Tailspin (Better Than You)

  I drop my focus back to her application; anything to keep from staring into her soul sucking eyes. “This says you were there for six months. Why did you leave?” As I wait for her answer, I run my hands through my hair. It’s long, curling around my ears and tickling my neck. I should get it cut, but I don’t have the time. I barely have the time to breathe, yet here I am, stalling this interview.

  “We had a small disagreement,” she says with a slight twitch to her left eye.

  It doesn’t seem like she’s willing to elaborate, and I’m not sure if I want to know the details anyway. I nod and pretend to read her application again. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Sighing, I lean back in my seat, racking my brain and hoping to come up with an answer. “Honestly, Logan, you have no experience bartending and you don’t have good work history. You’re not a very safe bet,” I say, mostly thinking out loud.

  Logan suddenly seems to grow in height, sticking her shoulders back and flipping her hair away from her face. She stands, then smiles wide, her face completely transforming in front of my eyes. It makes me want to apologize, for some strange reason. “Thanks for your time, Nathan,” she says politely. As she’s walking away, I stare at her ass. I’m not going to lie. Her jeans are skin tight and she’s thin and tall. There’s nothing about her that doesn’t scream perfection.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t give you a chance,” I call after her. Apparently I’ve made up my mind. Her hand is wrapped around the doorknob, but she stills when she hears my voice. I rise and round the desk, coming to stand just a few feet away from her. When she turns to face me again, I ask, “When can you start?”

  “When do you need me?” she shoots back. It catches me off guard, but only for a second.

  “Tomorrow night. Five o’clock. Wear jean shorts, a black tank top and black sneakers. Be ready to work hard. It’s ladies night.”

  Face serious, she nods. “I’ll be here.”

  She turns to leave without another word, but before she’s out of the door, I call her name. My hand drifts up to her hair, seeming like it doesn’t belong to me anymore, and grabs a strip of the soft strands. “This,” I say, feeling the strings between my fingers, “Has to be up. Don’t be late.”

  And when she walks away this time, I let her, all the while hoping like hell that she comes back.

  ~~

  As I’m walking into the house, my phone beeps. It’s a text message from Danny, but I ignore it. There’s no way I can go out again tonight. “Joshua, Emily,” I call out as I kick off my shoes. My whole body feels sore, like I’ve been on the field or at the gym, neither of which have occurred in a long time.

  “In here,” Emily calls back. I walk into the living room to find them both sitting on the ground, leaning over the coffee table which has books and papers and pens covering the whole surface.

  “What are you guys doing?” I ask.

  “Homework,” Joshua replies at the same time Emily says, “Nothing.”

  “Okay,” I say and then walk over to Joshua. “Do you need some help?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and keeps writing. It looks like English homework, but it’s been so long since I’ve been in school that I could be wrong. “What are you working on?” I ask, trying to engage him in some semblance of a conversation.

  “It’s a book report,” is all he says, never once looking up.

  The silence that follows after makes it clear that I’m not welcome. They’re giving me the cold shoulder, and it makes me afraid that we’ll go back to that insufferable silence that followed Mom and Dad’s accident. I can’t let that happen.

  “Look, guys, if something’s bothering you, just tell me. We can’t go back to this,” I motion to the considerable space between us, “again. It wasn’t any good last time.”

  Emily sighs and finally looks up at me. “We’re not going to stop talking to you, Nathan. We’re just mad. Like, normal, mad. Not completely-shut-you-out, mad.”

  I nod. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t realize there was a difference.” The sound of pen on paper picks up again. I rub the back of my neck. “So, uh, what can I do to make this better?”

  Emily lets out a snort. Joshua just keeps writing. I’m finding out that twelve year olds can be very stubborn. I don’t remember being so pig-headed when I was twelve. “But seriously, how can I make this better?” I ask again.

  “You can start by not hovering,” Emily says. I back up a step but don’t retreat like I think she wants me to. “That’s a little better, I guess. We just want to know where you go all the time. You say you’re working, but then you come home and you’re, like, flammable.”

  “Flammable?” I ask.

  “Yeah cause you’re, like, made up of alcohol, you know?” I give her a look that says, not in font of Joshua, and she rolls her eyes. “Whatever. We just want to know what you’re doing.”

  Dropping to the floor, I let out a long sigh. “Would you believe me if I said I couldn’t tell you, or else I’d have to kill you?”

  Joshua, who’s been watching our exchange silently, finally laughs. “Are you Spiderman? Or Superman? Cause that’d be kind of lame, because of the spandex and all, but kind of awesome, too.”

  “Can we not get into the whole super heroes thing, please?” Emily insists.

  “This is a serious topic, Em. We can’t have a bunch of guys running around in tights and-”

  “Nathan! Stop trying to change the subject!” I laugh at her expression, exasperation and irritation, and behind it, a tiny little smile because she’s trying so hard not to laugh, too. “We’re just worried about you, alright?” she says seriously.

  I grasp Joshua’s shoulder and look straight into Em’s worried eyes. “Please don’t worry, okay? I’m okay. My job is…hard…but I’m okay. You just have to trust me on this one.”

  Emily looks like she wants to say more, but finally nods her head. “Fine. I guess this is the perfect time to tell you that I got a job.”

  “Awesome, Em. Where at?”

  “The wine bar down the street from Dad’s,” she says, holding my gaze. It’s a challenge- I can see it in her eyes. She’s waiting for me to freak out. I’m trying really hard not to.

  “Why there?” I ask calmly.

  She shrugs her shoulders. Joshua goes back to writing, clearly ignoring this conversation. “It’s a cool place. One of the girls in my Chem class works there and said she makes super good money.”

  “You don’t need the money, though. I could have given you a job at the bar.”

  “Yeah, in the office or something. I don’t want to be sitting behind a desk for hours. I want to be out front, talking to people and stuff. I’m good at that.”

  She’s right. I would insist she stay away from the alcohol and the creeps who come around. The wine bar is a different demographic, though, so maybe it won’t be so bad. “Alright, but we ride there together when we can and I’ll drop you off and pick you up when we can’t. Okay?”

  She nods excitedly and smiles. “That’s fine.”

  “Josh, are you gunna get a job at a bar, too?”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I’ll follow in the family footsteps. Bartenders for life.”

  10

  February 18, 2009

  I’m irrationally excited to get to the bar and refuse to admit the reason. I barely know Logan, didn’t spend more than an hour with her, but I keep replaying everything she said and the way she moved over and over again. She puts up this front, like she’s impervious to the world and the rejection I should have offered, but there’s something in her eyes that says otherwise. I doubt anyone has ever noticed it. I don’t know how I did.

  I’m ready to leave the house except for the fact that I can’t find my phone. I can never find the fucking thing. There’s so much to do and I need to get it done before Logan gets there but I can’t. Find. My. Fucking-

  Beep. Beep.

  And it’s right on the counter, where I left it this morning. I jog over, pick it up and slide my fin
gertip across the screen. I have two text messages; one from Danny inviting me to yet another party and one from Emily letting me know that she has a shift tonight and will be home soon. Ignoring Danny, I type out a quick response to Emily and then throw my phone back on the counter. She walks into the house not even five minutes later, while my head is in the refrigerator and I’m debating between a left over Publix sub or frozen macaroni and cheese.

  “Sorry I’m late class ran over I’ll just be a sec.” I turn around to yell at her, but she’s already running upstairs. I never knew Emily had the capability to just be a sec when she’s getting ready, but true to her word, she runs back down the stairs a few minutes later. “Ready?” she asks, like I’m the one holding us up.

  “I have so much shit to do, Em. You have no idea.”

  “I’m super nervous for tonight, Nathan, but I’ll be alright. Thanks for asking.” She rolls her eyes and stalks out of the house. I sigh heavily and follow behind her. Once in the car, she cranks up the radio and we ride downtown in silence.

  “I’m sorry,” I say when the car is parked. “I should have asked. You shouldn’t be nervous, though. You’ve been around bars since forever.” I wink and she laughs.

  “You’re right, but what if they don’t like me? A lot of people think I’m…over the top.”

  “Well, you are over the top, but I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like you because of it.” I smile and grab her shoulder. “You’ll be great, okay? If anyone gives you a hard time, just let me know and I’ll…” I slide my finger across my throat.

  She rolls her eyes and says, “My hero,” as she opens the door and steps out of the car. “I’ll come by when I’m done.”

  While she walks away, I’m wondering if I should have said something about the fact that her shirt is kind of short and her pants are way too tight. That’s something a parent is supposed to do, right? I mean, she is twenty now, so maybe it’s not my place? I don’t know.

  The bar is empty when I walk in, even though we’ve been open since noon. Kait is wiping glasses behind one side of the bar, Georgia is rearranging the drink board and Bridget is leaning against a table, phone in hand. “Bridget. Really?”

  She slides the phone into her back pocket and smiles at me. “Sorry, Nathan. It’s just been dead in here for a while.”

  “I’m sure there are things that need to be done,” I say, trying not to sound like an asshole manager but seeing no way around it. “Actually, if you guys wanna come back to the kitchen with me, I want to show you some of the new appetizers we’ll be rolling out next week.” I stop and think. “How long has it been dead, Kait?”

  She glances at the clock on the wall. “Over an hour, at least. And before that it was pretty slow.”

  “Let’s close up for a while, then. We’ve got things to do, ladies.”

  ~~

  Feeling somewhat accomplished, I walk out of the kitchen and almost run into the back of Georgia, who’s staring at the front door. My eyes follow and I see Logan, black shirt and jean shorts, her impossibly long legs on display. I smile and avert my eyes, hoping she didn’t catch my slow perusal. “Logan, you made it,” I say, pushing past the girls. “Let’s go ahead and show you where everything is.”

  She shifts, looking uncomfortable, and as I get closer to her, I notice something’s wrong. The left side of her face is puffy, like she’s been crying, but I know that’s not what it’s from. I know what a busted jaw looks like. Quickly, without even meaning to, I search the rest of her, only just noticing the scars on her arms and the jagged line on her temple. It looks like she’s been through hell. My blood starts to boil with anger. Someone has done this to her; is doing this to her. The silence of the bar hits me then and I look behind me to find the girls stuck in the same spot. “Go make sure everything is ready for tonight,” I say, and they disperse in a burst of movement.

  Dull sounds from the TV break into the stifling silence and I turn my eyes back to Logan’s face. There are a million questions I want to ask, but none that won’t scare her away, so I settle with, “Do you want to talk about how you got that?” There. Now the ball’s in her court.

  She shrugs, but it’s unnatural, as if she’s practiced that move in the mirror. “Just clumsy.”

  “I’m gunna call your bullshit and raise you another question.” I take a deep breath. “Do you need to talk about how you got that?”

  She lets out a short breath, almost like a laugh. “Look, I’m sorry I showed up with this,” she says, gesturing to her face, “but it won’t happen again. And I won’t let it interfere with my work.”

  Is she crazy? “I’m not worried about either of those things, Logan. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  She smiles wide, the skin of her bottom lip pulling tight against the swelling. “Perfect,” she says and I know the conversation is over.

  I rub a hand over my face and turn towards the bar. There’s nothing I can do, I repeat over and over again, even though I can envision myself finding Danny and ending his pathetic life. Or at least fucking it up a little. It’s been a while since I’ve hit someone. Years of football and the academy will never let me forget how it feels, though. Now I’m craving it. I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. “Welcome to My Friend’s Place.”

  Logan’s eager to learn and does it quickly. In just a few hours she’s serving simple drinks and cleaning up behind Kait like she’s been doing it her whole life. It occurs to me that she’s not even of drinking age and is entirely too comfortable around alcohol. This should concern me, and I guess it does since I noticed it, but I’m more concerned about the bruising on her face and the way the guys have been checking out her ass and legs all night long. I’ve never wanted to hit so many people in my life.

  The bar continues to fill up and I’m finding it harder and harder to keep my eyes on Logan. I end up behind the counter serving drinks to barely dressed girls and douchebag guys. There are times I think I might get the chance to hit a few of them, but then the situations diffuse and I’m left standing next to Rico, the bouncer, feeling let down. I don’t know what has gotten into me, but looking for a fight isn’t normal.

  This is when I realize that, despite the fact that I’ve known her for all of two days, and ignoring that she’s a conflict of interest, Logan has gotten underneath my skin.

  11

  March 13, 2009

  This girl couldn’t be any more obvious if she tried. Her tits are huge, her hair is blonder than blonde, and surprisingly she doesn’t seem to have a speck of makeup on. There’s no question in my mind that she’s hot, but the moment she begins to twirl her hair and lean over the bar, I lose any interest that may have been garnered by her half naked body. I hear a burst of laughter and I look across the bar to find Georgia, Kait and Logan watching the blonde.

  “What are you doing later?” she asks, but I can barely hear her over the noise of the bar, much less over the thoughts running through my head. Pretending not to have heard her, I place the bottle of vodka back on its shelf and hand her the fruity drink I just threw together. Why is it that girls insist on ordering fucking fruit baskets? Not only do they make everything sticky when they spill them everywhere, but they suck to make.

  “Do you want to start a tab?” I ask, trying my hardest to be patient.

  She pulls a wad of cash out of the cup of her bathing suit and places a twenty on the bar. “Keep the change,” she says. I watch her walk away, not because she has a nice ass or anything but because she just threw me a fifteen dollar tip. I throw the twenty in the jar and look back over to where Logan is serving. She looks uncomfortable, maybe annoyed. Probably both. I abandon my post and walk towards her. In the month that she’s been working here, we haven’t talked much outside of work. While the other girls sometimes hang around before or after their shifts, Logan’s in and out, always right on time and never here a second later. Most of the time she avoids eye contact but I haven’t stopped trying to get her to talk to me. There haven’t be
en any visible bruises on her recently, but I have a feeling it doesn’t mean anything.

  When I reach her, I lightly touch her side, feeling her ribs underneath my fingertips. She’s too thin. “You okay?” I yell into her ear. It’s too loud in here for normal conversation.

  “Fine!” she answers too quickly. I know she’s not fine. I could feel how her body flexed against my touch, how it instinctively pulled away, as if to protect itself.

  “If you need a break just let me know,” I say, hoping she’ll at least look me in the eye and tell me she’s okay.

  “I said I’m fine!” She slams the drink she just finished making in front of the little brunette across from her. The girl sends Logan a death glare and walks away without tipping. In spite of the situation, I smile. Just a little.

  “If you don’t scare them away, they tip a lot better!” She doesn’t even respond to that, but I see how her shoulders have stopped moving, like she’s not breathing. Without thinking, I grab her arm and spin her around to face me. For a second, I think I’m being too forceful. The last thing I want to do is remind her of Douchebag Danny, but there’s just something about her that makes me lose control of my carefully crafted self. “Tell me the truth,” I demand, and this time she meets my eyes.

  “Nathan,” she says, sounding like a scolding mother, “We have a bar packed full of people wanting drinks! This isn’t the time for truth or dare!” She bites her lip, which is her tell. It lets me know that she has more to say, so much more, and all I have to do is just push a little harder. I have a feeling no one has ever taken the time to dig. I open my mouth to speak again when a shrill voice calls my name from across the bar. To my left, Bridget is standing on top of the bar and waving her hands around like a crazy bitch.

  “Give me a hand, would ya?” she yells.

  I look at Logan, then back to Bridget, then to Rico parting the crowd, and then at Logan again. “This isn’t over!” I tell her before walking away.