Daniel squeezed past him to slide a drink across the bar to a lady in a pink sweater. “Bud, can you check on those guys at the other end?”
Bud blinked and gave a little shake of his head. “Sure,” he said. But he didn’t move. Daniel squeezed past again and made his way down the bar to take care of them himself. Bud came slowly behind him, distracted. Daniel wished he’d just go home if he was going to be like this.
Clive settled onto a barstool. “Well, is that Bud I see over there? Welcome back.”
Bud nodded. “Clive. Yeah, it’s good to be back. Good to be back. What’re you having?”
“One on the house, is what I’m hoping to have,” Clive said with a laugh. He said it as though it was something he said all the time, as though it was a regular joke, but Bud didn’t smile and Clive grew serious. “Whiskey, Bud. Neat. If you please.” He reached for the pretzels and winked at Daniel as he went past. “Dan’s glad to have you back, I bet.”
“Who? Oh, Danny. Yeah.” Bud set a drink in front of Clive, who looked at it and chewed his lip. It wasn’t what he’d ordered; this drink was on the rocks. He sipped at it anyway.
“We were all real sorry to hear about Audrey.”
Bud sighed a wet, cross-sounding sigh. “Yeah.”
“How’re you holding up?”
The old man shook his head and didn’t answer. He swabbed at the bar with his bar towel and looked away. Daniel worked the other end of the dark old bar, where the lady in pink sat, her brightness out of place, looking like a lollipop in a mud puddle.
“Well.” Clive gulped his drink quickly and asked for another. “This one without ice, please, Bud. Neat.”
Bud took up the drink glass and looked at it. “Neat. Right. That’s what you... Oh, hell. This was supposed to be neat. Christ. Why didn’t you say something?”
“Well, Bud. I didn’t want to be like that. It was alright.”
“Not alright with me, it isn’t. Give you the wrong drink. Well, I tell you what, that one is on the house after all. How about that.” And then Bud’s voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears, and he turned abruptly and left the bar.
Daniel collected the tip from Pink Sweater Lady and moved over to where Clive sat. “Everything OK over here? Where’d Bud go?”
Clive spread his hands in a mini-shrug. “He’s not himself, Dan. He’s acting very strange. I don’t think he’s ready for this. He served me the wrong drink.”
“What’d he give you? Let me take care of it.”
“I drank it, it’s fine. You can get me a whiskey, though. Neat.”
Daniel poured the drink and handed it across, then went to check on the customers at the other end of the bar. When he got back to Clive, the drink was empty.
“Care for another?”
Clive nodded slowly and accepted the drink when it came. Dan apologized for Bud again and Clive shook his head. “It’s understandable. He’s got a lot to work out in his head. He should take more time.”
“We’re supposed to be back to normal schedules by the end of March.” Daniel started to say more, but Bud came back to the bar so he changed the subject.
Bud stopped next to Daniel and wiped the bar again. He tried on a smile that didn’t fit. “This guy bending your ear too much, Danny? You boys talking about me?”
“Clive? No, no. He’s great. I was just asking him if he knew how to blow a smoke ring.”
Without missing a beat, Clive nodded. “The secret’s in the tongue,” he said. “Right at the back of the throat, that’s where you have to work it. Too bad we can’t smoke in here or I’d show you. But now I better get. I’ve got some stuff to do. Thanks much, and welcome back, Bud. Glad to see you.” He pushed off his stool and dropped a twenty on the bar. “Keep the change, fellas.”
Bud put the money in the register and returned to his dazed, barely-there stance in the middle of the bar. Daniel went back and forth behind him.
Chapter 33
Hector, oddly enough, had the prettiest handwriting on the day shift, so Daniel assigned him the task of writing the special on the board.
“Draw some hearts and stuff, too. You know.”
Hector wrinkled his nose slightly, but maintained his concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips as he wrote. “Mmm-hm,” he said, finishing one line and stepping back from the dry-erase board to look it over. “Anything else? Besides the hearts and shit? Any other specials?”
Daniel shook his head, looking at the sign board over Hector’s shoulder. “No, that’s enough.” Valentine’s Special: Strawberries and Champagne. Why not? He had the champagne and the strawberries. They did get couples in at lunchtime once in a while; no reason not to try it. He thought certainly the night crew would sell some. He just hoped he’d sell enough to make it worth doing. Champagne didn’t keep well; it went flat rapidly once opened. If he sold one glass, he hoped to sell at least three. If he sold four he’d use most of a bottle. Any the night crew left unfinished would be useless the next day. He’d see if the cook could use it. Maybe in some soup or something.
“That’s a lie,” Margie said with a jerk of her head. “We don’t have real champagne. It’s sparkling wine.”
“Nobody will know the difference. Not here. Champagne sounds better.”
Margie shrugged and looked at the sign again. Hector crouched in front of it, drawing hearts in red and black. His pants were loose and had slipped down, exposing a small portion of his ass to view. With a grin, Margie snuck up close behind him and whistled.
Hector’s arm jogged. “Dammit, Margie. You made me mess up.” He used his pinkie finger to erase the jagged bits. “I’m trying to do this good.”
“Just be glad I didn’t drop a pencil in there. Pull up your pants.”
Hector tugged at the pants and resumed the drawing. “Not like anyone’s here anyway.”
“I’m here, and I don’t want to see your little hairy buttcrack.”
Daniel laughed. “At least he’s got a little one. Imagine if it was Freddy.”
“Freddy couldn’t get his fat ass down this far to start with.” Hector finished the sign and stood up. “That enough? Or more hearts and junk?”
“That’s good,” Daniel said, double-checking the spelling (Hector’s first effort had been a “champaing” special) and adjusting the position of the sign. He pondered once again the fact that Hector had such delicate and precise handwriting. His own was acceptable for daily use, but not nice enough to print signs, even when he tried very hard. Hector, though, just naturally produced letters that looked like artwork. And Margie… well. He’d had her do the specials board once, and once only. Her tickets were bad enough but the sign had been entirely illegible.
Customers trickled into the bar and business was pretty slow. Nobody ordered the special. Hector came out of the kitchen around two o’clock and leaned over the bar, stealing strawberries. “Nobody bought one? That sucks.”
Daniel shrugged. “Not enough couples come in the day. They’ll sell some tonight.” He hoped they would. But it didn’t matter, not really. The bar wasn’t out much if they didn’t.
“How ’bout those two?” Hector gestured with his chin toward two women at the end of the bar. “They’re a couple.”
“You think?”
“Duh. Look at ‘em.”
Daniel looked. The women didn’t appear obviously lesbian to him. “I dunno. They could just be friends.”
“The little one with the scarf was whispering in the other chick’s ear before.”
“So?”
“So…like, a lover whisper. Not a just-friend whisper. Trust me, they’re gay for each other.”
Margie appeared behind Hector. “Who’s gay for each other?”
“Girls at the end of the bar.”
Daniel shook his head. “Nah. Just friends.”
“Can girls be gay? I thought that was lesbian.”
“Whatever. Lesbian, then.
They’re lesbos.” Hector held up two fingers and flicked his tongue between them.
Margie swatted his arm down. “Cut it out,” she said, laughing and blushing. “They’ll see you.”
“I think lesbians can be called gay. But it doesn’t matter,” Daniel said, “’cause they’re not.”
“Well, go try to sell them the special, and see. If they’re lovers, they’ll buy it.”
“That’s stupid. Just being a couple doesn’t automatically mean they’d want champagne.”
Hector considered. “Well, if they do take it, you’d know they’re lovers.”
“Some people just like champagne. Doesn’t make them automatically a couple.”
“Could tell by the way they ate the strawberry. All sexy-like.” Hector made the flicking tongue motion again.
Margie snorted, but she looked sideways down the bar, studying the women. “Could be. Hard to tell.”
“Try it.” Hector whispered. “Just see if they’ll go for it. Casual, you know… hey, by the way, we’ve got this lesbo special…”
Daniel threw his bar towel at Hector. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered. But he went, moving slowly down the bar toward the customers in question. Hector and Margie watched avidly as Daniel spoke to them for a few minutes.
“What’s he saying?”
Hector shook his head. “Can’t tell. Are they gonna go for it, you think?”
Margie shook her head, and they stood in silence until Daniel turned and made his way back up the bar toward them.
“They don’t want the champagne. But I think Hector’s right. They’re gay. Or lesbian, or whatever.”
Hector hooted loudly, and Margie hissed at him to be quiet. “How can you tell?”
Daniel shrugged. “They just… I don’t know. When I walked up, they were talking like a couple.”
“That’s so hot. Gay girls are hot.”
“Shut up,” Margie said. “They aren’t even interested in you.”
“That’s why they’re so hot. ‘Cause I can’t touch them.” Hector swiped another strawberry from the bar and headed back toward the kitchen. When he got out of reach, he turned and flicked his tongue at Margie again. She threw a pretzel at him.
“Little shit.”
“But he was right.”
She looked back down the bar at the couple. “I guess. Is Bud coming in tomorrow?”
“Think so. Go ask him.”
“He left a while ago. He didn’t tell you?”
“He left? I thought he was paying bills.”
“He was. Took off in a rush. I thought you knew. He left around noon.”
Daniel put his hands on the bar and leaned heavily on them, looking at his fingernails. Wonderful. Bud had taken off without a word, right in the middle of lunch. It hadn’t been busy, and it hadn’t been a big deal because the shifts were all covered. But this wasn’t the plan. Bud was supposed to work back up to normal hours, more time at the bar. He’d started off pretty shaky, forgetting little stuff. Giving the wrong change, the wrong drinks. Today he’d decided to concentrate on the office for a while, and that was understandable, advisable even – the paperwork was still way behind. But twice, when Daniel had gone into the office, he’d found Bud musing, papers in front of him but eyes on the wall, or on the floor. He’d looked distracted. He always looked so distracted. Who could blame him?
The answer was nobody could. But still…Daniel wondered how much paperwork he’d gotten done before leaving – in a rush, apparently.
Daniel became aware that Margie was still standing there, watching him. “Sorry,” he said. “Just thinking.”
“I know.” She looked at Daniel kindly and reached across to pat him on the arm, then returned to her tables.
By the end of his shift, they still hadn’t sold a single strawberry special. Daniel looked at the unopened bottle of champagne with a scowl. “Fuck it,” he muttered, and popped the cork. The night shift would sell a few; they had to. Maybe they should do a Mimosa special, too. Half price at Midnight or something. And if they didn’t, so what? It was a cheap bottle of champagne – sparkling wine, really, Margie was right – and it had been in the back room gathering dust for months. He poured out a flute and drank it, then poured another and set it on the bar, watching the bubbles foam up and down.
Then he put a strawberry in it and waited to see if it flipped over like Ellie had said it would.
It did.
Chapter 34
Daniel reached for a lime and got a cherry instead. Shit. He tossed the cherry back and pulled the trays out to rearrange them. Bud had done the morning setup and nothing was where it should be. He’d been grabbing the wrong things since he got there.
“Redecorating?” Margie reached for her order, scowled at the drink, and added the lime herself.
“Yeah… well.” Daniel stood back and surveyed the bar. Better. “I’m just used to it a certain way.” It was more than that, though. Bud had put everything in a different place, and not just the fruit. Even the glasses weren’t set out in the same way. Daniel had knocked coffee cups over twice, reaching for shot glasses. Fortunately he hadn’t broken any.
She nodded. “You guys have to get used to each other again, that’s all.” She took her order, dropped off another ticket, and zoomed off. Daniel watched her go, then picked up the new ticket and set about mixing the drinks.
Getting used to each other again was one thing, he guessed. But this seemed like more than that. Daniel had no doubt that he could adjust, eventually, to limes on the right and cherries on the left, to coffee cups where shot glasses should be, to the decaf coffee being on the right hand side. But he wasn’t sure he could get used to this new Bud. Zombie Bud. A Bud who was putting the cherries where the limes went for no particular reason and who would be just as likely to put them another way tomorrow. A Bud who no longer seemed to care.
Daniel shook his head. That wasn’t fair. He was being too hard on Bud. It was just that he was tired. He hadn’t much liked the early shift, but this one he was working now was worse. As with the limes, he could get used to it eventually if the hours were consistent – but they weren’t. Daniel was working some early shifts and some middle shifts and then just for fun there was a double shift or two in there for good measure. Today he was on from eleven to seven, overlapping the lunch and evening crew. Bud had said the idea was to move him back to nights gradually, which was fine. But the schedule he’d laid out hadn’t made much sense. Daniel had nodded and promised to do his best.
But he was so tired.
And tomorrow was a double, eight am to midnight. Well, at least he’d already be awake at midnight, so there was that. He wondered if Gringo would be on his porch when he got home from work tomorrow, or if he’d be lying in the bushes under the bedroom window. Porch, he decided, was the most likely. The bedroom window was the dog’s preference when Daniel was in bed… but otherwise, the porch usually got the honor.
Margie slid her tray onto the bar and reached into her pocket. “Tipping you out now, Danny. You’re on until when?”
Daniel blinked at her. He’d just gone over it in his head, but now he wasn’t sure. His mind was full of holes. “Eight, I think. No... seven.”
She raised her eyebrows and handed him a wad of cash. “Well, try to hang in there. Gina’s in back, so I’m off to do my grocery-shopping. See you tomorrow.”
He folded the bills up and stuffed them into his pocket. At least he’d make good tips with all these strange hours. Daniel stretched and checked his watch. The night shift was due any minute. Probably already here, smoking cigarettes out back. He yawned and looked at the coffeepot. Tempting, but not smart. Maybe some decaf.
The back door slammed several times in succession: the day crew leaving, the night crew arriving. Exciting times for a door, Daniel thought. Before long Kiki slid behind the bar with him.
“Danny! Haven’t seen you in ages, man. You my boy tonight?”
Daniel nodded, returned the handshake and refilled his coffee – regular, not decaf. “Your boy, that’s what I am. Until seven.”
Kiki busied himself with the garnishes and napkins, readying things. “It’s good to see you. How’s Bud? Was he here today?”
“He was,” Daniel said. “For a while.” And when had he left? Nobody was sure. He hadn’t told anyone and nobody had seen him leave, but left he had. Around two was when they realized it. “You mind if I take a quick break?”
Kiki made an incomprehensible motion with his head and Daniel ducked under the bar and headed out to the back for a cigarette. A few empty five-gallon buckets were stacked by the door, and he turned one over and sat on it. Mayonnaise, the label said. All three had been mayonnaise. Daniel smoked slowly, lost in thought. How long had it taken them to use fifteen gallons of mayonnaise? This thought led to another: had Bud placed the food order? Because if he hadn’t…
Well, that went nowhere, didn’t it? He’d find out when he found out, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it now anyway. There was always tomorrow. And tomorrow, and tomorrow.
The door slammed open and Gina came out. “Hi, Danny.” She pulled up another bucket and squatted on it, her short skirt riding up to mid-thigh. “Back on nights?”
He made a see-saw motion with his head and held out a lighter for her cigarette. “Some.”
“Cool.”
They smoked like comrades for a while. Gina tried to pretend she wasn’t showing off her legs while Daniel tried to pretend he wasn’t really looking at them, not really. When he finished his cigarette, he put his hands in his lap and stared at them quietly for a few minutes. “I guess I better get back in there.”
Gina stood up and arched her back. “Yaa,” she said, rolling her eyes elaborately. She drew a stick of gum out of her pocket and unwrapped it, using her long, pink-lacquered nails to pry the foil off. “Want some? Spearmint.”
He accepted the gum with thanks and held it loosely in his palm as they went inside. He watched Gina almost squirm her way down the short hallway that led through to the kitchen. Her walk was very different from Margie’s zooming glide. Margie hardly seemed to move her hips at all, and Gina seemed to use hers as much as possible. Margie rushed straight along like a cockroach, quick-hurry, zip-zip; Gina was more of a fish – a goldfish maybe – back and forth with her tail, eyes wide. Daniel popped the gum into his mouth and headed back to the bar.
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