Stepping outside, I put a question mark next to Charlie’s Chicken Hut and moved to the next stop on my list. For the next two hours I was told thank you, but no thank you in more ways than I thought the words could be spoken. My future in Deadwood was not looking bright when Charlie’s Chicken Hut was the best I was going to manage. I was taking a break, having a coffee at the local café, which had me missing Ryder and Kimber. We hadn’t been here all that long and already I was homesick. I noticed the bar, Janice’s, that Damian had mentioned, at the end of the street. It was only two in the afternoon and yet the foot traffic was impressive. He was right, the place was happening. It was hard work, but imagine all the people and conversations. I finished my coffee, popped a mint—coffee breath wasn’t pleasant—and hurried across the street. I pulled the door open and immediately my eyes had to adjust to the dark interior. There was a huge, scarred wooden bar that ran along one whole wall and behind that bar were shelves of liquor that would put to shame many of the more upscale places in Manhattan. Tables dotted around the open floor plan. There were no cloths or flowers decorating them. It was just condiments, napkins and menus. Many of those tables were packed and based on the smells coming from the kitchen, I wasn’t surprised. Two women, around my age, moved through the tables, collecting empties, dropping off lunches, topping off drinks. A man worked behind the bar, cleaning, refilling…obviously preparing for the evening. If the place was this packed during daylight, it was probably shoulder-to-shoulder at night. A woman appeared from the back and how I knew she was Janice, I couldn’t say. Maybe by the way she moved like she owned the place or maybe in the confident set of her shoulders, the arrogant tilt of her chin, the no-nonsense look in her eyes. She was tall, five feet ten at least, long brown hair, but not brown like my hair, auburn brown that hinted at red from the lights shining down on it. Thickly lashed eyes the color of a forest shared a face with features that alone were perfect, put together were exquisite. I felt like a wilting flower, was beginning to think Charlie’s Chicken Hut was not a bad idea.
“Can I help you?”
She even had a sexy voice. I felt a bit like a Disney character, cute in my perky way, but completely out of place next to this simmering diva of sexuality.
“I just moved to town and am looking for a job. I’m hitting the pavement today, popping into as many establishments along Main Street as I can.”
She’d been carrying a tray of glasses, like forty or so, and she hadn’t dropped a one. Settling the tray on the bar, she walked around it and I discovered she wasn’t wearing heels.
“Do you have experience working tables?”
“Yes. In college.”
“You went to college. Why do you want to work at a bar?”
I was surprised at how easily the white lie slipped from my tongue. I could totally rock this on the lam shit. “My last job burned me out and I love talking to people.”
“When can you start?”
“Now.”
She studied me for a good minute. “Ricki and Dee.”
The waitresses appeared at her side. “What’s your name?”
“Thea.”
“Thea’s going to take station three.”
The girls smiled. If they were angry I was cutting into their tips, I couldn’t tell.
“Alright, Thea, grab a tray and apron. We’ll do a trial run and see how you do.”
I was surprised she’d offered but I didn’t hesitate to act. “Thank you.”
“Thank me if you get the job.”
She returned to the bar as one of the women reached for a tray and an apron and handed them to me. “Hey. I’m Ricki and this is Dee.”
“Hi.”
“You’re the new girl who just moved here with your husband?” Dee asked.
“Yes.”
“He’s hot,” Dee said. Ricki hit her in the arm. “What? He is.”
“Station three is that far corner. If you need anything, just ask. The specials are on the board. Soft drinks and coffee are refilled for free. If anyone gives you any trouble, Mic…” She gestured to the bartender, “…will take care of them. But we don’t usually see trouble, at least not with the locals.”
I wasn’t used to such solicitous people. It was refreshing how friendly everyone was in this town. “Thank you, Ricki.”
“You bet. Welcome to Deadwood.”
It had been a long time since I had worked as a waitress, but it was like riding a bike. The locals were very friendly, some of them a little too friendly but considering the real flirts were also pushing seventy, their attentions were charming not creepy. I was just finishing hour three of work when the door opened and Damian came barreling through it. It was only the sight of his unbelievably pissed off expression that I remembered I was supposed to be checking in every half an hour. I hadn’t called him in over three hours. I waited for the bellow that would shake the building; he certainly looked like he could at that moment. Instead, he grabbed my arm with surprising care considering he looked about ready to flog me, and pulled me to a quiet corner.