“Can I get a dirty martini? Extra dirty, please.”
“You got it.”
I make a quick glance around to find my son who has apparently been passed off by Heath to the father of the groom while all the single men get ready for the garter toss. I’m not surprised Carson looks perfectly content. Pushing three years old, he’s never met a stranger. It’s a great quality for him to have, and yet it terrifies me on a regular basis. If I didn’t know Heath would step in front of a moving bus for my kiddo, I’d be more concerned by a man I’ve only met a handful of times taking over baby duty.
Letting my body sink onto the stool, I take advantage of just being able to sit. Carson runs me ragged every day but pounding the pavement for the last week or so has added an extra element of exercise I haven’t had in a long time.
Unfortunately, the health benefits are the only thing I got out of it. No one was hiring. I hit as many dance studios as I could find in a ten-mile radius and they all said the same thing—they’re fully staffed now but they’ll be hiring for summer. I appreciate that more than one of them said they would call if they have an opening, but that doesn’t help me now.
“Hey, Desiree.” The red-headed waitress comes flying up to the bar. “I need a strawberry margarita, an Old Fashioned, and a Bloody Mary, stat.” Her hands fly as quickly as her words as she unloads some dirty glasses from her tray onto the rubber mat on the bar.
Desiree just nods and places my dirty martini in front of me before heading straight back to mixing.
It’s odd that the waitress just blurted out an order. As I look around more, I realize the only register they have is behind the bar. There’s no computer system. It’s straight up old school here. That’s kind of cool, actually. Gives the place an interesting feel.
As I watch them continue with their respective job duties, another thought occurs to me.
“Are there only two of you working tonight?” I ask, not because I’m making conversation but because I have an idea and I’m kind of an opportunist at this point.
The waitress looks up, almost surprised to notice me sitting here. “Us? Oh yes. The caterer brought everyone else. Only three people work here full time, including the owner. It’s all hands on deck tonight.”
I sip my cocktail with appreciation. It’s the right amount of dirty for me. “Only three total? For a place this size?”
“Well, we normally don’t have this many customers. And not a lot of people come in looking for work at an out-of-the-way place like this that doesn’t line their pockets with Jacksons.” She wipes down her tray and places it on the counter, ready to be filled with fresh drinks. “Why? Looking for a job?”
Swallowing another sip, I carefully place the glass down and grab the cocktail pick holding two olives. “Actually, I am.”
Her eyebrows raise slightly with interest. “Really. You ever worked at a bar before?”
I shake my head and snag an olive with my teeth. “Nope.”
“Got any waitressing experience?”
Another shake. “Nope. But I spent several years as a dance instructor. I also have solid references, three years of college under my belt, and a working car. Does any of that help?”
She smiles at me and ducks under the counter to the other side of the bar. Riffling around on the shelves for a second, she finally pulls out what she’s looking for and places it in front of me.
“This has been back here for a while and we’re under new management so the application is kind of old, but it should do the trick. We could use some fresh blood around here.”
Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows.
“Don’t ask.” She shoots a glance over at the bartender. Clearly, there is no love lost there. She ducks back under the bar and makes her way to my side. “The boss is great, the pay is fair, and it’s not terribly stressful. Just give that to me when you’re done. Need a pen?” Before I can respond she grabs one out of her hair and hands it to me. Just as I go to take it, a thirty-pound tornado runs right into my legs.
“Mama!” he squeals and hugs me so tightly, I can’t even pick him up. All I can do is rub his little back and tell him I love him before he’s off like a shot, chasing after Lucy, who seems to be just as enamored with him as he is with her.
The waitress nods toward Carson. “Working in a bar means being here for weird shifts. You sure you wanna do this?”
“Under the circumstances, yes. And rest assured, I have a remarkably strong support system.”
And that system started putting things in place for us before the first whine of the U-Haul’s gears. The daycare Lauren and Health found is really nice. Clean and bright, and the teachers were all lovely when we toured the place. I verified that they have a low-income program which will help me out when the time comes. If it comes. Assuming Uncle Heath hasn’t already told them to bill him for everything. Wouldn’t surprise me if years down the road I find out Carson has a college fund, too.
I know him being so actively involved with caring for my son would seem weird to some people, but I’m just grateful. Heath is a natural protector and provider. I can’t begrudge my son being the recipient of it, even if it seems a bit unconventional. Besides, kids are a long way down the road for them. If this is how Heath gets his baby fever out of his system, so be it.
“You’ll need all the help you can get with these hours. Names Tammy, by the way.” She sticks her hand out and I shake it quickly. It’s boney, matching her equally thin frame, but she’s got a solid grip. If I had to guess it’s from years of manual labor. She may be significantly older than the beautiful young bartender, but I’m willing to bet Tammy will last a lot longer on the job.
Desiree takes that moment to deliver Tammy’s drink order, without so much as glancing her way. The vibe confirms my initial impression that these two don’t get along. At all.
Tammy hikes up the tray in front of her and pats me on my shoulder. “Just get that to me when you’re done and I’ll make sure the boss man sees it.”
I smile with gratitude at her kindness. This kind of work wasn’t my goal, but my savings account won’t last forever. A job is a job at this point.
Despite the line of a dozen or so customers waiting for service, Desiree comes over and begins wiping down the counter. It’s already clean so I suspect she’s got something to say.
“You know he’s not hiring, right?” Her tone is haughty and teeters on combative.
I shrug, hoping to de-escalate the aggression she’s clearly trying to throw my way. “Neither is anyone else. I’m filling out as many applications as I can. You never know when someone is going to quit, right?”
She narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t say anything else, instead being called over to the other end by the man I assume is the big boss. If I’m not mistaken, he looks a bit irritated she was “cleaning” instead of paying attention to the customers. Interesting. Maybe this application won’t be a waste of time after all.
FIVE
Paul
When Pat hired me, this place was named Sante. No one seemed to know where the name came from, not even Pat.
I thought it was supposed to mean “cheers” in Spanish, but without an accent mark over the e, it was spelled wrong anyway. It drove me crazy and felt like a bad omen to have a typo in the original name, so I changed it before the ink was dry on the business papers.