cocktail maker, at flirting with her hair. Laverna’s weekend numbers tripled in size. Now it remained a dead zone, and Laverna couldn’t care less. Her daughter had burned her, set her life ablaze. There would be no forgiveness, only ashes.
Red Mabel turned around on her stool and launched a cue ball at a group of dusty women who were playing truth or dare. The ball smashed into the pint glasses, shards and liquid flying everywhere.
Cackling, the miners responded by hooting and grabbing at their crotches. The miners were more feral and violent lately, and if the rumors were true, emboldened by drugs. Laverna didn’t care what they were buying from Black Mabel, as long as they continued to spend money at the bar. Red Mabel’s fits only exacerbated their recklessness. The miners were itching to fight someone their own size. Laverna threw the bar rag at her best friend.
“Those bitches are out of control,” protested Red Mabel. “You should make them clean it up.”
“I really wish you’d stop breaking things,” said Laverna. “I’m in mourning.”
Black Mabel staggered through the front door, eyes unseeing, bombed on pills. As usual, she had embraced her nickname, wore a black T-shirt underneath a pair of inky work overalls. She wore that cursed leather duster, dark as night, and much too big for her. She wore it every day, even in the summer. It swept across the floor, filthy with old mud splatters, the hem soaking wet from the snow. Black Mabel’s feet were invisible, and as usual, she seemed to be levitating. Her face was shockingly white, surrounded by the massive collar and lapels she turned up against the wind. While Black Mabel dressed to instill fear, Red Mabel would just as soon punch you in the face. Red Mabel guzzled the rest of her drink and left in disgust. As she passed Black Mabel, Red Mabel elbowed her in the arm, but she didn’t seem to notice.
The bar was more rowdy than usual. One card game had dissolved into arm wrestling in bras, and Laverna saw two of the women pass a green olive to each other on their tongues. The men from the highway department cheered at this. Laverna sent Black Mabel over to admonish the women, and watched as she ducked a shower of peanuts the drunkest silver miner threw. When Black Mabel returned, Laverna gave her a piece of beef jerky.
“I always wanted to be a miner,” slurred Black Mabel. “My mother was a miner, and both my cousins.” Laverna took a drink of coffee, and raised an eyebrow. This was a story she had heard many times before. “I couldn’t cut it,” continued Black Mabel, looking over at the table of exhibitionists as they draped themselves over the jukebox.
“Mining is hard work,” said Laverna.
“I’m claustrophobic,” said Black Mabel. “I went down the shaft on my first day and burst into tears.”
By eight o’clock, Laverna had officially lost control of the crowd. She called Tabby for backup, because Tabby was always hungry for tips and lived only a block away. The rest of her barmaids were probably unconscious somewhere.
Of all people, Rachel had been Laverna’s most dependable barmaid. When Rachel was fifteen, Laverna had fired her entire weekend shift, both girls, for stealing from the cash register. Laverna was the law of the town, and a penny-pincher, so she installed her excited fifteen-year-old daughter behind the bar on weekend days, and the money flowed. Laverna didn’t care if it came from pedophiles. Rachel had been a natural—imperious and saucy and a quick learner. Laverna eventually stopped shadowing her, and for two years, Rachel transformed two of the slowest shifts into moneymakers. When Rachel was exiled, bookkeeping was the only time Laverna missed her daughter.
A man pushed his way through the crowd at the front door, nodding at each and every miner. They glared at him as he passed, at his Quinn Volunteer Fire Department polo shirt. His eyes were locked on Laverna. He sat down next to Black Mabel and inched his stool away from her, to show some respect. He smoothed out a ten-dollar bill with his index fingers and propped his elbows on the bar.
“Scotch,” he said.
“We’re out,” Laverna said, and wiped her hands with the beer rag.
“Beer,” he declared. “And keep the change.”
Laverna studied him closely. He was vaguely handsome, and looked more capable than the other firemen she had known. His polo shirt was unwrinkled, tucked into his pants.