Chapter One: Sophia

I tie my long dark curls back and get ready to go to work. The chatter around me blends together into a cacophony of slurred voices. Everyone is already wasted and they are yelling over each other, over the music, and over the buzzing in their own ears. God forbid you ever have a headache when you have to work.

I’ve been working in bars for almost three years now and the scene is always the same. There are groups that come in and sort of interact with each other at a distance. You can almost pick out which guy is going to talk to which girl by the group of people they came into the bar with. One of my favorite games is “Will they or won’t they?”

I notice someone is either trying to talk to, making eyes at, or buys a drink for someone else. The other bartenders and I then make up the things they are saying to each other and what potential deal breakers can be. The reasons they won’t make it out of the bar and on their way to love town get completely ridiculous. Like he had a snake in the bathtub and wanted her to feed it rats.

Another long evening is ahead of me and I take a deep breath before going out for the start of my shift. I stand just in the storage room where I can see everyone but they can’t see me and I can certainly hear them. The flat screen televisions in high-definition line the walls playing the latest game. There’s never any sound playing on the TVs because there just wouldn’t be a point, no one would hear anything. The bar is packed and with all the shoving going on, I knew it was a matter of time before this happened.

“I’m going to kill you,” a dyed blond Amazon screams. She’s freaking massive and as I get closer, I think about shying back a little. Maybe it’s not fair to call her that but she had to be at least six two and thin as a rail. She could definitely take me out or at least break me in two, with a half-hearted college try.

“You just freaking try,” a short brunette with earrings that should be causing her to topple over swinging from her ears. I know she’s a D list socialite because she’s in the bar all the time and I’ve listened to her go on and on about her supposed fame. The Amazon will indeed kill her if I don’t step in. The last thing I want is to get in the Amazon’s way or be noticed, but the shorter blonde here wasn’t giving me much of a choice. The tall woman’s whole body is rigid as if steam could come from her ears and it would be mingling with all the vape and overpriced cologne in the air making my eyes tear.

As predicted, the shoving starts, and people clear out from around them, scattering like mice away from the feral pair of cats. The bystanders escalate the situation by turning around to watch, blocking my view. After I make my way around the edge of the bar, I move into the fray to try and separate the two extremely drunk women. I shake my head at Gary, disappointed. The bouncer won’t break up girl fights. He worries about roughing up women too much and getting sued. He should be worried about our boss getting sued instead. But, that’s why I step in. Despite everything, I actually like my job.

That leaves it all up to me to be the hero. I’m not out of shape, but I’m not the strongest woman. At five feet five, I hold my own. Going to yoga a few times a week really pays off as does running, when I can. Perhaps it has made me bolder than I should be because once I get into the middle of the women I realize this is a mistake. The Amazon woman looks about seven-foot-tall and the socialite swings right when I get in front of her catching me in the eye.

Stars explode around my vision as a throb begins. It’s not the hardest of punches, but it is enough to stun me for a couple of seconds. The jarring force propels me out of the fray for a second cupping my hand to my face. The blonde slings several more drunken slurs. Now I’m starting to get pissed. I regroup jumping back in and reaching out. I grab her by her slicked-back ponytail and give it a sharp tug.

Okay, maybe I’m not fighting fair, but at this point, I don’t give a shit. I just can’t have bloodshed during my shift, and judging from the rage coloring Amazon’s face, there is the potential for bloodshed. She’s the kind of girl who probably writes REDRUM in the steam of her bathroom mirror after a shower. She has a look in her eyes that I’d definitely be afraid of if I were the other girl.

I tighten my hold on her hair, pulling her away from the tall Amazon before we are both slung over the top of her mountainous body. This would go down easier if she would co-operate with me rather going against but I doubt she realizes I’m trying to end this as quickly as possible.

“Regina,” I yell to the other bartender, “help me get them out of here.” Regina looks at me with a blank stare. I give her a curt nod which seems to get her moving.

With Regina tentatively grabbing onto the larger one, we get the two women out of the bar. They push and pull against us but they can figure it out in the street if they need to fight.

“Shit,” Regina says, “she got you good in that eye.”

“Of course,” I say and touch a finger to the tender spot. I flinch. I’m surprised it’s swelling up already. The adrenaline ebbs leaving the pain behind and lucky that I didn’t feel exhaustion before my shift.

“Bleach Blond Dumb-dumb got skills?” she chuckles. Regina is a natural blonde and not Amazon tall, but definitely several inches taller than me.

I roll my eyes and wince, boy that smarts. “Nah, it was a lucky shot.” Leave it to Regina to find a joke somewhere within a disaster. Luck or not, it hurts like a bitch. I really hope she trips over something on her way to bed tonight or stubs her toe on a dresser.

Regina chuckles. “Lucky or not, you’re gonna have a black eye.” Regina tries to touch it and I back up not needing the extra pressure on the spot.

I groan. “Perfect. Let me go see if I can cover it up.” I tell her and walk into the bathroom. It’s already starting to turn black and I have a good feeling my eye is going to swell up.

I walk to the lockers behind the bar to find some makeup and see if I can salvage my look. I depend on the tips I make nightly to survive. It’s going to be pretty hard to tend the bar like a one-eyed pirate. I’d borrowed some money one time for rent, and that was a mistake that has haunted me since I did.  Rent was coming up again and I needed to be able to flirt with the best of them, not look like a horror movie extra. Luckily, I keep enough makeup to cover six girls faces with me at all times.

Regina came back to check on me. “Second shift is here. George is entertaining the crowd for a minute.”

I look in the mirror, dabbing concealer around the darkest part of the bruise. I decide to make the most of a smoky eye before its swollen shut. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I don’t accidentally stab myself with a mascara wand. “Yeah, I think I can cover up the darkness for tonight anyway. Not telling what it will look like tomorrow.”

“Will you be visited by a certain rich suitor this evening,” Regina asks biting a fingernail and leaning against the lockers. It’s a habit she has, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. I cringe thinking about the torn skin of her cuticle that’s got to burn when she drops lemons in the shots.

“Stop that,” I scold, and then a slow smile creeps across my face. “And, I’m not sure.”

Thomas is the best part of my evenings. Literally the highlight of my day and especially when I have to work. He likes to do it in public and coming to the bar is his favorite rendezvous. I’d only recently found out who Thomas really was. I thought he was just a nicely dressed guy who hit on me in the bar. It wasn’t until I saw him on Entertainment Tonight, I realized he was a public figure. He puts the D-list brunette to shame and makes my core tremble with anticipation.

I still didn’t quite understand what he was famous for. He’d been the boyfriend on a reality show. The girl was still on the show, but since they had broken up, the paparazzi still followed him individually. Maybe they were hoping they would get back together and romance the shit out of their lives on television. Me, well, I couldn’t bear to watch the old episodes and the look on his face or the way she treated him during that time. It may have been the past, but it still left me feeling burned, even though he wasn’t mine and this is all in fun. Fun is what I remind myself over and over checking my reflection in the mirror. I don’t even watch television that often and I’d gotten roped in.

Regina keeps talking but I ignore most of what she says. “He’s way too hot. I can’t believe you landed Rosa Diaz’s ex-boyfriend.”

“I doubt he wants to be referred to as someone’s ex-boyfriend,” I say and finish up the final touches on my concealer. I turn my head from the left to the right. I’ve managed to cover up some of the redness and thankfully it’s not turning black . . . yet. I toss my makeup back into my locker and slam it shut.

Regina hums, drawing my attention away from the metal door of the locker and my current rent problems.

I look at Regina and can feel the color filling my cheeks.  “I do hope he stops by tonight though, my break is coming up.” I fan myself quickly because the blush on my face irritates the swollen ache in my eye.

I’ve never met someone like Thomas. He knows my needs before I do and meets them in such a way that I’m never unsatisfied after we’re together. It’s fantastic every time. It just keeps getting better. He’s so hot and strong and that’s all I can think about for hours and hours after.

When we get back to the bar, George is doing his usual showy tricks, throwing bottles in the air and twirling around. The women eat it up even though he’s one hundred percent gay. He flashes them his award-winning smile, winking at a few and blowing kisses to a few more. He sashays around the bar making me laugh. He’s a tease for sure but as long as they’re tipping well, who am I to complain?

Once I asked if it bothered him that the women thought he was like a huge porterhouse steak they’d love to sink their teeth into. “Honey, for tips I’ll be anything they want me to be,” was his response.

Women can be absolutely fearless when they’re drinking. I can hardly believe some of the things I’ve seen them do. One older lady had about three martinis and slid her panties off to give to him. Another one attempted to give him a lap dance but fell down and sprained her wrist climbing over the bar. There is really nothing that surprises me anymore.

I understand George’s point as I go back out to the bar to smile at the patrons and call them by little pet names like “honey”, “Darlin”, “Sugar” or some other sickeningly sweet name. One day, maybe, I’ll have a real career and won’t have to work so hard. I mean don’t get me wrong, being a bar bitch, something Regina and I affectionately call ourselves, has its perks. I’ve met some amazing people but mixing drinks and dealing with shit like getting socked in the eye gets old really, really quick. Mixing drinks isn’t as easy as a lot of people believe. There’s a lot of skill and concentration that goes into mixing the perfect drink. Sometimes it’s a matter of a cheap tip at the end of a bar tab or several twenties that buy lunch for the rest of the week. Personally, I like to eat lunch and do my best to earn those twenties.

Thomas won’t come up and order a drink. He’ll come in through the back and text me. He knows he’ll be recognized and he doesn’t want me on the cameras since we’re just having fun. Someone gold digging would be offended, but I agree, we’re just having fun, there’s really no need to draw unnecessary attention to whatever it is that we’re doing. I like my life just like it is, thank you very much. Well, for the most part. He might not ever be mine, not in the way conventional relationships work, but for now, I’ll take what he offers and enjoy it.

“I heard a rumor there, love drop,” one of the regulars tells me. I know he works for one of the entertainment networks that deal with celebrity gossip. I’d overheard him trying to impress a girl with his stories of chasing celebrities. I didn’t remember which one, nor did I care as long as he’s not putting Thomas and me in the same gossip column.

“Oh really, a rumor about what?” I ask smiling while cringing on the inside. Love drop? Really? This weasel makes my skin twitch and more than anything, I’d love to sock him in the eye. My hand twitches holding the tall glass for a Tom Collins and arranging my tray for a run out onto the floor. He keeps yammering on and I half-listen. However, the next words out of his mouth give me pause, but only briefly.

“That you’re lapping up some of Diaz’s sloppy seconds.”

I freeze. I can’t deny or acknowledge anything without looking guilty of something. I’m no actress here. I don’t let my face give anything away but my blood turns to ice in my veins. If he even smells a story, he’ll follow me until he catches it. I’ve seen it before when we’ve let celebrities come into the VIP section. The press is ruthless. While I’m sure the press would do nothing but add free publicity to The Spot, I’d rather not have them in my life.

I refuse to engage. This man is as slimy as his hair looks. He wreaks of desperation for a story and way too much aftershave. Well, he won’t get a story from me. Anonymity is where I plan on residing, it’s the only place I can be and keep Thomas in my life.

Careful to keep my face from betraying my irritation, I flash the fake smile I’ve honed to perfection, at him. “Must be thinking about someone else. I don’t know who Diaz is. Don’t know anyone by that name.” I pour him a shot and flash him a wink. “I’m flattered that you think I look like someone important enough to harass, but I’m just a bar bitch.” I flash him a smile biting back the rise of bile in my throat. “Shot’s on me.”

I turn and walk away, leaving him watching after me. Ugh. If someone like that sleaze already suspects that something is going on, how long would it be before others picked up the scent?

The Spot used to be The D-Spot. D means exactly what you’d think of when naming a male strip club. So, occasionally middle-aged women came in looking for a good time. When Maria, our boss, had purchased the strip club, she wanted to keep the name similar so that the previous patrons would still come in. They just would be disappointed that there weren’t any naked men, once they came inside. Her thought process was they would be disappointed, but they’d stay for a drink.

A lot of them stayed for George, who not shockingly, worked at The D-Spot. I am sure that Maria hired him for that reason only and then was thrilled to find out he was an amazing bartender. He was also my neighbor at the apartment complex. He lived a floor above me and had been coming over to watch bad movies and eat popcorn.

I continue to fill drinks, laugh, and occasionally take a shot bought by the customers. I chuckle at their stupid jokes and flirt as if my life depends on it. Because in all actuality, it kind of does. I have to be careful with the shots, they make my face feel numb, but they also make my tongue go loose.

I turn and look back over my shoulder and find the tabloid dude watching my every mood. He’s relentless and obviously not giving up.

Trying to ignore the irritation, I feel flared up inside and I give George a playful swat on the ass. “How’s it hanging buddy?”

“Tired, I have a day job too. I don’t know how much longer I can sling drinks.” He wipes sweat from his forehead and accepts a tip from a pretty older ginger.

I pretend to pout, but then again, the thought of George leaving saddens me. He’s fun to be around and a good friend. Who would I talk with about our goals and dreams between watching fantastic romance movies over and over again if he left and didn’t have time for me?

“Aww, you can’t leave. You’d miss us too much,” I say, giving him a wink.

“If I leave, you won’t have much competition for the tips anymore.” He retorts playfully.

“I heard that,” Regina said coming back up.

“I’ll still be your neighbor Soph, don’t worry,” George winks and bumps me gently on the shoulder.

The band on stage kicks into a cover song the crowd knows well.

Cupping my hands over my mouth I yell over the music, “Who’s here to party?”

Sure, it’s cheesy, but I couldn’t care less because my energy pumps the crowd and sends people flooding to the bar and out onto the dancefloor. It gives us a minute to breathe and I notice the sleazy guy from before is finally gone somewhere in the crowd. When the band takes a break, everyone attacks the bar at once.

I make a mental note to mention to Maria that perhaps taking a couple waitresses to help with crowd control would be smart. At least on nights where we’re at max capacity and have a band. Because honestly, I can’t handle getting in the middle of another fight with only one good eye at the moment and have a band.

Before I have time to think there’s a lady yelling at Regina for another beer. She’s not moving fast enough in her opinion. Just another day at the office.