by Mysti Parker
“Not so much. Feels a little tight, texture’s a little funny to run your hand over it. But you know what hurts?” He clammed up, looked away.
“You can tell me.” Sailor left her hand on his chest. She knew it was wrong, but she did it. The choice was made; she was no longer resisting and building this relationship toward the closeness she had been imagining. She wanted to feel him, to ease his pain, to make him feel safe as he had never felt before. She moved in to hold him around the waist. “You were brave.”
“I almost wasn’t,” he said. “Brave isn’t really anything. It’s just doing what you have to do without thinking about it. But I almost didn’t do that. Shit. I almost let you down, Sailor.”
“But you saved me.”
“I froze. I saw the bottle, and I got a flashback from being stabbed. I felt the knife going in and coming out, first the light touch and then the pain. The goddamned tweaker had a serrated knife, a fish-boning knife. You must have seen those. He made this little a-ha sound, every stab…” She felt his breathing speed up. “Damn, I lost myself. You almost got hurt.”
“I’m okay. I’m worried about you.”
He folded his arms around her shoulders. It felt good.
“No, don’t be. Worrying is my job.” Then, lifting away his right hand, he traced the remaining line of her mostly faded black eye. “You have some scars, too.”
Sailor realized that they were in her office and the police were on their way and two Chasidic guys she didn’t know had beaten the crap out of a sanitation worker and that if no one came in the door she was going to have her way with this man.
Ace’s face was close to hers, his lips almost against that spot below her eye.
“I shouldn’t,” he said.
“Do it.”
He kissed her there, once, twice, then moved down to her lips. One quick kiss.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re my boss.”
“I don’t care,” Sailor said.
He pulled her to him, his arms around her, and they planted kisses on each other. His body felt so right, so perfect that she felt her own tension melting away. She could feel the wet gauze pad under her arms where they encircled his waist. His hands cupped her shoulder blades and drew her closer. Those hands were so strong and yet touched her so gently; the skin to skin contact thrilled her. He broke the kiss, and his breath on her ear made her jaw tremble. “We all have scars,” he whispered. “It doesn’t matter.”
Someone banged on the door. “Sailor!” Pippi shouted. “Cops are here.”
“Shit,” Ace said, and let go. “Oh, man. Yeah. I should put my shirt on.”
They went out together. Three policemen and one woman were in the barroom, two talking to Jill and some witnesses, two taking care of the handcuffed men. The two Chasidim were standing by, arms folded. Ace went to the police. Sailor went to the two men.
“Mendel and Dov?” she asked them.
“Dov,” said the bigger one, “and Mendel,” gesturing at the smaller one.
“Thanks, guys. I need to talk to Chaim Rabinowicz, right?”
They shrugged.
“Not our thing,” said Dov.
“Twenty-five a night good for you guys? Each?”
“It’s a mitzvah,” Mendel said. “Just don’t tell the rebbe if I smoke a few cigarettes.”
****
That night, by repeating over and over in her mind #NoBootyCall #HeWorksForYou, Sailor managed not to call Ace to come to her apartment. He was badly cut and needed to rest anyway. But she knew that moment could not be undone. Her choice had been made. It might be his choice, too.
The time was wrong. The business was in crisis; they were both in daily danger. When his job was done, maybe there would be something before he returned to Kentucky.
****
The next morning, Sailor was greeted upon her arrival at The Hole by a bike messenger in rainbow-colored spandex shorts. Without taking off his helmet, he handed her three envelopes. "Sign," he said, holding a clipboard and a pen. "There, and there, and there."
"What's this about?" she asked.
"You're being served," said the messenger.
"Want a drink?"
"No, I'm working," said the messenger.
"Want a coke?"
"You're on."
Sailor unlocked the bar; none of her employees were due in for two hours or so, but she had paperwork and inventory to do.
Inside, she gave the messenger a glass of Coca-Cola. He took it in a few swigs, thanked her, and left. She set the envelopes down on the bar, wasn't ready to face them yet. She had to reach out to this Chaim Rabinowicz family, but how could she do that? She texted Ace.
Sailor: Come in when you can a bunch of bullshit here
A while till the reply.
Ace: Just coming in to work Sailor
Sailor: Yeah we need to work.
Ace: About that other thing
Sailor: We'll talk in person
Ace: Yeah good idea
The roar of his motorcycle announced his arrival about twenty minutes later. He was neatly dressed. Sailor noticed the bulge of his dressing under the back of his shirt.
"How you feeling?"
"I can shrug it off," he said. "But, Sailor, I froze yesterday. I feel shitty about that."
"I wasn't hurt. You did great."
"It doesn't matter. I wasn't sharp. I want to be as advertised. I need to protect you. I'm not a coward, Sailor. PTSD is not the same as being a coward."
"I know that! And you must know I wasn't mad, considering…"
"Yeah. Considering."
Sailor served him an ice water, as he preferred, and took a Diet Coke for herself. She should have made her choice clear. "About that. Don't regret it."
"It was unprofessional," he said.
"It was unprofessional of both of us, but that doesn’t mean it was wrong."
"It won't happen again," Ace said.
"Don't promise that. I mean, unless you aren't attracted to me."
"I am. Very attracted to you. But…"
"But you think it’s a problem because you work for me. Or… you think it’s a problem because you can’t trust me?”
They stared at each other.
“I trust you. Of course I do.”
More staring.
“I don’t regret it. It wasn’t a mistake.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s get the work done, and then …”
He nodded, stiffened a little. “Yeah.”
"Okay, I'm going to open these." Sailor took the envelopes off the bar. She read fragments of them. Her stomach sunk. "Negligence. Personal injury. Who are these people?"
She handed the papers to Ace.
"All the same law firm," he said. "Let's read the accounts." He scanned them. "Okay, this is the guy Jack and Jill threw out whose date said he roofied her drink. And this is the girl dancing on the table, the one who fell, and I caught her. And this is somebody who said she was cursed out when a drink got spilled on a cashmere sweater. I wasn't here for that, right?"
"No, it was a few days before you got here. Axl was there to not handle it. Should I take these seriously?"
"I'm not a lawyer, but they look like petty shit to me. But it will cost you money to get them dismissed, and if they go to the papers or the TV, there's more trouble you don't need. Just call your lawyer. My guess is he says fax them over."
Ace set the papers down on the bar. Then he scratched his head and picked them up again. He lifted one. "This one. I have an instinct it's more important. Let me get a copy of this one."
Sailor nodded. She had recently fired her father's lawyer, Avram Rosenzweig, who charged five hundred dollars an hour, and hired a woman in the neighborhood, Damaris Camacho, whom she had met at yoga class.
"How do I get in touch with Chaim Rabinowicz?" she asked Ace. "It's not like there's a Chasidic phone book or something."
"Okay, I'll work on that. Goose will take me back to Shloimy's and we'l
l talk to the mosgiach."
"To where? To the what?"
"I got it, Sailor."
"Okay, thanks."
She came out from behind the bar, meaning to head to her office and call Damaris. "Come back for lunch? My treat."
"Sure. You want me to bring some rugelach?"
"Oh. Wow. I haven't had rugelach in years. Sure."
****
Ace didn't make it back for lunch. Waiting for him, Sailor got distracted with paperwork and forgot to eat. Damaris was out of the office but had told her to fax over the papers.
Jack came in early, told Sailor he was thankful for what he had learned, and he was going to work for a higher-paying gentleman's club in Newark. He said he could do his shift that night if she wanted.
"No, just hang on." She paid him for a few days' work in petty cash, and he shook her hand and left.
Pieter arrived early for his set, dumped his gear, and went out to lunch. Ugly Ike, who had been away for a few weeks, probably locked up, made an entrance, unsteady on his feet. He went to the jukebox and put on his usual song, "Cowboys from Hell" by Pantera. He whooped and yelled, "I like me some malt liquor, boys!" Sailor signaled to Axl to deal with him. Axl slid his phone into his pocket but had only taken a few steps toward Ike when Ike did a little shimmy and threw up gluey white stuff on Pieter's amp.
#FuckThis
Axl took a firm grip of Ugly Ike's arm and steered him toward the door. Sailor met them there. "Ike, you're banned from the bar."
"It's a free country," he answered, vomit on his chin.
"You came in here drunk. That's all I need to ban you from here. If I see you again, I'll get you hauled in for disturbing the peace."
"I have friends," he said.
"Me, too," Sailor said.
"Who are your friends, bitch?" Ike snarled.
"I know the moshgiach."
Ike gave another heave and deposited a dose of upchuck, mostly on the floor, but also on the collar of her cream Juan Carlos Abando top. #OhWellItWasLastYear's
“That’s enough,” Axl said, and ushered Ike none-too-gently out the door.
Sailor retreated to her office to get a spare top. She opened the locker and realized she had forgotten to pick up her dry cleaning, so she had no spares. “Damn it!”
Groaning, she wet a paper towel with water from her Evian bottle and wiped it off the best she could. It was still too obvious. So she dug around in the closet, found a scarf and tied it around her neck to cover the puke stain on the blouse.
The jukebox began to stutter and skip.
Axl came back from ejecting Ike and collected a wet bar towel to dab at the vomit spots on his button-front shirt.
"Get a mop," Sailor told Axl, and pointed at the mess on the floor.
Sounds of the motorcycle outside.
There was Ace, finally. Pieter the musician came in behind him and went to set up his equipment.
"Oh, so now you show up," she exploded at Ace. "I was waiting for you for lunch, so I didn't eat."
"You should have eaten," he said, and shrugged. "You have to take care of yourself, Sailor."
The jukebox stopped, then started again, not where the song had left off.
"And Jack quit, and you weren't here to talk him out of it."
"Damn," said Ace.
"My amp," said Pieter. "What is this mess?"
"I might as well close this place down if I don't get your help, Ace," Sailor continued. "I'm counting on your support."
"You have my support," he said. "I was out getting you some information."
"Later. I just can't take any more right now."
"Okay, later."
Sailor thought she was done, but more anger surged up in her, and she realized she wasn't. "Couldn't you have fucking called me?"
"Yeah, I could have. Sorry, I can be a little too focused when I'm investigating."
"I might as well close the fucking place down!"
"What is this shit on my amp?" Pieter protested. "Sailor, I was only gone twenty minutes."
"It only took Ike sixty seconds to puke there, okay? God, Pieter, get off my back already! Or take your mellow bullshit music and your fake accent back to Amsterdam and play for the whores, okay?"
The jukebox flat-out stopped working.
"Oh my God, Sailor," said Pieter. "You are too stressed out."
To Sailor's relief, Gabby came around the bar with a rag to help clean the amp. Axl was mopping, but not very efficiently.
"Many of them are good women," Pieter argued, "trying to find opportunity in a new land. They come from all over the world, you know, from Ukraine, from Africa?"
"Yeah," Gabby said.
"We'll get through it, Sailor," Ace said, and moved over to fix the jukebox.
Sailor retreated to her office again, pounded on the desk with both fists. She checked her phone and found a voice-mail from Damaris Camacho saying it might be cheaper to offer small sums of go-away money to the plaintiffs, cheaper but not good in the long-term since that might encourage more nuisance lawsuits, and anyway she had put the court dates on her calendar and they could talk again in a week when she got back from her sister's wedding in Puerto Rico.
#Shyster
A little while later, Gabby came through the open door. "Sailor," she piped.
"Yeah, what's up?"
Sailor studied the waitress, her slightly slumped stance, the slight shake in her shoulders, the downturned eyes. "C'mere, what?" She beckoned.
Gabby came around the desk and stood by her, clearly wanting comforting.
"What is it? Something's bothering you."
Gabby fell into her arms, sobbing, head on her shoulder.
#AbandoBlousesAreMadeForTearsAndPuke
"It's okay, tell me." Sailor tried to hug her, wasn't sure at first if she should, but finally got a firm grip.
"My uncle." Gabby wept. "It's just… I was going to go to college with that money, and it's all gone. I mean, that's okay, but…"
Sailor had never experienced such fierce crying. When the news of her parents' death in the plane crash had come, all she had done was leak a little from the corners of her eyes and then say, in a quiet voice, "Good riddance."
"He… He needs a home nurse for about a month. He gets out of the hospital, but he needs… and I just don't have …"
"Oh, no," Sailor said. "That's terrible."
"I'm sorry," Gabby said. "I shouldn't bother you. I know you have a lot of problems here. You get that, right? If it wasn't for Uncle Mitch, I mean, I don’t know. I might’ve died. He kept me off drugs so I could finish school. He was a great role model for me. This guy was like stalking me, and he…" She dissolved into tears. "There's just no way I can pay for the… I'm sorry, Sailor. I shouldn't, I know."
Gabby broke free of Sailor's hug and stood by the side of the desk. "I’ll have to figure out a way to deal with it. It's not your thing, I know."
"He was like your dad, right?" Sailor said.
"Yeah, when my dad died, and my mom was dead even before that, he was there and he stepped in and treated me like his daughter, you know?"
"Well, I'll tell you something," Sailor said. "I don't usually tell my staff personal details, but I really want to help you. You see, I'm an orphan too."
"Wow, really?"
"Yeah, I am. And even when my mom and dad were alive, they weren't exactly loving. And they never said they were proud of me, except sometimes saying I had good genetics. And I don't have anyone like your Uncle Mitch. You know, my teachers were just about the only role models, and they didn't really care that much either."
Gabby sniffed. "Oh my God, Sailor. Okay, I understand what you mean. You had it tough, and I need to understand, like, that sometimes things are tough." She started to turn. "Well, thanks for listening anyway."
"No. That's not what I meant. Shit! I'm sorry, Gabby. I'm still trying to learn people skills. I can't hint, so I'll just say it. I missed having someone in my life who was looking out for me, right
? So I don't want you to lose someone like that in yours. How much do you need?"
"No, Sailor, I didn't mean it like that."
Sailor opened her safe and took out her personal checkbook. "A month's care, how much?"
"It's about three thousand dollars. No one can…"
Sailor wrote her a check. "Three thousand five hundred."
"I can't take it."
"Take it or you're fired." Sailor extended her hand with the check. "Tell Ace I said he should walk you to your bank branch."
Gabby finally took the check and tucked it into her fanny pack. She looked at Sailor, then began bawling.
"No one… no one ever … this is so generous."
"No, it isn't. You owe me interest. When you can, pay me back three thousand five hundred and five, okay?"
Gabby smiled through her tears. "Okay."
Sailor sat back in her office chair, heaving a sigh. Her arm brushed across something soft. She looked at the armrest. One of her cashmere sweaters was draped across it. It was last season's style, but at least now she could remove the puke and tear-stained blouse. Who the hell cared about style around here anyway?
Chapter Nine
Ace just happened to be looking through the maintenance closet for a set of Allen wrenches. The closet just happened to be across from Sailor’s office. She just happened to have the office door cracked open, which meant he had just happened to overhear her conversation with Gabby, even though he’d already found the Allen wrenches about two minutes earlier.
Call him the Grinch, but his heart swelled a few sizes at Sailor’s generosity. He had wondered at first whether she had it in her, but he should have known better when she had bandaged him up. Women like her didn’t handle bloody wounds. They either passed out or called for help. But Sailor had taken it in stride, like she’d done it all her life. And then she touched his scars. And then they kissed.
Shit, he had enjoyed that entirely too much. The both of them must have been high on adrenaline and not in their right minds. Strike that. Ace wanted her even when he wasn’t wounded. And she’d said she wanted it. Shit, what the fuck was he thinking, letting himself fall for his boss?
Footsteps came toward the door. He hustled back to the jukebox to start fixing it before they caught him eavesdropping.
“Thank you, Sailor,” Gabby was saying.