"Yep. They tend to be pretty crazy nights, so you've gotta keep your wits about you, but the tips are more than worth it. You can make a week's worth in a single night if you're on your game."
"Now that I can get behind."
I followed Joy into a storage room that sat nestled under the bleachers. She rummaged in a box for a few moments, and came up holding a black T-shirt with 'Charlie's' printed across the front.
"Try this," she said, handing it to me and turning her back. "So what brings you to Charlie's, anyway? The boss just said you were a friend of a friend looking for work."
"That's pretty much the sum of it." In truth, that was only the tiniest fraction of the story, but I wasn't about to bare my soul to someone I'd just met. Those tears were mine and mine alone. "Things at my last job didn't work out, so now I'm here." I slipped the new shirt over my head. "Seems to fit."
Joy spun back toward me and smiled wickedly. "Perfect. Now you're one of us."
"Should I be afraid?" I asked.
"Probably," she said, in a mock serious voice, "but it won't help you now."
I laughed. It felt good. God, how long had it been since I'd laughed?
"Charlie will be in later," Joy continued. "When it's quiet it's usually just a few of us and Rafi in the kitchen. You'll be behind the bar with me for the first week, so if you've got any questions, I'm just a shoulder tap away."
"Great."
"Come and I'll show you where we keep everything."
And so my new life began. It didn't feel like much yet, but it was a start.
*****
The first two hours were a blur of information. Charlie's wasn't just some hole-in-the-wall bar with a house red and Bud on tap. They had ten draught beers available and a wine list that would have impressed several of the sommeliers from my past life. Then there were the cocktails.
"Ah, Sludge. An old bar favorite," Joy said with a grin, eyeing the toxic looking monstrosity I'd just poured from a shaker. I had no idea what I'd done wrong. All the ingredients had been such pretty colors, but through some strange alchemy, when I'd shaken them together they just came out looking like runny mud. I can spend an entire day making a perfect seven texture chocolate cake, but I can't even mix three liquids together to make something called a Bumble Bee. Awesome.
Joy laughed at my expression. "Don't worry, I'll take you through them all after the shift if you like, show you the ropes. It's not that tough."
"Are you sure? I don't want to take up your time."
"It's fine. It'll give us a chance to get to know one another."
I nodded, although I felt something tighten in my chest. I appreciated the effort she was making, but I didn't know if a friend was what I needed right now. Making friends meant answering questions, and that wasn't something I could easily do right now.
The bar was quiet at first, and just before the trickle of patrons turned into a stream, a man arrived and slipped in behind the bar.
"You must be Grace."
I nodded. "Charlie?"
He made a finger gun and shot it at me with a click of his tongue. "Got it." He looked to be in his late fifties, but still strong. A weathered oak that had stood the test of time. Despite the silver hair and crinkled brown paper skin, the thickness of his arms and the straightness of his back said he could still throw a younger man out of here himself if push came to shove.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," I replied.
"Likewise. You settling in okay?"
"Yeah. Joy has been wonderful."
He nodded. "She's a real sweetheart."
"I know I already said it over the phone, but I really appreciate you taking me on. I know the economy isn't exactly great right now." In truth, 'appreciate' wasn't close to a strong enough word. This job was the only thing between me and eviction, but I didn't want to sound too desperate.
"Don't worry about it. We were looking for someone anyway, so when our mutual friend asked if I had anything available, the timing was perfect. Really, you're the one doing me a favor."
I liked him instantly. He had that stern-with-a-kind-gooey-center vibe that most great dads have. Winding up here was one big lucky coincidence. A friend of a friend who just happened to mention my situation to the right people at the right time. I didn't deserve that sort of good fortune, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "If you say so."
"I do. Anyway, I'll let you get back to it. I'll be in the office if you need anything."
"Thanks."
As night fell, I began to slip into a rhythm. It was mindless work for the most part. Pull, twist, pour, shake, smile, repeat. The air took on a malty heaviness and the volume gradually rose as the booze began to wend its way through veins, loosening tongues. For the most part, I took it in stride. The one problem was vodka. When everything had gone to shit, that had been my drink of choice. There's something cathartic about the burn it leaves behind, like it isn't just numbing, but cleansing too. And tonight, whenever I was asked for a screwdriver or a vodka and Coke, I got a little whiff of that pungent, sterile heat, and I felt a yearning stir in my stomach, an invisible hand shooting up to snatch desperately at those precious fumes.