But she remembered me from last night even if there weren’t a load of folks in. It was a nice thing to do, remembering me, letting me know it.
She was nice.
She liked Gray.
Gray liked her.
Her smiles were genuine.
And again I found myself wishing my life was different.
“No preference,” I confirmed. “Whatever beer is closest at hand.”
“Wish all my customers were like you,” she said through her perpetual grin.
But she didn’t. She didn’t know me. If she knew me, she’d probably kick me out.
She pulled out a Corona, popped the top and placed it in front of me. “I’ll go put in your order. Lucky for you, it’s late, they won’t mess around.”
I nodded yet again then muttered, “Thanks.”
She took off to the middle of the bar and then through some swinging half doors to the kitchen.
My eyes slid around the room.
It was five to nine. Our hotel room had cable but not many channels. I didn’t want to be bored but I was.
Casey and I traveled light. I’d read the three books I kept with me at least a dozen times. We didn’t have money for me to hit the bookstore I saw on the square and buy another one. Casey had stormed out in a huff after his call and told me not to wait up for him. I suspected this meant he wouldn’t be home until dawn. This also meant I got the first shift on driving the next day.
This was not unusual.
I should have stayed in, stayed warm, just stayed.
I didn’t. I moved. I did stupid stuff like refreshing my makeup. Fluffing out my hair. Spritzing on perfume. Putting on my slightly nicer cowboy boots.
Then I did even more stupid stuff like walking down to the bar.
I didn’t do stupid stuff. Careful. Played it safe. Always.
I didn’t know what came over me.
But I was hungry and I was bored and I’d been in that hotel room all day and nothing was on TV and the bar was warm, I’d smelled and seen the food last night and it looked good.
And Gray could be there.
He wasn’t.
I told myself I was relieved.
I wasn’t.
The crowd was lighter tonight than last night. Dinner crowd (if there was one) gone, people home in front of their TVs.
Two men sitting at a square table, not across from each other, beside each other. Slumped over the table, shoulders curved in, bottles of beer on the table held between both hands. Their conversation was quiet and probably not interesting. They either had women at home they didn’t want to be home with or, by the looks of them, they had no women and no prospects. Both heads of hair needed to be cut. Both sets of clothes needed to be tended better, cleaned more. Both bodies were not temples. The shoulders curved in meant they didn’t want attention and/or they were trying to detract it away from the unhealthy bulk on their frames. They were there last night. They were probably pretty, trim, big-boobed, genuinely friendly, happy bartender’s best customers. They were probably there every night mostly because they had nothing good to go home to and didn’t want to be reminded of that fact.
My eyes moved and I saw her at the bar. I didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to look at her but I did. I’d seen a lot of her kind in my life, what with my profession. A shade too much makeup. Not put on well mainly because she was drunk when she put it on and this was because, in some way, she was always drunk. Decent clothes also not well-taken care of but she tried. She had a cardigan on now, a tight skirt. Later that cardigan would come off, she’d show skin. She’d try for attention or spend some time when she was relatively sober telling herself she wasn’t going to go for it, wasn’t going to do that to herself again. Then she’d get drunker and she’d want company, she’d want to talk, she’d want someone to convince her that her life wasn’t in the toilet and swirling. She’d want someone, even if for an hour, to make her think she was pretty. She’d give him a blowjob for it. She’d do anything. She’d do more if he bought her a couple of drinks.
Barfly.
I saw that in my future like I had a crystal ball and the gift.
I saw it and it terrified me.
I looked down at my beer. Then I lifted it as if to extend a big middle finger to my life and my future and took a drag.
Happy bartender came back then leaned into me. “Order’s in.”
“Cool,” I said quietly. “Thanks but sorry. They probably weren’t happy getting a last minute order.”
Her twinkling, hazel eyes left me and scanned the bar then came back to me. “Thursday. They haven’t exactly been run off their feet and they need me to have the extra five bucks in my cash register.”
Her cash register. As usual, I was right. She owned the joint.
“Right,” I said and took a sip of beer.
Her brows drew slightly together. “You the new waitress at Jenkins?”
I shook my head and dropped my hand.
“The new teacher?” she went on.
I wish.
I didn’t even have a high school diploma. I could hardly be a teacher.
“Nope,” I answered.
“I’m Janie,” she introduced herself, stretching out a hand I took and squeezed while she kept talking. “Good place to settle, Mustang.” I let go of her hand and she dropped it but kept going. “Followed a man here, got shot of that man, he got shot of Mustang, thank God. I got the town in the break up.”
“So you came out on top,” I noted and she grinned again.
“Definitely. Also got me a Mustang man. He’s way better.”
I again grinned back. I liked that for her.
“You got a man?” she asked curiously but still friendly. I was in her bar the night before, came in alone, left alone. The same tonight. I was young. She thought I was new in town. She probably wanted to fix me up with someone.
But I didn’t have a man. I didn’t have anything. I had three pairs of jeans, four t-shirts, five long-sleeved shirts two of those being henleys like what I had on now, a heavy sweater, a lighter cardigan, two tank tops, half a dozen pairs of undies, three bras, two nightshirts, seven pairs of socks, two pairs of cowboy boots, one pair of flip-flops, three pairs of shorts, a bikini, three books, a watch, a jeans jacket, a scarf, seven bottles of perfume (my only splurge, I loved scent), some makeup, assorted cheap jewelry and not much of it and a brother.
That’s all I had in this world. All of it.
I had nothing else except my life, my health and a special talent that made enough money to eat, keep ceilings of cheap hotel rooms over our heads and gas in Casey’s tank.
I lifted the bottle to my lips, my eyes slid away and I murmured, “Nope.”
“Pretty girl like you?” she asked and my eyes slid back to her as I took a sip.
I didn’t answer.
Then I dropped the beer.
Then, as much as I wanted to talk to a pretty, friendly, happy bartender I knew the drill.
So she had to know it too.
I turned and dug in my purse at my side, pulled out a bill and slid it on the bar. The tip was decent, more than I could afford, as much as she deserved.
“Keep it. Gonna shoot some pool,” I told her, not meeting her eyes. “Nice to meet you, Janie.”
Then I grabbed my bag, jacket and scarf, slid off my stool, tagged the bottle of beer and wandered along the bar, through the scattering of tables and up two steps to the platform that held two pool tables, their felt red.
I liked the red. It gave a warm feel to the space.
I also liked that the tables were freebies. No sign that said you had to get the balls from the bar. No slot to insert coins or bills. Balls available. Cues on the wall. Proof Janie was friendly. She wanted people to come to her bar and stay awhile. It was just a bonus that when they did, they had to buy beer.