| ABOUT THE AUTHOR |
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I was born in I’ve been published in Vision’s Magazine for the Arts, The Powhatan Review, The Black Water Review, Alien Skin Magazine, and Down in the Dirt. I also write a quarterly column for The Fisted Rose. My current project is a collection of stories told from a bartender’s point of view. I believe the “bar story” to be a much neglected genre and hope my effort will spark a connection with anyone who once heard a really great story while sitting in a pub or pool hall or airport bar. I spent six years working at various bar in the cities of |
I believe if you get down to the heart of
matter, we all have much more in common than the leaders of many special interest groups would have us believe. This thought first occurred to me the day Gina Colbert sat down at my bar.
Gina was one of four bartenders down at the Web. Everyone knew she was dating Tina, and as far as I could tell, nobody had a problem with it. One Tuesday, she strolled in, slid onto a bar stool, and started fidgeting with her eyebrow piercing. We’ve never really talked much, but the bar was bare, I had all my prep work done, and Gina looked like she really wanted someone to talk to.
“Get you a Bud?” I asked her. Gina nodded, and it looked like the gesture cost her some serious effort. The girl was good looking, though not beautiful in the classical sense. She wore her bleach-blond hair shaved in the back, lending a hint of sharpness to her features that was otherwise ruined by her big, doe eyes. Gina perpetually wore a tank top, even in winter, so as to show off the impressive neckpiece she’d had tattooed on her upper chest. Her shoulders, usually proudly thrown back, slumped against the bar as she accepted the beer I handed to her.
“You look tired,” I observed. “They working you that hard over at the Web?”
“Not hardly,” Gina said with a smile. “Fact, tips have been on the thin side down there lately. I had to pick up a day job.”
My first reaction was to offer condolences. Most bartenders see getting a day job as a final surrender to adulthood.
“It ain’t that bad,” Gina said, sensing my reaction. “I got health insurance for the first time since high school.”
“Where’s the job at?”
“Down at the used record store. I do a little stocking, help people find lost records, that sort of thing.”
“Must be boring compared to working at the Web.”
Gina smiled into her beer. “No, not really.”
-Gina-
I was at the store the other day, just shelving some new buys, when this girl walked in the store, a gorgeous main of red hair pouring all the way down to her waist. She had on this pinstriped, double-breasted business suit and was practically spilling out of the top of it. The final kicker was the glasses, though; silver wire rims. Yum.
Every guy in the store made a dive for her the second she stepped through the door. They were fast, but I was faster.
“Can I help you?” I asked real careful, trying not to let her hear that I was out of breath. I could feel all the other guys’ eyes on my back. Fuck ‘em, I thought, I got here first.
The girl in the pinstripes started telling me about some band she was looking for, but I was only half listening because the whole time I was staring into these gorgeous green eyes of hers and thinking, please, o’please be gay.
It’s just as tough as being straight, you understand, because you’ve got all the same insecurities and questions… is she single? Does she think I’m cute? Is she an ax murderer? Does that mean we can’t date? But on top of all that, there is an extra layer of doubt and anxiety because people don’t usually take it well when they get hit on by a gender they aren’t really expecting it from. The thing is, there is really no simple way to tell. I mean, if she’s not wearing a rainbow bracelet or a T-shirt that says “I ♥ Vaginas!” you’re pretty much down to guessing.
I had a little edge because she was looking for a CD. If she asked for Toby Keith or Amy Grant, I was screwed, but if she asked for the Cuntry Kings or the Butchies…
“Do you have the Shins first CD?” the girl in pinstripes finally asked. The content of her sentence gave no help at all, but listening to her voice for the first time, and believe me, I was hanging on every word, I heard the faintest traces of an accent. A German accent. I’m pretty sure I wet myself.
As I was standing there, trying to compose a sentence in my head, Lance the Frat Boy slid in between us. “So,” he asked. “Anything I can help you lovely ladies with?”
“Actually,” I answered, “you can fuck off, Lance.”
Yeah, I’m still adjusting to the retail world.
Lance looked at the pinstripe girl, who added, “I’m sure I have all the help I need right here.” She nodded at me and smiled. I could have kissed her. I mean it. Really.
I got her the CD. It took a second to realize I was wearing a nametag, and I didn’t keep the surprise off my face. At that point, I still didn’t have a clue which team she was on, so I took risk.
“Not fair,” I said once I’d noticed my own nametag. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
The girl in the pinstripes said to me, “My name is Gretchen. Thank you again for all your help, Gina.” Then she was gone.
That should have been the end of it. All the guys gave me a hard time for not giving them a shot, but Lance was the only one really pissed about it. Everybody down there is really cool, not like some places I’ve worked. Anyway, the next day, Gretchen walked in the record store again. Everybody made a break for her, but she marched straight down the center aisle to me.
You’d think all that time down at the Web would make me an expert at getting hit on by women, right? You’d think I’d be smoother by now, but I stood there like a deer in headlights. Each step landed right in front of the other one, you know, so that she had a little swish to her hips? Gretchen had on a different suit this time. This one had been tailored to within an inch of its life and hugged every glorious curve of her body.
“Gina,” she said when she reached the import section. “Would you like to go get some coffee and have a little talk with me?” The accent, the glasses, the hair… I thought, if this girl had dimples, I’d marry her. Then she smiled, and the dimples came out, and I started thinking, Who’s going to get to wear the tux?
“Let me see when my break is,” I managed to get out. The owner, Tom, like the rest of the staff, and been watching the whole ten-second exchange.
“Tom,” I asked once I got to the front desk. “When is my break?”
Tom, a big man with a fat wife whom he loved to death, said, “Right now.”
I didn’t get it. “Are you serious?”
“Gina, if you do not take you break right now and go find out what this girl wants with you, you are fired.” The man did not need to tell me twice.
Gretchen and I walked across the street to the coffee shop. Actually, she walked, I followed. We sat down on the patio, and when Gretchen crossed her legs, the split on the side of her skirt slid up to reveal that she was wearing garters. Trust me on this one, no woman, straight or otherwise, wears garters unless they are planning on having someone else take them off. I took it as a very encouraging sign.
“So, Gina,” she asked, the dimples disappearing as her expression turned serious. “Do you make enough money?”
“Huh?” The question hit me like a straw-full of Bacardi 151. It didn’t make any more sense the second time, either.
“I guess I do. Why do you ask?”
“How would you like to make some more money?” I had no idea where she was going with it. For all I knew, she could have been propositioning me.
“I guess everybody could use some more money. What do you have in mind?”
“Have you thought about the untapped gold mine of selling quality household products to your friends and family?” Gretchen steepled her hands like the villain in a James Bond flick.
“What are you talking about, Gretchen?”
Gretchen leaned in close, lowered her glasses, and said in a husky whisper, “I’m talking about Amway, Gina.”
***
I felt Gina’s pain. Sometime during the story, I’d started rooting for her.
“Women can be such bitches, you know that?” Gina announced with disgust. “I felt like such a chump.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too much,” I advised. Almost nightly, I’d seen people in similar situations. I knew a group of girls, all married, who used to take off their rings and go to bars to see how many drinks they could get guys to buy them. It didn’t matter what Gina’s sex or race or nationality or socioeconomic position was, she was just a person who’d been let down by someone they were attracted to. “We all can be a sucker for a pretty girl sometimes.”
Gina smiled, this time a sinister grin that conflicted mightily with her innocent eyes.
“Oh, I don’t feel that bad. I got even with the little German tease.”
“How’d you do that?”
“Well, for one thing, I didn’t buy her shit. Then I went home and had sex with Tina and pretended she was Gretchen. All the satisfaction of a fling but with none of the benefits to the little Amway sales slut.”
“Isn’t that kind of bad for your relationship?”
“Naw,” Gina said with a dismissive shake of her head. “Tina knows. Hell, sometimes when we go to bed, she asks me who she’s going to get to be. It appeals to the actress in her.”