A mixture of high and low tables, high-back chairs, comfy couches, and framed autographed pictures of musicians, artists, and sports stars. The East Atlanta neighborhood had an eclectic crowd of business professionals, someone’s eccentric aunt or uncle who probably sculpted nude models, and “retired” trust fund kids.
It wasn’t my neighborhood. Don’t shit where you sleep, Daddy used to say. So, I booked a recurring gig thirty miles away from home while Mama stayed with the little ones.
“Woo! You rock!” A deep voice snagged my attention.
I smiled at the silver fox with a salt-and-pepper goatee. “Thanks, man.”
I gave him and his group of coffee buddies a quick wave and weaved through the tables to the front of the house. Slapping my hands on the counter, I leaned over to bug my favorite barista. “Give me your strongest drink, Jonas.”
He was facing away from the stainless-steel cappuccino machine. “Triple shot espresso?”
“Not quite. Hot coffee, a little sugar, fresh creamer, and, oh, whiskey, if you have it.”
He snorted and turned to face me. The lanky recent college grad gave me a smug smile and smoothed over the side part in his chestnut hair. “No alcohol, just the freshest ground coffee you’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.”
“Joking.” I patted my back pocket with my bedazzled flask. “I’ve got the whiskey.”
Jackie D. Tennessee. The same brand Daddy loved. I didn’t smile at the thought, or at the memories of Daddy’s sweat-soaked clothes smelling of stale cigarettes and rubbing alcohol. He’d squeeze me too tight, but I didn’t complain. I was just happy he was home.
“Love you, baby girl,” he’d say, trying to whisper, but his voice boomed in my ear. His breath was a combination of bile and booze and honey.
Goose bumps darted down my forearms. I’m not like him.
James or my babies would never see me like that. The key was greasy food, like a burger and fries, and hydration. A shot or two never hurt anyone. It was the benders that were dangerous.
Jonas pushed the coffee to the side table and motioned toward a waiting customer. After he gave the customer her beverage, he turned to face me. “You’re gonna get me fired one of these days,” he mumbled as he made my “virgin” Irish coffee. “Eric is gone, but you still need to go out back.”
After six weeks of performing at Rev and Go, Jonas and I had a routine. He’d caught me sneaking booze near the corridor between the bathroom and the employee break room. Whatever I’d concocted had been so terrible, I coughed and sprayed the floor with my failed experiment. He shook his head, made me clean up the mess, and gave me a lecture about alcohol on the premises and how Eric, the owner, would can my ass if he ever found out.
The following week Jonas crooked his finger toward me to follow him to the employee break room, opened his work locker, pulled out a thermos, and gave me the best Irish coffee I’d ever tasted. Since then, he’d told me he’d make the drink, I just needed to bring the whiskey.
“Thanks, Jonas.” I tipped the mug in his direction.
“No problem. You’ve earned it. I’ve noticed we’ve got a bigger crowd since you’ve been playing for us. People are sticking around and ordering food. Eric even mentioned looking into getting a license to sell beer and wine.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah.” Jonas smiled and pointed to the red and white flyers with my picture and name. “You’re our star. I had a few customers mention they’d come from Macon to see you. You’re generating some buzz, Nikki.”
My heart slapped against my chest. This was good, really good. But I didn’t want them to depend on me. What if one of my kids got sick, or if James caught on and wanted me to quit?
“Th-that’s cool. I’ll start the last set after I finish my drink.” I rushed to the back exit and flung open the door. I didn’t realize how hard I’d been breathing until I saw puffs of breath dotting the cold air. Shit. I leaned against the brick wall while my mind raced. Grabbing the flask from my pocket, I dumped the whiskey into the mug.
I felt sick to my stomach. This was getting out of hand. Sooner or later, I’d have to come clean. The lies I’d told my mom and James continued to pile. James thought I was either doing PTA stuff or hanging with the girls. Mama was so happy that I’d invited her