Chapter Four
Paige
Thirsty Thursdays were always busy at The Shift, even more so than Friday nights. That evening, there seemed to be an excessive number of low-tippers, though, which meant I wasn't earning enough to deal with the chaos. It was frustrating; most weeks, I could count on Thursday night's tips paying out well enough that I didn't need to worry about meeting my budget goals. That week, however, I was pretty sure I'd need to pick up an extra shift. I made a mental note to talk to Erica about it.
There was one guy tipping well, at least. He was one of our regulars, and he was sitting down at the end of the bar with one of his friends. They had started out tipping well, and they were tipping better as they got drunker, so I made sure to keep sliding drinks their way, even though I could tell that Michael, the regular, was getting more and more down as the night went on.
It was strange to see him like that; normally, he was quite the playboy, and the ladies all loved him.
The other strange thing was that even after his friend went off with a lady, Michael continued to sit there at the bar, not engaging with anyone, just staring morosely down into his drink. I frowned, wondering if I should cut him off soon, but he wasn't causing trouble, and I didn't think he was all that drunk.
I gave a little mental shrug and tried to put it out of my mind. It was easy to do, given how busy it was.
Finally, we got a little lull in business, and I went over to dry some glasses next to them. “What's up with you tonight, Michael?” I asked him. “You seem down.”
Michael gave himself a visible shake and smiled over at me. “I'm fine,” he said. “Just a lot on my mind.”
I hummed in response. “Well, I can listen for a minute, if you need a sounding board. You know what they say about bartenders, they're the poor man's therapist.”
Michael cracked a smile. “I'm far from being poor,” he told me. I just shrugged, and he sighed. “I had a meeting with my attorney,” he said. “I think I'm having a mid-life crisis.”
I laughed as well. “Think you've got a few more years to go before you have a true mid-life crisis,” I pointed out. “Ten, at least.”
“I don't have a wife or kids,” Michael said flatly.
I frowned, about to say that I hadn't asked when suddenly I realized this was what he was freaking out about. “That's a weird worry to have,” I said, trying to figure out why he suddenly seemed so bothered by it. After all, he was a notorious playboy. He clearly liked to sleep around, so wasn't it his own fault that he didn't have a wife?
“I want kids,” Michael said impatiently. “One kid, anyway. I need an heir.”
I burst out laughing, unable to help it. “Right, of course, you're freaking out about having kids because you need an heir. God, is it the Middle Ages again? Did I miss the memo?”
Michael groaned and slugged back his whiskey. I poured him another glass.
“Why don't you just adopt?” I asked. “I know it can take a while, but you're young enough.”
“I know it sounds selfish, but I want a kid that's my own flesh and blood,” Michael said simply, shrugging a little. He watched his friend, who was getting handsy with a blonde in one of the back booths. Finally, he shook his head and turned back to me. “I want a kid who can take over my business once I'm gone. Someone I can leave my fortune to. The problem is, I'm just not interested in having a wife.”
He knocked back another drink, and I poured him another, accepting his tip and then going back to drying glasses.
“I'm sure you have enough money that you could pay someone to have the kid for you,” I said. “Surrogacy, I believe it's called?”
Michael's eyes widened. “I never thought of that before,” he said. Then, he frowned. “But don't most women want to have a normal family life with the father of her child?”
I shrugged. “Not sure what the numbers are on that,” I said dryly. When Michael's face fell, though, I rolled my eyes. “Look, maybe most women might want that, but I'm sure there are women who don't mind. Surrogates are a real thing, after all. Don't couples who can't have kids use them all the time? There must be companies set up who could take your jizz and make it happen.”
“Do you think it would take a long time to get to the top of whatever waiting list there is?” Michael asked. “They probably give priority to people who can't have children, rather than people who just don't want to be in a relationship.”
“So tell them you're gay, I don't know,” I said, rolling my eyes again. Why was he making things so needlessly complicated?
“Anyway, I'd kind of like to be part of it, when the child is conceived,” Michael mused, taking another sip of his drink. “I don't know, the whole idea of doing this medically, masturbating into a cup and then having that put in a syringe, that just seems so clinical. Cold.”
“But the baby would never know that, would it?” I pointed out philosophically.
“Maybe it would,” Michael said. “I grew up knowing full-well that my parents only got married because my mother was pregnant.”
This whole bartender-as-a-therapist thing was starting to go a little too far, I realized. I didn't want to dissect his whole life and find out all about his daddy issues or whatever else might be lurking under the surface of his playboy attitude. We got too many guys like him into the bar, and even though I knew there was a reason they were so sleazy, I didn't necessarily want to know what those reasons were.
I was certain if I knew all their backstories, it would destroy my faith in humanity. It was bad enough living with Erica and having to comfort her through all the assholes she brought home with her. I put my towel up over my shoulder, looking around for Erica. Fortunately, it was starting to get busy again, and I had run out of glasses to dry anyway.
“I'm sure you could pay a girl to have sex with you and give you the baby,” I said, distracted now by trying to figure out who was the first in line at the bar. “There's got to be someone in this city that needs the money that badly.” I tried to think how much money someone would have to pay me to get me to carry a baby for them, but then, I shook my head.
Michael seemed to think things over for a moment. “You know, I'll have to think about it,” he said, but for the first time that night, he looked relieved and some fraction of his ordinary self.
More than a fraction of his ordinary self, I corrected myself, as he turned to the woman next to him and struck up a conversation with her.
I shook my head and moved on to serve someone else. For the rest of the night, it was too busy to talk to anyone, and by the time I went home at the end of the night, I'd forgotten all about my time as a stand-in therapist for the rich regular.