Tessa
“Tessa!” Shae, the manager of the bar where I work nights part time, hollers for me from across the room while she’s waving a white towel. I drop the glasses into the wash sink, wiping my hands on the front of my jeans and make my way over. “Look.” She points to the storage closet.
“What the heck,” I mutter as I stand, peering into the closet. On the ground of the dingy closet is a woman who’s hugging the yellow mop bucket, her face resting on the rim. Her legs are sprawled to the side, and she doesn’t have any shoes on. I scan the small space and don’t see a pair either, but her clothes look like they’re where they are supposed to be, so that’s a good sign. Her hair is hanging down and is submerged in the murky water. It’s going to take a lot of washes to get that stench out.
“What should we do with her?” Shae nudges my shoulder.
“I don’t know, but she can’t stay there.”
“And this is where I pull rank. You get her to her feet and find her a ride. I’ll make sure Croy remembers to keep this door locked. That’s all I need is to unknowingly lock a customer in here overnight.” She pats my shoulder and walks off.
I squat down, getting closer to the woman and the stench of the mop bucket. I poke her in her shoulder but don’t get a response, so I push my finger into her shoulder with a firmer shove but still get nothing. She’s completely out. Christ. Placing my hand on my knees, I push myself up. Not knowing what else to do, I grab the woman by her shoulders and pull her into a sitting position. Her wet, matted hair falls into her face. Her mouth slacks open allowing her mop water to trickle into her mouth.
“What the fuck?”
Croy comes up behind me, placing his hand on my waist. Usually, when a man puts his hands on me, I instinctively pull away, but I’ve known Croy since the first week I ended up in Los Angeles. I was scared and alone in a city where the only person I knew was an estranged cousin. She was my last chance. My only hope, really. She was the only one I could turn to after I ran from New Mexico. Her boyfriend at the time was Croy. Their relationship didn’t last, but our friendship did.
“Shae told me to get her out of here and get her a ride, but she won’t wake up.” I bend down again and reach for a white cleaning towel. I take the cloth and use it to push her hair from her face. “I can’t get her to wake up, let alone get her out of here.”
“Throw some water on the bitch’s face.”
At almost forty, you’d think Croy would be past the crudeness, but not a chance. For the past seven years that I’ve known him, he’s still as rough around the edges as ever. I think that’s why I’ve been drawn to him. He reminds me of the comfort of the hometown that I had before it all changed.
“I’m not doing that.”
I look at him over my shoulder. He’s standing with both arms resting on the door frame—six feet of pure muscle, but not in the bulking, steroid kind of way. No, not Croy. Croy doesn’t believe in taking shortcuts in life. He works hard for that body, and now that he’s knocking on the door of forty, he works twice as hard. His blonde eyebrows are adorned with three metal loops in each brow, and the natural blonde of his hair is highlighted with streaks of platinum blonde that I have to keep up on every three weeks. Dark lashes, very unusual for his light coloring, frame his sky blue eyes. He’s wearing his uniform of white T-shirt, black leather vest, jeans, and boots. Don’t tell him that I think so, but he reminds me of Billy Idol back in the day.
“Well, you might be tall, T, but you’re not strong, and there’s no way you’ll be able to lift her dead weight. You need her to help you.”
“Or you can,” I grunt as I try to do what he just told me I couldn’t and pull her up by myself.
“You’re gonna drop the bitch, then Shae and I are going to get sued, and it’s gonna be your ass.”
“Then help me,” I say through gritted teeth. He’s right though, there’s no way I can pick her up on my own.
“Christ woman.” He drops his arms from the door frame takes one step towards me. “She fucking stinks.” He adjusts her from my arms to his.
“That’s because she has mop hair.”
“I don’t think that’s the only reason. She smells like she’s been on a bender.” With his arms hooked under each one of hers, he drags her from the storage closet to the now lit bar room.
Shae is behind the bar, wiping the wooden surface. There are a lot of bars that litter the streets of Los Angeles, but Eclipse is probably one of the more successful. Shae and Croy have owned this bar since their father passed it down to them about fifteen years ago. Their father was an artist, and in the city of Los Angeles, that wasn’t a novelty. Luckily, he found his niche and started up a small bar in an industrial area of the city. He was able to spotlight his artwork around the bar while slinging drinks and cooking up some killer eats. Years of success allowed him to build up and out, bringing Eclipse to what it is today–a two-story, brick, and iron building with a forties type feel. Celebrities of the past liked the artsy feel of the atmosphere, and once word got out that the who’s who of L.A. were dining in the industrial part of the city, Eclipse became known. Today, the young starlets of Hollywood don’t venture out this way too often, but the appeal of the bar still holds to many tourists and residents of the city.
“Hey, Tessa, the plan wasn’t to bring her in here. I wanted her to leave through the back.”
“Shae, she can’t leave anyway if she’s still unconscious,” Croy calls out to his sister as he all but tosses the woman into a booth by the front door.
“I’m not playing babysitter to some hooker who can’t hold her liquor.”
Shae, five years younger than her brother, is the hard ass between the two. She doesn’t let much slide, and because of it, we don’t have many issues. She runs this ship like a well-oiled machine, and I know having this woman still here is tweaking her tits, and not in a good way.
“I’ll get her out, as soon–”
A low moan has me stopping my words as the woman’s head starts to roll back and forth on her shoulders. “What the fuck?” she groans as her mascara smeared eyes flutter open.
“That’s my cue to skedaddle,” Croy tells me as he pats my shoulders and joins his sister at the bar.
“Where the hell am I?” she grumbles as she brings her hand to the side of her head, touching her matted hair. “What the hell?” She pulls at the strands of hair.
“You were found in our supply closet,” I tell her as I slip into the booth opposite of her. “Do you remember anything?”
“I wish I couldn’t remember anything, but unfortunately, that isn’t the case.” She drops her hair and sets her hands on the table in front of her. “Look, I’m good.” Her gaze drifts to the bar where I’m sure Shae and Croy are. “I can see that you’re closed.” She reaches into to her bra and pulls out her phone. “Yeah, way past my bedtime.” As she stands her body sways, but she catches herself on the table.
“Do you need a ride? I can call a cab or something.”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m good. I’m not far from here, only a few blocks over.” She steadies herself and takes a step but stops. When she turns back, she has a confused look on her face. “Where are my shoes?” Her voice goes up an octave.
“I’m not sure,” I say as I shake my head.
“Perfect ending to a perfect flipping day,” she mutters to herself as she stalks from the bar, and out the door.
“Ten bucks says the bitch gets hepatitis before she gets where she’s going.”
I roll my eyes. “Geez, Croy, you’re such an ass.”
“My assholeness is one of the many reasons why you love me, and you know it, T.”
“Keep believing the lies, Croy. Keep believing the lies.”