~Tamalyn~
“What’ll it be, Chip?” I ask the man who is a regular, sitting on bar stool three.
Creekside Tavern is a rundown dive bar in the middle of a no name kind of town, as the people here like to call the place. It’s a rural development on the outskirts of Salt Lake City. In thirty minutes, you could be in the city, not that Salt Lake City is like other popular cities here in America. It’s full of shops, restaurants, the usual, but not the crazy crowded streets like New York City, Chicago, or New Orleans.
Standing behind the bar, I refrain from leaning on it. The first night I was here, I learned it’s a sticky varnished piece of wood that no amount of sanitizer or even bleach can take the tacky off the top. After spending an entire shift feeling like I had something on my forearms from resting them on the bar, I don’t do that anymore.
“Surprise me, Amanda.” He gives me his same wide grin with his missing canine tooth standing out to me.
“Hmm … cranberry spritzer?” I joke.
He laughs and grabs his chest in mock aghast. “Mandee, don’t break my heart, I’m a man’s man and need a man’s drink.”
“Got it. Jack comin’ up,” I say, heading to my station to pour his drink.
Amanda Horte, my name for this stay. As long as I can keep my life here, Amanda Horte I will be. Serving drinks with a smile as Mandee Sunshine, I will press on.
I serve Chip just as the door opens and two men enter. This is not uncommon. The problem is these men tower over everyone in the space, and not just because they are tall, but the air about them. It’s more than confidence or even arrogance, it’s an all-consuming feeling.
Men like this are trouble.
I look over at Tommy, who is currently placing beers on a tray to serve two couples in the back.
Tommy is the grandson to Benny, the owner of Creekside Tavern. He’s my height, and if I get real with myself, skinnier than me. The man seems to come to work dressed like a damn butler—dress pants, a button up shirt, black vest, and some frou-frou thing that’s not a tie, but puffs out under his chin.
The bar has four people in the back—two women and two men—which is where Tommy is heading, while I have Chip on his bar stool and another regular, Willis, in the corner, half-blitzed.
That’s it.
We are seriously fucked.
That’s my only thought as the two behemoth men plant themselves on stools in front of my station.
“Hello, fellas, what’ll it be?” I ask, belatedly realizing my Carolina twang came out on the word fellas. I fight to keep the accent at bay.
“Sexy, we’ll have whatever you got on tap,” the man with the deep chocolate eyes says.
“Well”—I make an exaggerated look around— “we got no taps here.”
Thank fuck we don’t have taps so I don’t need a bar back to change a keg. I’m not a large woman. In fact, my diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches does not help my situation. I burn more calories than I take in, so I am skinny. And no, not skinny in a hot chick way, but in the I-need-some-meat-on-my-bones, this-isn’t-healthy way. A girl must be smart, though, so I can make a loaf of bread and peanut butter last a lot longer than I can a steak dinner. My funds are not overflowing and my lifestyle gives me zero security, so this is how it is.
My long blonde hair is stringy. It’s not terribly damaged looking, but healthy is not a way I would describe it, either.
Again, it is what it is. I’m not here to impress anyone. Especially the macho men who have entered the bar.
“Two bottles of whatever you have that’s ice cold, sugar. Startin’ a tab, so keep ’em comin’,” the other man states as he rolls his shoulders in his overpriced suit.
Back at Haven’s Harbor, the kids used to love to group together and watch that wrestling on television. The one where they come down with lights and music, and dance around in a speedo and boots before they play a game of tap and tug that’s expertly choreographed.
These men remind me of the men on that television show on their “draft” night. It was a big to-do of who would stay on which show. I wonder if the seams will bust in his overpriced suit if he stretches too fast.
Pushing down all my thoughts and the way they seem to own their own space, I pop the tops off two cold twenty-twos and place them in front of the two men.
“Deuce, deuce,” chocolate eyes says with a proud smile.
“Figure a man of your size would want a big man’s beer.” I give him a wink.
“Tis ’preciated,” he replies before taking a long pull.
The men in suits, the slight southern drawl it makes me think of Tempest and her tweet. Is Bladen okay? Are these men here because of him? He has connections now, I know that. I miss him. With every ounce of my being, I miss the man who was always by my side.
Using this as my cue to be free, I take a step back and grab a rag. Wiping the prep area, I stand in front of Chip while scanning the area. Still, the only patrons are the two couples in the back, Chip, Willis, and the tag-team champions.
Tommy spends more time than usual with his customers in the back, which has me more on edge. Taking a moment to watch him, I wonder if these men are here for my boss’s son, since Tommy keeps glancing nervously at the bar.
Seeing the two men get down to the last quarter of their beers, I pop the tops off two more and slide them over. As I take the old bottles away, Tommy takes the opportunity to suddenly scurry into the bathroom.
Blowing out a breath, I move down the bar to the corner to check on Willis. I don’t have time or the energy to get caught up in whatever Tommy boy has gotten into.
“You ready for me to call Louise to come get ya?” I ask the man as he finishes his scotch.
“Reckin’ so, Mandee.”
I smile softly at the old man, then step back to call his wife. They have been married for forty-seven years. Willis comes out six nights a week and drinks until his head gets heavy. We call his wife, and she picks him up with a somber face and a whispered apology.
From what Benny told me, they had a son. Willis Jr. was the light of both Louise and Willis’s life. A year ago, their son lost his wife and child in a car accident. Unable to cope with the grief, he came home and lost it on his parents’ front porch. Things got physical to where Willis Jr. put his hands on Louise. Willis being the man he is stepped in to protect his wife.
Killing his only son, even in self defense, … well, it’s not the father Willis is. He hasn’t had a sober night since. Louise carries her own guilt, and as a mother, she misses her son. Every night it’s the same thing, except Sundays. He drinks at home then because Louise has choir practice after Sunday night service at church and says she can’t be home to get the call. Since they are old and have no family left, they don’t have cell phones.
The way she cares for him tugs at my heartstrings. Knowing they are so torn up over things going wrong with their son, well, it makes me wonder how life can be so fucked up.
How can two people with so much love lose everything?
How can one son get so lost in his own grief he harms the woman who gave him life?
Why, in this twist of fate, could I not have the kind of parents Willis and Louise were?
What about me, what about Bladen, caused us to end up the children of monsters?
Unfortunately, my attention being on Willis and his needs means I missed the tag-team boys heading out. Seeing the fifty-dollar bill on the bar, regardless of why they came here or why they left, I’m grateful they at least tip well.
The night ends with no additional patrons, leaving my pockets light. Nevertheless, staying in Benny’s backyard shed, I can still get by.
I make my way home with childish dreams of what could have been if I had been born anyone but Tamalyn Mary Andrews.