Beautiful Broken Mess(24)

“Not this discussion again, please. I like working and I like the atmosphere in bars. Usually it’s lively and upbeat, and I need to be around happy. Besides, it’s kind of empowering to cut off the drunks.”

“Fine, fine...let’s not fight.” He raises his hands in surrender. I walk around the counter and hug him around the waist.

“You know, for someone who fights as much as you do, you sure are sensitive about arguing,” I say and then add, “which we weren’t, by the way.” We actually never argue. He’s a beast in the ring, but outside of it, he’s probably the calmest person I know. I have no doubt I was meant to have him in my life, especially after the years of violence I endured while growing up. “I’m going to go finish getting ready.”

He kisses me on the top of my head and says, “I’ll drop you off on my way to the gym.”



“So I’ll just let you get comfortable with the bar. Feel free to look around and start learning where everything is. Our other bartender should be here soon and she can start training you. Meanwhile, let’s head to the back and see if we can find a shirt that will fit you.”#p#分页标题#e#

I haven’t been to many interviews, but I’m pretty sure that was probably the easiest one a person can go to. Ed, the owner and manager, didn’t even ask me for my bartending license or past experience. I don’t know if I should be happy to have such a laid-back boss, or weary that he may be too lackadaisical and thus careless.

Ed walks me back to what looks like a storage room and tosses me a black shirt. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Change over and come out front,” he says in his retreat.

Walking back out to the bar, I tug on the uncomfortable shirt Ed gave me. If I pull it down to cover more of my waist, the V-neck shows too much of my chest, but if I pull it up, it shows my stomach. Screw it, I’d rather show a little stomach than my non-existent breasts. Feeling as uncomfortable as I probably look, I push open the doors.

“Here she is, Em. Train her up.” Ed scoots past me as he departs for his office.

“Ed, you numbskull...her name isn’t Aubrey, it’s Audrey,” Emerson states, enunciating the ‘d’ sound.

Well, dammit.

“Oh good, you two know each other,” he says over his shoulder.

“No, we actually don’t know each other at all,” I reply, knowing he didn’t hear me.

I slowly walk behind the bar and then decide to backtrack a few steps. Still tugging down on my shirt and then pulling it back up, I say, “I should… go…”

Before I can push the doors open to go and grab my stuff, she calls out, “Audrey, wait.” I spin on my heel to look at her. “We can make this work. You obviously need a job and I need someone to pick up more shifts for me.”

“It’ll be weird. Really, really weird…and uncomfortable.”

“Yes, it probably will,” she acknowledges with a sigh. “Why are you here, by the way? Don’t you live in Texas?”

“I haven’t lived there since I graduated high school.”

“I thought Jaxon said...” she starts to say.

I quickly interrupt, “Jaxon doesn’t know anything about me. And to answer your other question, I was just accepted into graduate school here.” I don’t elaborate further and she doesn’t push for more.

We work through the next hour and it’s anything but enjoyable. Emerson points out all the buttons on the register and shows me their protocol for starting a tab for customers. She demonstrates how to open a table and where to put everything when I’m done with it. She points out the black recipe book, but I doubt I’ll need that.

After talking for an hour straight, she finally takes a deep breath in and out. She must be the type to ramble when she’s uncomfortable. The more I think about this situation, the less I feel like this is a good idea. There are plenty of other options for me out there, so there’s no need for me to torture myself here. I wanted to be around happy, and I can tell that would be the last word used to describe how she feels working with me.

“I really do appreciate you showing me all of this, Emerson…”

“Call me Em.”

“Em, I appreciate it, I really do. But I just don’t think this will work out.”

“Why not?” she asks, and I have to stop myself from laughing at the asinine question.

“Frankly, there’s just no reason for me to work somewhere every day where I know I’ll be despised. I’ve had enough of that in the past to last a lifetime.” Thankfully, we don’t have any customers yet, because this conversation is not work-appropriate.