that too early. What font to put on the invitation. That’s a close second. You can’t just roll with Comic Sans and think it’s going to be okay. Then of course there’s your trousseau to be organized. I could help with that.” He’s amusing, I’ll give him that. But are his intentions pure? That’s the question. “What do you say, wife?”
“I’ll think about it.”
And oh what a smile. The swoon is strong with this one. “Good.”
The bar is located way back from the water. It also lacks the wine or craft beers list that other, cooler bars in the Santa Monica area have. Our clientele reflects this. We’ve had a busy night with the regular crowd shuffling in along with tourists in search of cheap beer, loud music, and big-screen TVs.
Regulars and those wanting service this century sit in my section. My tips are okay. I’m polite and affable, without being overly familiar. It’s a fine line. Some dickheads, however, will never understand that being a waitress doesn’t mean you’re there for their sexual gratification. Tonight, that dickhead’s name is Phil.
“There you go, sweet-thing,” he says as he drops the twenty-dollar bill onto the ground. “Oops. How clumsy of me.”
This is not a new game. I keep the smile plastered on my face as I pick up the money. I crouch down, one hand holding my shirt in place to avoid gifting the asshole a shot of my bountiful cleavage (a common habit among bargirls). But there’s nothing I can do to stop my black jeans (dark colors match my soul and it’s important to accessorize) tightening over my equally bountiful ass. Most likely, watching me do this is as close as this man ever gets to real live action. Phil is a sad sack of shit.
“Keep the change,” he says, licking his lips.
As tempting as it is to smack him upside the head, I smile and walk away.
“Don’t,” says a deep voice behind me.
Next comes Phil’s outraged spluttering. “Get your damn hands off me!”
“You don’t touch her.” Beck’s grip on the dickhead’s arm is fierce. And Phil is no match for the new guy. “Not without her permission.”
“I wasn’t gonna—”
“You were.”
“What’s the problem?” Rob appears all red in the face from hauling his ass out from behind the bar in a rush. “Beck, Jesus, let him go. Phil, buddy, you okay?”
“This idiot just assaulted me.” Phil puffs himself up, rubbing at the red marks on his arm. “Almost ripped my arm off.”
“He was going to grab her ass,” says Beck, voice tense.
“Are you serious?” Rob looks to heaven. “He was just playing around. The girl can take a joke, right?”
The girl, me, just sighs. Then I smile. A smile doesn’t seem like much of a lie in the general scheme of things. But Beck’s eyes widen in surprise. What the hell did he expect? I need this job.
“It better not.” The dickhead gathers his wounded pride and heads toward the door. The people around us return to drinking. It’s over.
“Pull that sort of shit again and you’re fired,” snarls Rob. “That guy is a valued customer. He’s in every other night spending money and tipping well, understood?”
Beck just nods.
And with gritted teeth, I go back to work.
“Does that sort of thing happen often?”
It’s two in the morning and the last drunk has stumbled off. Kari and Rob left at around midnight when things started slowing down. That’s when I get to tend bar for a while. Rob doesn’t like me being back there when he’s still working because, and I quote, “I take up too much space.” So yeah, only Beck and I are left to clean up. Music plays softly on the stereo and the street outside is mostly quiet.
“Occasionally,” I answer, wiping down the bar. “Comes with the job. Thank you for trying to save me from sexism, but I can look after myself.”
Silence.
He starts putting chairs up on the tables, getting ready to sweep and mop the floor. At least I don’t have to do it all on my own. Rob is such a cheap shit. It’s been weeks since the last busboy just decided to not show up.
“I’m looking for another job,” I say, not liking the silence. “Though it’s not easy with the hours they have me on here. All in all, I kind of hate the place with the fire of a thousand suns. But please don’t tell him that.”