Chapter Two

 

I cast a glance over at my tip jar. A lot of silver change was floating in it and I knew that I’d be lucky to count out over a hundred dollars by the end of the night. The bar was busy, for sure, but the clientele was cheap. The bar I had worked before this was an upscale place downtown Chicago called The Wallflower. Every night I brought home at least four hundred dollars in cash on top of my hourly rate. It wasn’t a bad living, that was for sure. The customers were friendly and usually business people, stopping for before dinner drinks and not batting an eye at the inflated prices on our menus.

My current place of employment was a far cry from The Wallflower. It was bigger in terms of sheer space, but that space was usually empty. When it was busy it was full of people wanting to get drunk for less than twenty dollars. The Red Rose was a good place for that. A twenty dollar bill could get you two shots and two cocktails if you ordered off the specials menu, and that includes taxes. But, you know what it doesn’t include? Tips. The money I lived on.

The inside of the bar was dimly lit with wrought iron wall sconces and chandeliers with mostly burnt out bulbs. Black curtains hung in front of all the walls which added a sort of gloom and doom feel to the place. At first I thought it was intentional, but I found out from some of the bouncers that the owner had put them up to hide holes in the drywall from some of the more out of hand bar fights. The dance floor hosted a single disco ball that hung right smack in the middle and cast flickering beams of light down on the stone flooring.

I tried to hide my frown as I handed a curvy blonde with fake lips her martini. I think she smiled at me- it was hard to tell since her lips seemed somewhat frozen- before turning away and joining her friends near the stage to ogle the live band. I couldn’t help but gaze sadly at my tip jar again.

Gone were the days of making enough to cover my rent in two nights. Gone were the days of being able to buy a new pair of pumps every month- and a matching handbag to boot. I was no good at the whole penny pinching game. My last job had afforded me a somewhat luxurious lifestyle which I knew only came to me based on my good looks and charm. And by charm I mean my ability to manipulate a man into putting a decent amount of money into my tip jar. No shame.

Now it  looked like I might have to sell some of those pumps and handbags. Responsibilities would be the death of me. I had already sacrificed a lot of my favourite things when I moved out of my old place. I hadn’t had enough time to gather it all. I prioritized as best I could. Everything else was left as a sacrifice. He could do what he wanted with it. Burn it. Sell it. Use it all to build a shrine for me, which he could sit in front of cursing my name from dawn until dusk. I didn’t care. Screw him.

As the night wore on I forced myself to focus and not pay so much attention to how much people were dropping in the mason jar beside my bar mat. I put more effort into my smile and played coy with some of the men who lingered around and made small talk with me. I complimented the women on their makeup and their outfits and impressed everyone with my occasional shaker toss and fancy pours. It didn’t take long before I was enjoying the evening. Friday nights at The Red Rose always picked up later in the evening, when everything else in town closed down and people were looking for a place to dance and maintain their buzz.

I looked up from my mat and called for the next customer after I handed a long island iced tea off to a girl with a drunken sway in her step. My eyes fell upon a man of medium build and exceptional height. He leaned an elbow on the bar as his green eyes scanned the menu above my head and slightly behind me. He ran his thumb and forefinger over the stubble on his jaw and I shifted my weight to my right foot to stop my knees from aching. I hadn’t seen a man who looked like him before.

He had a presence. I wasn’t used to being intimidated by my own customers, but there was something about him that demanded respect. His eyes were still scanning the menu board behind me. I let myself stare into their sea of green, flecked with streaks of gold. His dark hair nearly grazed the top of his eyelashes as he looked up from under his brows. Finally, he settled his intense stare on me.

“What’s good here?” He asked, raising his voice over the chorus of one of my favourite songs of all time.

“Uh,” I stammered, “isn’t anything with alcohol considered good wherever you are?” Smooth Alice. Very smooth. My first attempt at small talk was the same line I used when I was using fake I.D.’s to get into bars when I was seventeen.

He cracked a smile and nodded. “‘Suppose you’re right. Just a rum and coke will be fine.”

I found myself disappointed that the drink he had ordered was so quick to make. I made it nonetheless, throwing it together in a quick fifteen seconds. “Don’t like to take chances?” I asked.

He paid me with a twenty and dropped the rest into my tip jar. “Not so. I just don’t want to trust the new girl with something complicated. You know, in case you mess it up.” He took a sip of his drink and nodded his approval. “Not bad. Next time I’ll shoot for something a bit more complex.”

As he turned away from me I thanked him, even though I was sure he had just insulted me. He waved over his shoulder before vanishing into the crowd. I stretched up to my tiptoes to try to spot him through the swaying dancers and intoxicated gossipers who stood on the outskirts of the dance floor. I looked for his dark messy hair and gray T-shirt, but as my eyes scanned the bar more patrons swarmed me with drink orders and I was forced to submit to their requests.

By two in the morning the live band had vanished and the DJ was playing a smattering of pop hits and old dance songs from the nineties. It seemed that this was always a sure fire way to get those who leaned lazily in booths against the wall out on to the dance floor.

The last call for alcohol announcement came on and I was swarmed with a last minute rush of people wanting to cram in one more drink before they headed home. It’s funny how the people who flock to the bars for last call are usually the folks in the room who should have stopped drinking six shots ago. I whipped up vodka crans and screwdrivers and a smattering of all kinds of drinks in a fifteen-minute whirlwind before collapsing against the back counter and rolling my wrists. Bartenders can get carpel tunnel. Just saying.

One of the girls who worked on the other side of my bar slid up beside me and smiled. I couldn’t remember her name, as I was still pretty new in this place. She was shorter than me by about half a foot, and she had bright blue hair that was cut in a cute pixie cut that framed her face. She leaned on the counter beside me. “So,” she said, her voice raised even though the music had long since stopped, “you’re kinda killing it here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s good to hear.”

She nodded. “Yep, been watching you the last couple nights. I think you’re a good fit. I wasn’t too sure at first, you know, ‘cause you’re kinda…” her eyes swept up my body from my shoes to my hair. “You just don’t look like the rest of us. Not that that’s a bad thing.” Her tone immediately turned apologetic and I could see she was afraid she may have offended me.

I laughed. It was true. I didn’t really fit in. I was lean and tall with long brown hair that was a stark contrast to the colourful dye jobs hosted by most of the other employees of The Red Rose. I was also the only person without a piece of metal in my face. “I like it so far,” I said. “It’s a lot different than the other place I worked at.”

“That’s good.” We stood awkwardly for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say next. Then she groaned beside me and pushed herself off the counter to stand in front of me. “This is super embarrassing but I totally forget your name, new girl.”

“It’s Alice.” I offered her my hand as if we had never met before, and I was delighted when she shook it and didn’t call me a weirdo.

“Alice. Awesome. I’m Claire, just in case you forgot to.” She nodded at the bottles stacked neatly on the wall behind us. “Want a drink? Max doesn’t care if we treat ourselves at the end of a busy night.”

I felt that there was a high chance that she wasn’t telling the truth. But, I wanted to make friends with the people I worked with, and the fastest way to do that was to sit down and share a drink. Or two. Sometimes more. Don’t judge.

We sat at one of the booths once we had closed the place down. Claire had poured us each a vodka water and brought out a small bowl of peanuts from the kitchen. I popped one in my mouth and leaned my elbows on the table while she gave me the rundown of all the things I needed to know about the Red Rose.

“Max is a great manager,” she said. “He’ll always help you out of a bind. He’s given me an advance on my rent before when my roommate up and bailed on me. It’s just the kind of guy he is. He cares about us, you know? He always wanted to own a place like this, and now that he finally has it he treats us all like family. Best job I’ve ever had.”

She was being sincere. I could tell by the way she looked me in my eyes as she talked. I took a sip of my drink. “There are definitely good vibes to go around here.”

She smiled. “Definitely. So, tell me about you. Who is Alice?”

I cocked my head to one side. “Um, I don’t know-”

Claire giggled. “Come on, don’t be shy. Do you have a boyfriend?”

I shook my head. “No. No boyfriend. Kind of trying to take a break from the whole dating scene.”

“Ah. Somebody did you wrong, hey?”

“Something like that.” I took another mouthful of vodka water and swished it around my cheeks before swallowing. “I just have other priorities right now.”

“All good,” Claire chirped. “Don’t mind my curiosity then… but I saw you talking to Jack at the bar earlier.”

“Jack?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You know, tall, handsome? Broody. Everything a girl wants but knows she should stay away from?”

The man with the green eyes. I tried to hide the flush of pink in my cheeks, but Claire spotted it right away. She lightly slapped a hand on the table. “Girl, you can’t blame yourself. He’s sexy as hell, and he knows it. He’ll be curious about you, too. You’re new meat around here.”

“Is he someone I should be careful of?”

“He’s his own breed. Gets into trouble, sometimes. He’s definitely not Max’s favourite customer, but he spends a lot of money here so he is still welcome- for the time being at least.”

“What has he done?”

Claire shrugged. “The odd fight, here and there. Nothing too crazy.”

A fight at my old bar would earn a customer a permanent ban. “Max is tolerant of fights in his bar?”

“Not really. He’s tolerant of Jack fighting in his bar. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t get it.”

Claire polished off her drink and leaned in closer. I could smell her perfume and strawberry lip gloss, and the vodka on her breath. “You will, when you see it.”

This statement was a trigger to a cacophony of questions in my mind. What did she mean when she said that? “Is he a good fighter, or something?” I asked.

“He likes fighting. He’ll sit at the bar and you can tell he’s just waiting for something to go down, sometimes. Helps him blow off steam, I think. Anger issues, or something. The guy needs to join a sport.”

“He likes it?”

Claire nodded. “Yep. Loves it. As soon as a guy in here sets a toe out of line with one of the waitresses, Jack is there. At first, it’s a little flattering. You think he’s fighting for your honour. Then, after it happens a couple more times, and you see the look in his eye, you see it for what it is. Pure enjoyment.”

“Um… That’s a little messed up.”

Claire snickered and leaned back in her booth. “For sure. But it doesn’t change the fact that he is exceptional eye candy. Just you wait; you’ll get your chance to see him in action. Maybe it will be for your sake. Who knows?”

I didn’t like the idea of that. I didn’t like violence. I didn’t like drama. I felt as though I had finally managed to put that part of my life far behind me. If something like that did happen, I would have to make it very clear to Jack that I could take care of myself.

I didn’t need a stranger fighting my battles for me.

But then again, there was something about him that stirred a curiosity in me. There was something that encouraged me to find out more about him. There was a chance that I was simply falling victim to his good looks. It had happened to me before.