Summer Bender

by Jennifer Lucia

  “Oh, yeah, a few times. I prefer France to England, though. A lot less rain.”

  “Okay, now you’re just showing off,” I said, green with envy. “I’ve always wanted to go to France. I took like ten years of French, which has enabled me to be able to ask where the nearest restroom is and how much does this cheese cost?”

  “Very impressive. I’ve heard that’s all you need to know how to say to get by on your own in France,” Logan said seriously. “Tell me, how does one ask where the bathroom is or how much cheese costs?”

  I laughed, shifting uncomfortably. It had been a while since I’d taken French and it was inexplicably nerve-wracking to speak it out loud to another person. “Um. Okay, don’t make fun of me.”

  Logan looked at me like I was crazy. “Why on Earth would I make fun of you?”

  I shrugged. “Okay, here goes- Où se trouvent les toilettes? Combien coûte ce fromage?"

  I looked up at Logan, who was staring at me with a strange look on his face. I smiled up at him. He continued to look at me in the same way, driving me a little crazy. Was he turned on by the French? I really needed to get this attraction to him under control. I cleared my throat and asked, “Um, how about you? Any other languages?”

  “No,” Logan replied hoarsely, followed by a forceful throat-clearing. “Um, no,” he said normally this time. “Just English for me, I’m afraid. Yuck.”

  “Yuck? Yuck is a bit of an overreaction, don’t worry, most Americans only speak one language,” I said, turning back around to look at him. He had a giant glob of...something… attached to his fingers. “Yuck!”I yelped, leaning as far back as I could get.

  Logan shook the glob off into the trash can and replaced his gloves. Dropping the drain cover into a separate vat of cleaning solution, he stood up. “I think I need a beer. You want one?”

  I nodded, surprised. “Aren’t you against giving the product away for free?” I teased.

  “Yeah, but this is a special circumstance. We need alcohol to get us through this disgusting bar clean.” He reached into a cooler and handed me a beer bottle. He held up the bottle of whiskey. “Shot?” he offered. I wasn’t about to say no to that. I nodded, and he lined up the shot glasses.

  “Cheers to getting this place fit for humans to hang out in,” Logan said, raising his shot glass. I giggled and clinked my glass to his, throwing back the whiskey. I shuddered as it hit my throat, burning slightly, then turning into warmth that spread its way through my chest. I took a sip of beer to wash it down.

  “So, Mr. Hard-Ass,” I said, picking up a broom. Logan lifted an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue. “What do you like to do for fun, besides this?”

  “Listening to pretty girls speak French is up there for me at the moment,” he said, seeming a little surprised that he’d said it. I looked at him in surprise, preening with pleasure. He stared at me, looked away, and then turned back to me with his face hardened, trying to recover. “Well, I really like to run. I do half-marathons pretty frequently, and I like to do one marathon per year.”

  “I can’t run more than a mile without feeling like giving in to the sweet release of death,” I said. “I’m more into walking slowly while avoiding sharp objects.”

  “Oh, I bet you could be a runner in no time,” Logan said confidently. “When I first started out, I couldn’t run a half mile. There are some great programs out there that start you off with alternating between running and walking. I could show you some cool free programs if you’d like.”

  “Maybe,” I said noncommittally. “I’m not really sure I want to be a runner though.”

  “Oh, you’ll love it, trust me. Not being pushy, but runners are really into proselytizing. It’s kind of our thing- if I love doing it, everyone will definitely love doing it,” Logan said unapologetically and with an excited smile.

  “Well, when you put it that way, how can I resist?” I said, giving in to the crazy. I picked up the pile of straws, bottle caps, and dust I’d been sweeping and dumped it into the trashcan, and repeated the process. “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon came on and I started humming along to it. I was really jamming out and starting to sing out loud, until I looked up at Logan’s face, which was screwed up from holding back laughter.

  “What?” I asked in confusion.

  “You are incredibly tone-deaf. And pitch deaf. And maybe actually deaf,” Logan said, an apologetic look on his face. “Don’t be offended, it’s adorable.”

  I put my hands on my hips in offense. “I am not! I’m a great singer!”

  “No, you’re not. Has nobody ever told you this? You’re really awful. You should go audition for American Idol so that you can get famous from being one of the terrible auditioners.”

  “Okay, tone it down,” I said.

  “Oh, so you recognize what tone is?” Logan asked. “You weren’t conveying that with your singing.”

  I punched him playfully on the arm. “All right, Simon Cowell, you can stop now, I get it. Let’s take another shot and forget I ever sang around you.”

  Logan said, “Gladly,” and poured the shots for us. I clinked his shot glass with my own again and down the whiskey went, producing that familiar burn again.

  “Blech,” I said, shuddering again and sticking out my tongue. “It gets me every time.” I swigged the beer, looking around at what we’d accomplished so far. We pretty much only had to put everything back in its place, polish those glasses, and mop. Another catchy song tune came on, but I resisted the urge to sing this time, fearing Logan’s criticism. I bet he can’t even sing himself. I frowned at the unkind thought.

  I turned to look at Logan, who was emptying the buckets of cleaning solution and replacing the glasses so that we could run them through the dishwasher in the back. His tee shirt was affording me a very agreeable view of his muscled arms and the large tattoo covering his left bicep. I moved a little closer to him to see it more clearly, the whiskey giving me liquid courage. I touched the tattoo gently, expecting him to pull away. Instead, he looked up into my eyes with downcast lashes. I stared back for a beat or two before turning my eyes back downwards, tracing the lines. It was a black tribal design with the silhouette of a Great Dane entwined with curling lines and circles. It was done very elegantly, so that the dog meshed completely with the lines. I felt my insides melt a little inside. A tattoo of a dog? Come on, can this guy be any more perfect?

  “Who is this in the tattoo?” I asked, still tracing the tattoo with my fingertips.

  Logan was breathing roughly, and took a second to answer. “That’s the first dog I ever had. His name was Duke. He was with me from when I was eleven till I was nineteen, which is when I got this tattoo.”

  He grabbed my fingers, surprising me, and softly caressed and looked intently at them. “Your hands are so soft,” he murmured, looking up at me finally, while stroking the pad of my thumb back and forth.

  My breath caught in my throat. Kiss him. I felt the air around us thicken. I mustered up my courage, wondering if he was thinking what I was thinking. I didn’t want to move though, and break the moment. Standing there, bent over him, with my hand in his hand, still being gently massaged, the moment felt fragile, ready to shatter at the tiniest interruption. I waited for him to take the lead, but he stood still, perhaps not wanting to overstep any lines. How could he care about professional boundaries at a time like this?

  “SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY,” boomed the stereo system, making us both jump. Logan dropped my hand like it was a piece of hot coal, as we silently listened to an enthusiastic man tell us about a monster truck rally.

  “Um, I’m just going to go run these through the dishwasher if you want to replace all the stuff in the coolers,” Logan said awkwardly, practically running away at full speed with the rolling glass racks. I sighed with frustration.

  “Sure thing, boss.” I put everything back in its place and waited for Logan to get back from the dish pit, dancing a little and drinking from my beer bottle. I was definitely feeling the whisk
ey now. I felt a hand on my back, and turned to Logan, who was standing in front of the rolling glass rack tower. I grabbed him by the hands and continued to dance, moving his arms up and down with my own. He stood still, looking uncomfortable.

  “Come on, dance with me,” I pouted. He shook his head softly, but relented, moving his body jerkily and looking unsure of himself. I can’t sing and he can’t dance. I didn’t want to point out how terrible he was though, after all the effort I’d expended getting him to dance in the first place. I grabbed his hands and placed them on my hips, putting a little more sway into them than was necessary. His strong hands gripped my hips tightly, and he pulled me closer, until we were chest-to-chest. We swayed like that for a minute, until my foot got caught on a mop and I stumbled backwards in a free fall.

  Logan grabbed me by my forearms to prevent me from falling flat on my ass. “I think that’s enough dancing for now, Fred Astaire. We do want to keep you alive, after all.”

  “Ha, ha,” I said. I turned towards the glasses with resignation. “I guess it’s time to knock these out, huh?”

  Logan separated the glass racks into two even stacks and got started on his half. We worked alongside each other in comfortable silence until every glass was polished and replaced in the glass cooler. When we were done, Logan said, “I’ll mop and close up. Why don’t you head on home?”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to seem like I’m skipping out on the work,” I said, not particularly eager to leave.

  “Yeah, of course. Unless you’re not good to drive home,” he said.

  “Oh, I rode my bike here and I live about five minutes away. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Alright. See ya,” I said, unplugging my phone. “I had a good time cleaning with you tonight.”

  Logan laughed. “I actually had a good time with you too. Maybe we should make this a weekly bar clean.”

  “I’m going to get out of here before you actually decide to implement that,” I said, grabbing my stuff and heading towards the door. “Goodnight!”

  “Jamie, wait,” Logan called, standing up. I paused to look back at him. “Let me walk you home. I’m not really comfortable with you biking home alone after drinking.”

  Is he implying he wants me to take him home? “Okay. Why not? I can wait for you to mop so we can just both be done.”

  I propped myself up on a stool, finishing another beer as he mopped quickly, dumped the water, and shut off the lights. He ushered me out the front door, his hand on my lower back again, and I unlocked my bike. Holding it to my right side, we walked the half mile to my apartment together.

  I locked my bike up in the bike rack and Logan walked me to the front door. I looked at him expectantly. I don’t think either of us knew what his next move would be.

  “Well, good night,” he said, holding out a hand for me to shake. I took it, surprised, and shook. He let go of my hand and walked down the steps to the street, leaving me standing confused on my doorstep.

  Later that night, I laid awake in bed, too wired up to fall asleep even though it was well past two in the morning. Logan had definitely been sending me some signals, and our charged flirting had not been all in my head, this I was sure of. I tossed and turned a bit, finally drifting off to sleep around five in the morning.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I didn’t have to work until four the next day, but I was unable to sleep past nine in the morning. I laid in bed, desperately trying to catch a few winks after being woken up by Luke’s insistent kisses. I finally gave up trying to sleep, throwing the covers off of me and grumpily opening the door to the backyard for him. I was lethargic all day and no amount of coffee was doing it for me. At least I had Hannah working with me that night, so someone was there to correct me when I made mistakes behind the bar.

  Logan was also there that night, going over some paperwork and reworking the menu online with Dylan. His presence and my exhaustion were making me slightly nervous and silly- I was dropping glasses left and right. At one point Logan smiled at me, and I dropped a brand-new bottle of expensive wine, shattering it.

  Hannah, who was walking by at the time, quipped, “Jamie, it’s popping bottles, not dropping bottles.” I didn’t find it as amusing as she did, glancing anxiously at Logan, who was looking exasperated and shaking his head. I grabbed the broom and mop and cleaned up the mess with my head down, avoiding Luke’s gaze.

  The end of the shift couldn’t have come soon enough.

  Hannah and I were hanging out at the end of the bar, leaning against the coolers after all the customers had left. Logan and Dylan were sitting in the corner, working on the new menu.

  “Why are you so jumpy today?” Hannah asked.

  “Jumpy?” I asked. “I’m not jumpy. I’m normal.”

  “Jamie, you’re normally pretty clumsy, but tonight was on another level.”

  I sighed, conceding the point. I looked around to make sure we couldn’t be overheard. Logan was looking up and caught my eye, sending a shock of excitement through me. I couldn’t help but smile. He smiled and looked back down at his paper.

  “Okay, so last night, nobody else showed up to the bar clean but me and Logan. So we had a little bit to drink, and we most definitely had a moment. Or two moments. I really think there’s something here,” I whispered sotto voce.

  Hannah’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god, Jamie, that’s amazing. And you know, despite him being a boring, rule-making drill instructor, he is so different than your last one. I can feel it.”

  At the mention of Derek, my heart sank. I’d almost managed not to think of him in a whole day.

  “No, he is most definitely not like Derek,” I agreed, though there was little sliver of doubt in there. I remembered how I had initially been taken in by Derek’s charm, and how I’d thought sunshine and rainbows came out of his ass originally. As if summoned, my phone rang, and the caller was unknown. I knew from experience that unknown numbers usually turned out to be Derek trying to contact me.

  I first met Derek when I was twenty-four and he was thirty. I was taken in, hook, line, and sinker, by his easygoing charm and golden- boy good looks. I had admired his confidence and how well put-together he was. I would soon come to realize that the confidence was really arrogance and that perfection was an obsession for him- especially when it came to me, our relationship, and outside appearances. We hadn’t been together an entire month before he started to show his ugly side. I was too blindsided by love that I ignored all the warning signs that I would have shouted about if it were happening to another woman.

  It started small, like Derek “suggesting” that I don’t wear a particularly short dress or wear a bikini because he didn’t like the way that other men stared. I chalked this up to caveman-like jealousy, secretly loving that he was so into me that he wanted me all to myself, and I made sure to dress more conservatively. Then he told me how uncomfortable he was with my close relationship with Eric- my very gay friend who was no threat to Derek. I’m ashamed to admit that I cut off contact with Eric at Derek’s insistence, and Eric hasn’t spoken to me since. After this, he guilt-tripped me into spending far less time with Hannah, and pretty soon, all of my waking hours were spent with him. Fortunately, Hannah figured out what was going on behind closed doors, and welcomed me back with open arms when I left Derek.

  I wish I could say the controlling behavior was the ugliest aspect of our relationship. Derek’s favorite way to assert himself was to punch me into submission. I avoided this at all costs by being as meek and submissive as I could, and I paid for my rare moments of defiance dearly. A punch to the gut, a blow to the ribs, a swift kick for good measure when I was down. Derek was very careful not to leave bruises in visible spots, though. He cared far too much about appearances for me to show up with bruises on my face or legs, inviting ugly questions about our relationship.

  One night, Derek, in particularly rare form, flew into a rage over some perceived slight. He lashed ou
t at the first living thing he saw, and kicked Luke so hard that he yelped and cowered. I flew to Luke’s side, but Derek grabbed me by the hair and swung me around. My wrist connected with the heavy table and broke. That was the night I realized that I needed to get myself and Luke out of this toxic environment for our safety, called Hannah, and haven’t spoken to Derek since.

  Not that Derek hadn’t tried to contact me. I changed my number, blocked him on social media, and moved to a new apartment. I couldn’t bring myself to get a new job after years of working at Bender’s, but had managed to avoid him every time he’d tried to come see me. The visits had tapered off in the past few months, which is why I was so off my guard today.

  I looked down at my ringing phone and the unknown number. Though I had changed my number repeatedly, Derek always found a way to get it.

  I looked at Hannah with panic in my eyes. “What do I do?”

  She looked down at the phone. “Let it go to voicemail. For all you know, it could be bill collectors.”

  “You’re right,” I said nervously, placing my cell phone face down on the bar and leaning my head back. I started trembling, and Hannah placed a hand on my arm to calm the tremor. We waited like this until my phone dinged, indicating that I had a new voicemail.

  Hannah and I looked at each other silently. She was the first to speak. “Let’s find out who you owe money to!” she said brightly, grabbing my phone and holding it to her ear. Her face turned ashen as she listened to the voicemail, which lasted for minutes.

  “Hannah?” I asked uncertainly. “It isn’t bill collectors, is it?”

  She shook her head. “You don’t need to listen to this trash, Jamie.”

  “Give me the phone, Hannah,” I said softly. She shook her head and I held my hand out. “Give it to me.”

  She handed it over reluctantly, and I pressed play on the voicemail, holding it up to my ear.

  Derek’s steely voice came over the speaker. “Jamie, pick up the fucking phone. This bullshit has gone on long enough, and my patience is fucking wearing thin. Did you really think that you could leave me, the best thing that you’ve ever had? You’re fucking stupid if you think so. What are you doing, whoring around town? You’ve always been such a fucking slut, parading around in your tiny clothes and fucking anything that walks, haven’t you? I promise you, I am going to fucking find you and make you pay. Call me back or you’ll regret it.”