

  Chapter 2

  I arrive at Last Resort about ten minutes early. I find my apron from last night and turn it around so the soiled side is facing me. I’ll have to take it with me and wash it. It’s disgusting. I walk in the back to say hi to Bud.

  “What can I get ya’, Lexi? I make a killer chicken sandwich.”

  “It’s Alexa, and that sounds great.”

  “You will want to start your shift by stocking the glasses at the bar. I would also make sure you have enough of everything to serve. Things like ketchup, mustard and napkins run out fast.”

  “Thanks, Bud, this is all new to me.”

  I wash my hands and pick up a tray of clean glasses. I’ll take his advice and stock the bar first.

  “Your meal will be ready in ten minutes, Lexi. It’s better eaten hot.” I scowl at him using a nickname for me. My name is short as it is. He just winks and goes about his business.

  The bar is beginning to fill up. I check myself in the mirror behind the bar. My fair skin is pink from catching too much sun yesterday. My brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I dipped my hair in soapy water too many times last night while I was washing bar glasses to not pull it back tonight. I’m wearing a pair of comfortable jeans and a tank top. I push up the girls a bit hoping I can pull in more tips. I raked in over a hundred bucks last night. Imagine what I could earn if I looked halfway decent.

  “Hey, boss man, do we have a live band tonight? I thought they were good last night. Who would have thought that three old geezers could put out a sound like that?”

  “They’re a favorite here at the bar. They’re back tonight and every first weekend of each month. This crowd likes classic rock.” He wipes down the bar a few times, but I notice that he keeps looking at me.

  “What? Do I have something on my face?” I lift up on my tiptoes to see myself in the mirror. Everything looks normal to me with the exception of my red nose and cheeks.

  “You look fine. You should wear su
nscreen. If you keep letting the sun kiss your face like that, you’ll be old looking before you know it. Your skin is pretty; you should take care of it.”

  I’m not sure if I should focus on the “you’re getting old part” or the “your skin is pretty” part, so I opt to ignore both. The front door creaks open and a bouncy redhead pops in. She makes a beeline for the bar and begins to apologize immediately.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I finished up late with my other client.” She looks up at him with a worried expression.

  “All right, head upstairs and get ready, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She bounces up the stairs without a second glance our way. Is he really going to leave me again for another romp with a teenage girl? She at least looks like she might be old enough to have grown pubic hair.

  Before he leaves to follow “Red” upstairs, I see another girl emerge from the staircase. She resembles the girl from last night, but I can’t be sure it’s her. Zane opens the cash drawer and pulls out two twenties. She giggles and pockets the money. Someone has to talk to these girls about self-worth. First of all, to sell yourself for forty dollars is preposterous, but to do so knowing that another girl is on your heels is crazy. What is wrong with this man?

  Before I can say anything, he disappears up the stairs. The sound of the cowbell means dinner is ready.

  By the time Zane comes down the steps again, he’s been gone for an hour. He smells freshly showered, and he’s changed his clothes. Tonight, he’s dressed in black jeans and snug-fitting cotton T-shirt. He has several tattoos on his arms and one peeking out above his collar. I wonder what meaning his body art has, if any?

  I wonder if he works out. He’s totally ripped. You don’t get like that by standing around the bar doing nothing. Maybe it’s his “personal trainers” that frequently visit that help keep him in shape. I wonder what it would take to tire a man like him out?