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Authors: BR Kingsolver

I'll Sing for my Dinner (26 page)

BOOK: I'll Sing for my Dinner
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Dar stopped by the bar. “Ashley, it doesn’t look like I’m going to get into med school this year,” she said. “I’ve decided I’m going to just stay here and find a job. Do you need another waitress?”

I was stunned. I had a quick vision of her standing in front of a man, trying to take his order, blushing like crazy, and not being able to talk.

“Stop by and we’ll talk about it,” I said, and was immediately sorry. Her face lit up with a big smile. I should have said we didn’t have an opening. To my knowledge, other than work-study jobs in a couple of research labs, Dar had never worked a day in her life. Actually, none of my close friends had.

As she walked out the door, the preppy frat boy who had been in the previous week sat down at the bar. Good looking, with perfect hair and teeth, he looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of GQ. He was the kind of guy I always thought Sheila would date, but she never did.

“What beers do you have?” he asked. I told him the list of beers on tap and he shook his head. “What about bottles?”

I took a beer list from under the bar and slapped it down in front of him, then went to take care of a couple of other customers. When I came back, he said, “Vanilla porter.”

I walked away, and bent down to get his beer out of the fridge against the wall. I didn’t need to look back to know he was watching my ass. Ed called it my ‘money maker’ and I couldn’t disagree.

Attractive women make more tips than men or plain women. I was tall and slender with an athletic body, but since high school, guys and girls had told me I had ‘a great ass’. That and long legs. The rest of me was okay, but while DJ always told me I had ‘lovely breasts’ and Marcie said I had ‘nice boobs’, no one had ever told me I had a ‘great rack’. Marcie received those compliments, whether she appreciated them or not.

I poured his beer and said, “If you like porters, the Cutthroat Porter we have on tap is made here in Fort Collins. We also have Sam Smith’s Taddy Porter, and a Russian porter, Baltika Six.” I pointed to them on the menu. “They’re a little more expensive, but the Baltika comes in twenty-ounce bombers.”

“Do you like porters?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I mostly drink them in the winter. For summer, I like something lighter, either wheat beers, or we carry a selection of ciders.” I was proud of our beer list. We had a selection that went far beyond the watery pilsners most campus bars poured by the vat-full.

Looking down the list, he said, “You do have a nice selection.” He looked up and flashed me a smile. His eyes were hazel, a mixture of gray and blue and light brown. Very pretty. “I guess I’ll have to come here more often. I’m Jeff.”

Returning the smile, I extended my hand and shook his. “I remember. I’m Ashley.”

“What shifts do you work?”

“I work a lot of different shifts,” I responded. “I’m the manager.”

“Really?” He cocked his head and gave me the once over. As though a young woman couldn’t manage a bar. As though I didn’t fit into his preconception of a young woman working in a bar.

On the other hand, he was Gawd-blessed good looking. Rather than take offense, I decided he wouldn’t be a bad customer to have. Eye candy is always appreciated, unless they’re total assholes.

When he finished his beer, I stopped by to ask if he wanted another.

“I’ll try one of those Russian porters,” he said. “And can I see a menu?”

I handed him the menu and the specials’ sheet, then went to get his beer. I glanced over my shoulder before I bent down to get the beer, and his eyes were riveted on my butt. Yep, he was normal. And it’s always nice to get a little validation.

I realized suddenly that I was back on the market. Not that I’d really ever been off the market. I’d gone out with a couple of guys during the time since I met DJ, but I hadn’t been looking for dates. I usually turned them down. I tried to think of the last time I’d been on a date, and it had been in January, when DJ was off on a road trip.

“Anything the matter?” Monica said, leaning over the bar. I realized I was standing with Jeff’s beer in my hand, staring off into space. I wondered how long I had stood there.

“No,” I answered. “What do you need?”

“Two Cosmos, a gin and tonic, three Bud Lights, and a partridge in a pear tree,” she said, grinning at me. She shot a look down the bar at Jeff. “Nice stuff. Haven’t seen him in here before.”

I realized she thought I was staring at him. I took him his beer, rustled up Monica’s drinks, and went back to see if he wanted to order.

“What’s good?” he asked.

“Everything, or I’d fire the cook.” I chuckled. “We do have some specials this evening, and they’re really good. We also have one of the best burgers in town, and the cheesy fries are one of my favorites.”

He nodded, then ordered the trout. “Good choice,” I said. “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

About an hour later, I bussed his plates and asked, “Dessert? Another drink?”

He looked at his watch, and said, “Yeah, I’ll have another one. What would you recommend for an after-dinner drink?”

“I guess it depends on what you like. A coffee drink? We have a small selection of ports and sherries, or do you prefer cognac or perhaps a cordial?”

“Coffee and a cordial,” he said. “Surprise me with your favorite.”

“I didn’t say I liked cordials. Do you like Grand Marnier or Drambuie?”

He shrugged. “Then whatever your favorite is to go with coffee.”

I poured him coffee and a snifter of Irish Mist. It’s sweet, but most people like it. I love it. He wanted my favorite, so I gave it to him, and watched as he took his first sip.

“This is wonderful,” he said with a smile.

When he paid out, he left a thirty-percent tip. Definitely on the make. I wondered if I’d see him again.

Monica sidled up to me as I put the tip money in the jar. “How’d you do?” she asked.

I slapped my butt cheek and said, “The ol’ money maker is doin’ it tonight.”

She laughed. “He sure was good looking. I wouldn’t mind taking him home and eating him like an ice cream cone.”

“Have at it,” I replied. “I don’t think he’s the kind of guy that would say no.” Not that Monica was the kind of girl men said no to.

~~~

 

BOOK: I'll Sing for my Dinner
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