“Yes, ma’am. I love my schedule.”
“Ugh, don’t call me ma’am. You make me out to be some old church lady. I’m not your mother. Am I, sweetheart?”
“No.” Tristan squashed his desire to add “ma’am.” “You certainly are not.”
It was the same song and dance each time and Tristan had mastered the steps. Connie searched for conversation, anything to keep him in her eyesight longer. He felt her try to stay professional, but it never lasted long.
“Is there anything that you need, Tristan? Anything I can give you? To help you better perform your job, of course.”
“I’m capable of stocking the bar, checking IDs, and mixing over twenty-two thousand drink combinations. I think I’ve got a handle on it.”
Privy to her internal battle, Tristan smiled and toyed with her, playing his part. Though deep down he hated the way she regarded him solely as a pretty boy moneymaker.
“So it seems,” she answered and dismissed him. “Make sure to send Lee up here when he gets in.”
With a salute, he left her office feeling relieved and disgusted for playing her game.
Three hours into his shift, Tristan was struggling to remain focused. His eyes darted to that dark corner every few seconds, willing McKenzi to materialize out of thin air. He had no idea what he would say to her, everything in his head sounded childlike and flimsy. All he knew was seeing her had rekindled a fire inside his gut, a fire that he loved.
Last night, his dreams had been awash with the face and voice of twelve-year-old McKenzi Delaune. It all meshed together in a photomontage of sorts. The way his brain filed each image chronologically made it easy to relive his past. Tristan saw her adolescent face smiling down at him while he climbed his way up their tree. He heard her giggle as he chased her around his room with a frog croaking its displeasure. His visions morphed into their first awkward dance in junior high, to the first time he’d seen her in a bikini, and eventually to their first kiss.
He wasn’t sure who she’d become now. Tristan was selfish and didn’t know if he wanted to mar his idealistic memories with this new, darker version of McKenzi. She seemed so severe and troubled, like she’d been through a lifetime of hurt. Something drew him in, like a kamikaze moth to a flame. He had no choice in the matter. Thinking back, he never had.
His eyes checked the corner again. Nothing. He watched as Erin made her way to each table before sauntering up to the bar, smiling widely.
“Thank God!” she said dramatically. “I don’t have to wait on Bundy tonight.” She grabbed four bottled beers and turned to leave again. “She’s all yours.”
Tristan’s brows furrowed. He checked the corner again, still empty. Finally, his eyes slid down the bar and found her there, scribbling. He took a deep breath and stepped over to face her. He did not miss the drawing of his anchor tattoo now decorating the bar’s surface.
“I may have to call the San Diego Graffiti Control Program and report you for that.”
“What’s stopping you?” Josie asked, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
“Well, that particular image,” he said, pointing to the defaced bar, “is directly related to me. I could be implicated. There’s paperwork, a long form that you have to fill out. Then you have to take it downtown to file the complaint, waiting in lines and spending far too much time bathed in fluorescent lighting and breathing government air.”
“Government air?” Josie asked.
“Yes. The exhaled breaths and sighs of people working for an uneducated supervisor whose cousin got him the job. They bring paper bag lunches and drink diluted coffee, both of which fill the air with stink and dissatisfaction. On their lunch breaks, they sit in a room that hasn’t been dusted since the first Bush administration and brag about a home life that is less fulfilling than their monotonous job. All those feelings, words, dust, fumes, and tastes combine into the stench of regret for a life never lived and dreams long forgotten. Government air.”
Josie just stared at him, wondering if she could make sense of this rant. After a few seconds of inner debate, she decided to move on.
“Why don’t you just fill out the form online?”
“I prefer face-to-face interaction.”
“Even in government air?” she asked.
“Even then.”
“Thanks for not reporting me, I guess.”
“No problem. What can I get you, Mac?”
“Mac?”
“That’s what I called you when we were kids,” Tristan said, his eyes shining with memories.
“My name is Josie,” she corrected.
“Okay, Josie,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “Rum and Coke?”
“Yes.”
Tristan made her drink and set it before her carefully as though it represented more of a peace offering than a simple beverage. He watched as she capped her marker and slid it into a pocket on her bag. She sipped her drink, the stretch of silence between them becoming unbearable.
“What happened to you?” he asked, his mouth acting before his brain had worked out a more subtle approach.
“Last night?” she asked.
“No, the summer after we turned fourteen.”
“Oh. Not here,” she pleaded, shaking her head.
“When? Where?” Tristan begged.
“You get off at midnight, right?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Meet me at City Deli.”
Tristan noticed this was not a question. He nodded.
Josie drained her drink in one swallow and left cash on the bar. She slung her bag across her body and exited onto the street, leaving the sole connection to her past behind. She had three hours to kill before meeting him and wondered what kind of trouble she could get into before then.
Josie stocked up at Trader Joe’s and headed down Sixth Avenue toward the park. The quiet of the street was strange for this time of night. There was a couple out walking their dog, patiently waiting as he sniffed every inch of sidewalk. A block later she spotted two queens in four-inch heels trying to hail a cab. They weren’t having much luck. A group of teenagers flew past, the recognizable sound of their skateboards approaching like a roaring train. They challenged each other to kickflips and ollies before coasting down the hill.
Josie turned into the park, ignoring the sidewalks for the plush feel of grass beneath her feet. The city’s nighttime shine filtered down through the trees, cloaking her in a lacy pattern of light. She loved the smell of the plants. It made her nostalgic for something she couldn’t quite remember.
“Hey, Gavin. What’s up?” Josie called out as she approached the familiar bench. It was the only one in the park with her trademark graffiti.
“Stems! Long time no see. You two-timing me?”
The woman gave Josie a flirty smile, displaying a set of teeth that reminded her of mismatched furniture. Gavin’s expression was easy, but the coldness in her eyes always told her truths. The streets had an artful way of taking life from you when you were busy just trying to survive. The way she leaned back on the bench with her arm resting across the top made her look like a woman who felt at home here. When you didn’t have a physical address to belong to, you could feel at home anywhere.
“Stems?” Josie asked while taking a seat on the opposite end of the bench. “What’s that about?”
“Your legs, baby girl. They go on for days. Your stems,” she answered, shrugging as though it was the most logical explanation in the world.
“Well, I guess that’s better than the last one.”
“What? You didn’t like Perdy?”
Josie made a face, squishing up her features and shaking her head. “No! That sounds like some redneck in overalls who butchers people.”
Gavin laughed, a full belly chuckle that momentarily hid her sharpness and made her appear young again.