We now work at Frui Vita, which means “enjoy life” in Latin. That’s what I want people to do here—enjoy themselves. I want every customer to walk out with a smile on their face and a good memory to take with them. And I don’t want any more typos on the sign outdoors.
I also don’t want to keep trying to figure out why these books don’t balance.
“Fuck.” I toss the papers on my desk and dig the heels of my hands into my eye sockets until I see stars.
Math shouldn’t be this hard. This isn’t calculus. Still, I can’t figure out why we’re spending this much money on liquor. I know we don’t have enough customers to be drinking this much. Either someone is stealing bottles behind my back, or the bartenders are making extra strong drinks.
I suspect it’s the latter since I’m the only one with a key to the liquor closet. That means I’m going to have to retrain my employees and I don’t have the time or desire to do that. Tammy and Desiree have been working here for years. Hell, I worked alongside them. They should know better.
“Knock, knock.” Speaking of Tammy.
“Hey, yeah,” I wave her over. “Come on in. You getting ready to open up shop?”
“Already did.” She drops down into the chair in front of my desk. “No one’s here yet. I thought I’d check on you and see how it’s goin’ on with the back end of things.”
Tammy’s Texas accent is strong. I don’t know if it’s because she was born and raised in the Lone Star State or if she plays it up for show, but it works for her. In her mid-50s, Tammy’s curly red hair is piled on top of her head, the lines on her face an indicator of a life hard lived. And probably hard loved. Married for at least two dozen years, she’s as committed to her man now as she was the day she got hitched—or so she says.
“It’s…” I start, trying to come up with some sort of answer that isn’t negative. There’s no point in lying to Tammy though. She has a knack for seeing right through me. Instead, my shoulders slump and I tell her the truth. “…rough. We need some regulars.”
“We’ve needed new regulars for years. Those bastards stopped tipping when they decided I was their friend more than their waitress.”
I sigh deeply. I knew taking over the bar would be rough, but I didn’t realize it had gotten worse for them as well. I was hoping the Hart reception would be a tipping point in the right direction, but it didn’t stretch us as far as I’d hoped.
All my life it’s been drilled into me that success is the only right answer. The idea of potential failure causes my teeth to clench and blood to run cold through my veins. I’ll do anything necessary to keep this bar up and running, even taking suggestions from my employees.
“Got any ideas?”
“Sure. Fire Desiree.”
I choke back a laugh at her unexpected outburst. “Excuse me? I thought you liked working with her.”
Tammy purses her lips. “I don’t know where you got that idea. I like working nights, not working with her. First time in my life the husband and I are working the same hours. It’s amazing what some regular hanky-panky can do for your mood.”
“Okay,” I interrupt loudly, not at all interested in hearing more about Tammy’s sex life. “Enough of that. Why do you think she should be fired?”
“Easy,” she says with a shrug. “That girl is unreliable and probably a functional alcoholic.”
I hold my hands up to stop her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I might give you unreliable since she’s late for her shifts fairly regularly, and yes, she’s called in a time or two. But functional alcoholic? Are you sure? I’ve never seen her take so much as a sip of the booze here.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re a hot piece of man candy, so she doesn’t do it in front of you. Wants to keep up appearances so she pretends to be a hard worker and all that. But she probably goes through half a bottle of Jack every night just taking shots with the customers in solidarity,” she says with air quotes, “for whatever problem they have going on that night.”
I sit back in my squeaky chair, stunned by this revelation. I always assumed Desiree was a little scatterbrained but ignored it because the customers seem to like her well enough. Now I’m wondering if we’ve got an even bigger problem with her working here. First and foremost, not smart for someone with a potential drinking problem to be responsible for mixing and serving drinks. Not to mention the liability I’d have if she were to drive home and hurt someone.
At least one mystery is solved though.
“This is probably why we’re spending more on liquor than we should be. If she’s tipsy she is probably overpouring.”
“That’s my guess,” Tammy says without the slightest hint of guilt for ratting out her co-worker. “Pat kept saying he was going to put a stop to it, but then Desiree would flash her big smile and shimmy her big boobs and he’d melt into a perverted little puddle.”
“Pat knew?” I ignore the comment about his perversion. That’s the least shocking part of her revelations tonight.
Tammy shrugs again. It’s amazing how sometimes she truly does not give a shit what anyone thinks of her. Probably why she’s such a good employee. “Call him and ask him.”
I pinch between my eyes. “No. I believe you. Everything you’re saying makes sense. It just sucks that I have to get rid of someone who’s already trained and find someone new.”
“Oh. Well, that’s easy,” Tammy says excitedly. The about-face is so sudden, I actually startle. “A girl was at that wedding reception looking for work. Real cute. Seems reliable. Not a hint of booze on her. Well, except for the dirty martini she was drinking, but she was a guest.”
I snort a laugh. “Not drunk at noon. Always good in a prospective employee.”
“It was evening. Plus, beggars can’t be choosers, boss. I left her application on your desk.” Tammy reaches over and sorts through my scattered pile. It’s a wonder she can find it in this mess. “Here it is. Kiersten Willoughby. Oooh.” She waggles her eyebrows. “She has a fancy name.”
“I don’t care what her name is as long as she can do the job. Hand it over.”
I snatch the resume from Tammy’s hands and glance over it. It looks like most of her employment history is being a dance teacher. No bar experience whatsoever, but she had a fast food stint in high school for a while. It’s something anyway.
“At least she has a steady employment history. That’s a plus, I suppose,” I say under my breath, more to myself than my waitress.
“Wait ‘til you meet her. She’s sharp. Don’t know why she wants to work in a bar—”
“Hey!” I protest, which Tammy ignores.
“—But you don’t want to miss this one. My gut says what she doesn’t know she’ll pick up quickly. I’m surprised you didn’t notice her. Real pretty girl.”
I take a second to think through the guests that night. There were a lot people and I was so focused on making a good impression, I didn’t really pay much attention to anything beyond serving up drinks.
Looking at the application again, I realize Tammy is right. I don’t know why she wants to work here with all this dance experience but I’m not here to judge. As long as she can do the job and not steal my booze, it’ll still be a better situation than I’m in now.