“Is that it?” the guy demanded, looking at me.
I nodded. “She got it right.”
Luce gave me a nice smile, shook up the drink, whipped out a glass from under the bar, and poured the shot. She pushed it in front of me. “You don’t know for sure until you try it.”
I looked at the brown stuff. It was probably sweet swill, but I should at least do her the respect of tasting it. I lifted it and took a good swig—and almost hacked out my tongue. Nasty! It was moldy, metal sewer water!
Everybody at the bar, including both bartenders, were about pissing themselves.
“You think they let us practice with real liquor?” gasped Luce. “It’s water with food coloring!” Behind us, Danitra and Paul were cracking up, too.
I wiped my mouth and chuckled. “Okay, that was good. You got me.” I shook my head. “You got me good.” Somebody cheered and one of the people at the bar, a big bald dude, gave me a thumbs-up.
“That was a test,” the redheaded bartender explained. “If you got mad, we wouldn’t have let you join the school.”
“Really?”
He laughed. “No, man, we don’t get to decide. I’m sure Paul would have taken your money. But we would have spread the word that you were an idiot. But you’re in now. You passed the test.” He held out his hand. “I’m Aidan, by the way.”
I laughed as I shook his hand. “Nice test. I could see some people getting mad.”
“Only the assholes,” said Aidan, grinning.
After that we had fun; I hung around for a while, chatting with people, watching them practice. They took turns at the bar, and the rest played customers, pretending to be high-maintenance or psycho or just plain stupid. They had different personalities worked out, like somebody said, “Oh, Greg, do the perv!” and this older guy ordered a blow job from a girl bartender and started talking dirty so she could practice how to deal with pervs.
Then this cute brunette said, “I’m Wynn’s wife,” and kept turning drinks back in and saying, “Only pass the vermouth over the martini, only pass it.” The whole thing was like a comedy show where you actually learned something, and I knew after the first five minutes that I had found my spot.
When we went back to reception, I took out my cash again. “Okay, Danitra, sign me up.”
She said approvingly, “That’s right, honey. You fit right in. You just fill out these forms, and we’ll get you started. Don’t worry about the credit section, since you’re paying cash.” She slid a clipboard across the desk, and I sat in one of the cushy chairs and started filling out the forms. It was just some basic stuff, and they didn’t even ask for my birthday. I guess they didn’t care. There probably weren’t too many underage kids trying to pay a grand to play with colored water.
Then I came to the blank that asked for my address. My pen stopped moving. I looked at Danitra, her head bent over some crazy tabloid, her extensions falling over her shoulders like red ropes. She was nice. I decided to risk it.
“Danitra?” I said in a low voice. “I just moved here, like, yesterday. I don’t know what to put in the address part.”
She looked up and frowned. “For real? Where you staying at?”
“The Strip,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more questions.
She shrugged. “So put the hotel address, if you want. But you don’t want to be paying Strip prices. Why don’t you get one of them monthly rentals? They got some on Harmon and Trop, go for like five hundred a month. My cousin Chanel stays there. You got to share a kitchen and bathroom, though, and sometimes they kinda nasty.”
Five hundred a month! The number sank into my mind, practically glowing. For that, I could afford to eat, and get started on my job, and build up a better cushion. “What’s the place called?” I asked.
Danitra flicked a page. “Harmon Terrace. They got all four-plexes along Harmon between Sandhill and Pecos. If one don’t have a spot, you just drive down the road to the next one.” She pointed at my clipboard. “You can leave the address blank and fill it in next time you come in.”
“Thanks.” I finished the form, handed it in, and paid her. Handing over the grand hurt, even for a good cause. I said, “Danitra? Is it hard to get a bartending job in this town?”
She gave a quiet snort. “Only for the ugly ones, baby. You ain’t going to have any trouble at all. Not at all. Mmm-hmm.” She shook her head and pursed her lips.
I gave her a huge smile.
“Go on now. You get yourself a place to live. See you next week.” Danitra waved as I headed for the door. “You gonna do great here. Paul likes you already, I can tell.”
I waved back and headed outside. The air felt amazing, and somehow the whole office park looked nicer, like somebody had been at it with a paint roller while I was inside. Paul already liked me. The other bartenders liked me. And I was going to prove them right.
Then a thought hit me, and I got a strange feeling. Had I just found myself a new form of dealing?
Well, the stuff in those pill bottles either got you hooked or did bad shit to your body, even in small amounts. Booze was different. It could hook people, all right, but plenty of people could handle their liquor, knew when to stop, just enjoyed a good drink.
Maybe this was what that bartender meant about handling your bar like a man. I didn’t like to think about cutting people off, but maybe that was part of it. Maybe another part was pouring a lot of free coffee. Not letting people get in their cars wasted. Stepping in when guys tried to get stumbling-drunk girls to leave with them. Maybe it was other things, too. I guessed I’d find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
By that night, I had moved into Four Horizons Apartments. It was money down, some papers to fill out, and no questions asked. I wasn’t surprised; the place was so nasty, they should have paid people to live there instead of the other way around. It was a good thing my parking space was right under my window, because otherwise my car probably would have been ganked one part at a time, like food stolen by ants at a picnic.
Still, I felt like a king lying on my mattress, staring at the cottage cheese ceiling. There were three doors in the tiny room: one to the parking lot, which was full of hoopdies; one to the bathroom, which I shared with somebody who’d been using the same razor for about a century; and one to the kitchen, which had a sketchy, rotting smell and a refrigerator packed with Big Boy drumsticks.
But none of it mattered. I was on my own, not depending on Phil anymore, with plans that didn’t involve sitting at a desk.
And I had Irina. Even though I knew it was stupid to hope, and we were seventeen, a long way from anything serious, I had this feeling I’d found my girl. I wished I’d introduced her to my mom when I had the chance.
Thinking of my mom made me throw a guilty look at my phone charging in the wall. She’d had time to settle down and was probably starting to worry. She might have even called some White Center people, trying to track me down. I picked up my cell and dialed home, bracing for a blowup.
Mom answered on the second ring. “Gabe, where are you? You can come home already. Phil’s calmed down.”
Like I was gone because I was worried about Phil. “I’m in Vegas.” There was a crazy-long silence. “Mom?”
“Las Vegas? Nevada?”
“Yeah. I have to tell you some stuff.”
As usual, she didn’t listen right away. “Okay, I don’t know what you’re doing out there, I hope you had fun, but come home. I’m sorry we sprang the news on you like that. I’ve been thinking about it, and I should have told you alone, not with Phil sitting there.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“I know you don’t like him, but honey, you didn’t think he’d leave his wife, either. So maybe he’s not as bad as you think.”
I sighed. It was time for the bomb. “Mom, I dropped out of school. I’m staying in Vegas.”
I could feel her shock waves all the way from Washington. “You … you … what?”
I g
uess there was a part of me that was still mad, because I said, “I can’t live with Phil.”
Mom took a shaky breath. “I’ll leave him.”
Immediately I felt horrible. “Mom, you don’t have to—”
“No, you’re my son. You can’t drop out. I’ll leave him.”
I rolled onto my back and covered my eyes with my hand. “I’m sorry. I was being a jerk. It’s not just Phil. I’m eighteen next month. I’d be leaving soon anyway. And I’m not cut out for school. I screwed up my finals.”
“I’ll talk to your tea—”
I cut her off. “I’d have to do summer school, and I’m not doing that. I’m going to get a good job in a restaurant, I’ll make a ton of money. I’ll get to talk to people all day … You know I can’t do desk work.” I heard a begging sound in my voice.
Mom said thickly, “I had this same conversation with your nana when I was sixteen. I guess I passed it down.”
“You passed me down your big old cajones,” I said, but she didn’t laugh.
“What about tutoring? Your counselor said they have free tutoring. Or I can get Ph— I can pay for a tutor for you, a private one, not the ones at school.” She’d almost said, I can get Phil to pay for a tutor.
If it hadn’t been for his name slipped in, a tiny piece of me might have considered it. “No, I’m done for real. It isn’t my scene.”
“Gabe, you can’t just quit. You’re two quarters away from graduating.” Mom’s voice was shaking.
“Two quarters and summer school, and who knows if I’d pass my classes that time around, either! Mom, I’m done!” I took a breath and said slowly and clearly, “I am not. Coming home.”
She started to cry.
My hand was twitching, I wanted to hang up so badly. “I’ll do my GED,” I said.
“It’s not the same.”
“That’s what you did, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, still crying. “Oh, Gabe.”
“Mom, stop it!”
“I can’t! I’m sad!”
“What’s wrong with a GED?”
“It’s just not the same. Hold on.”
I groaned. “Not a quote.”
But it was too late. I could hear the crinkle of pages. She read, “The rule seems to be that the bigger and more life-changing the decision, the less it will seem like a decision at all.”
“I know I’m making a big decision! Is that what you’re trying to say? I get it! I’ve been killing myself for years. I just can’t keep going!”
The silence dragged on so long, it was even worse than her crying. Finally she said in a heavy voice, “You should sign up for the GED right away, while you still remember how to do the math and things.”
“Okay,” I agreed. I thought I might as well. I heard Mom blowing her nose on the other end.
“How do you plan to support yourself?” she asked.
“Bussing or waiting. And I’m going to bartending school … when I’m old enough.”
“I always pictured you in a suit, with your own office. You’re so smart, Gabe.”
“You’re my mom! You have to think that!” I said, almost shouting. “And what does smart have to do with it? Just because I’m smart, I can’t be a bartender?”
“No, that’s not—”
“No, seriously? How come everybody has this idea that the only way to ‘succeed’ is to choke in a tie and sit behind some desk all day, staring at a computer? Isn’t it good enough just to do something I like?”
“It’s about money,” Mom said. “Money gives you the freedom to live how you want.” I knew she was thinking of her own life, and how she had to hustle to get by.
“Well, bartenders make plenty of money. And they don’t have to work eighty hours a week.”
“Will bartending really make you happy?” She sounded as if she didn’t think it would.
I started to answer, but she interrupted me. “Please, think about it before you say yes. Take Phil out of this. Just think about bartending. Will it make you happy?”
I tried to do what she said. I pictured myself boss of my own bar, talking with people all day, hanging out, making drinks, never sitting down. I hated sitting. Liked talking. Was good at being social. “Yes,” I said.
“Then do a good job at it.” Mom was crying again. And at that moment I decided I would do a good job. I’d be the best bartender ever.
She took a deep breath. “Where will you stay?”
“I got a place.”
“Already? Where?”
“Some apartment.”
“What’s the neighborhood like?”
“Just regular.” I thought it was best not to give too many details.
“What are you going to eat? You don’t cook.”
“Ding Dongs and Cheetos, Mom. C’mon, I can figure it out myself.” I tried to sound annoyed, but I sort of liked that she was worried about my food.
After that, she wanted to know more details: what exactly my apartment looked like, whether it was clean, who were my neighbors. I may have stretched the truth a little, because I wasn’t trying to give her a heart attack.
“What about Thanksgiving?” Mom got choked up again. “Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”
I sighed. “No. I’ll get a package of Oscar Mayer or something. You know I like sliced turkey better, anyway.” Then we had to have a ten-minute conversation about what I should get for Thanksgiving that wouldn’t require cooking.
When I hung up, I set down my phone and looked out the window into the parking lot. Part of me had always felt like I was born one down, having no dad and a featherhead mom. But the truth was, Mom came through when it mattered. She had said she would leave Phil. I knew the sound in her voice, and she was dead serious.
That was big. No, huge.
It’s a good feeling to stop being pissed at your own mom.
I thought about the other people I should call: Missy, Kyle, Matt, Forrest. Missy would be jealous and ask when she could visit. Kyle and Forrest would think I was stupid for dropping out but cool for running off to Vegas. Matt would think I was stupid, period. I’d be one of those high school legends, who they all kind of laughed and shook their heads about. Or maybe they’d keep in touch. You never know. People can surprise you.
My first mail from Irina came two days later. She’d called from a pay phone when she got home and asked for my address, said she wanted to send something. But I’d expected a letter, not a package.
It was in a padded yellow envelope, addressed in loopy writing. I slit it open with my keys. There were three things inside: a letter, a GED study guide, and a little wooden picture of an angel with a shiny gold halo. The angel was a guy, which was different, with light brown skin and dark hair, not like the blond ladies in white dresses you see at Christmas. His eyes were almond-shaped and dark brown, and he looked very serious. I stared at him and then opened Irina’s letter.
Dear Gabe,
I miss you insanely. My mom said she’d get me a phone this week, so I should be able to call soon with my number. In the meantime, I don’t want to talk on my parents’ phone. I’m kind of paranoid. I’m sure you understand. Things have been so tense since I got back.
I told my parents I don’t want to go to conservatory, and they’re pretty upset right now. Like I’m not sure my dad is ever going to talk to me again. But I have to do this. I need four years on my own before I decide what I want to do with my life.
I don’t think I want to be a professional musician. It’s kind of scary to write that, because my whole life, everybody, including me, thought it was what I would end up doing. But I keep feeling like it’s the wrong path. Every time I imagine myself in conservatory, I feel blurry, fuzzy, and dull.
But when I think about going to college, everything gets clear, and I can actually imagine walking around campus, going to classes, and learning stuff. I see myself in a library inside a study carrel, for some reason.
Anyway, I’ve been researching colleges. I like
Notre Dame, Dartmouth, and Penn, so far. I don’t know if I’d like living in South Bend or Hanover, but Philadelphia sounds amazing … so maybe it’s Penn if they’ll have me.
How are you? I want to hear more about bartending school. It sounds hilarious. I was thinking about what you said about not wanting any job to own you, and wanting your off time to be really off. I think you and I want the same thing; we’re just coming at it from different directions. We both want to dig deep into life, and not be on a mindless wheel, and actually enjoy our time here, and do something worthwhile, but not focus on money or being “big.” I hope what you said about us comes true. You know what I’m talking about.
The GED book is the one that my parents bought for me when we were trying to decide if I should homeschool or just take the GED. It’s really basic. I think you should just do it and get it over with.
The icon is of the Archangel Gabriel. I know you’re not religious or anything, but Anya’s mom gave me the icon when I got baptized, and it’s special to me. Those Russian words on the back say, “Irinushka, Archangel Gabriel brought the news of salvation to mankind.” Gabriel is your patron, and I just thought you should have at least one picture of him, even if you don’t believe in that stuff. I’m not out there, and it helps to think he’s watching over you. Also, I have kissed that icon (bottom-left corner) at least a thousand times (icons are like pictures of people we love), and so maybe in some way my kisses are soaked into it.
Anyway, I miss you, I want to wrap my arms around you and sleep in your arms … I want all kinds of things. I’ll call you later.
Love,
Irina
I stared at that word love for a long time before folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope. A light, insanely happy feeling boiled up in my chest. Irina wouldn’t write anything by accident, definitely not love. I checked my phone to make sure my ringer was on, even though I knew it was. Then I took the angel picture and set it on my window. I reached out and touched the bottom-left corner and thought of Irina. She said he brought the news of salvation to mankind. What did I need to be saved from? I thought about my life and almost laughed. There were plenty of things—but mostly from myself, I guessed.
Betting Blind (Betting Blind #1) Page 19