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Fireflyhad always been a favorite of hers.
“But it’s canon. You know if there’s more to the story you can’t turn it down.” He grinned.
“Stop trying to butter me up with nerd-talk.” Patty smirked. “Now, go.”
Though his heart wanted him to stay longer, he released his son back into his playpen and gave Patty a small salute. “You need anything, just call.”
“I will. And, hey, I’m sorry for saying all that shit in front of your mom. I’ll apologize to her the next time I see her.”
His mom would forgive her. She loved Patty like a daughter.
From Patty’s place, he set out for the first of three bartending jobs he’d found online before he left home. His search terms had actually come back with four hundred seventy-six hits, but he’d spent an hour paring them down, first ruling out any requiring previous experience, then those which specified hours he would be on the construction site. Even if none of the places on his list worked out, he still had plenty other choices.
He wasn’t in the market for a dance club or anywhere the music would be too loud or the place too packed. Big crowds could mean more money, for sure, but he had too much to learn, and he knew this would already be a trial by fire. If it got too hot, he’d burn alive.
He picked places with names he equated to a bar guys might go to chill: Frank’s Place, The Spot, and Closing Time.
The Spot was closest and from the outside appeared just as he’d expected. A small standalone building, almost like a shack with two tinted windows, both with turned off neon signs boasting beer brands. One car sat in the modest parking lot, and as Matt approached the door, he caught the muted sound of music seeping out. He didn’t realize it was R&B until he walked inside. An old Luther Vandross song.
Inside, a single elderly guy in a worn overcoat sat on a barstool, sipping a drink from a highball glass. His eyes never looked up from the scarred wood of the bar; the dark skin of the hand he had wrapped around his drink peeked out from fingerless gloves. Only the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his awareness of Matt standing behind him.
“Can I help you?”
He started at the woman’s voice. Intent on the man, he hadn’t even noticed her on the opposite side of the wraparound structure.
As she stepped out of the shadows, he could see she was a heavyset white woman in her forties, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore black jeans, a red tank-top, and a suspicious expression. “Sir?”
“Yeah,” Matt mumbled, his eyes making a quick survey of the room. He caught sight of two empty tables on the far side of the room, but the dim light kept him from making out too many details. “I’m here about the bartending job.”
She raised her eyebrows, two hand-drawn black arcs above her eyes, and swept a critical gaze from his head to his feet. “Pay’s five dollars an hour, plus tips. Weekend days only.”
His eyes returned to the old guy on the stool. If this was the average daytime clientele, he doubted he’d get too many tips. He could make more money working at McDonald’s. But how to get out of here without being rude?
The discomfort must have shown on his face because the bartender waved him off. “Didn’t think so. Get on out of here.”
Okay. Next stop.
Closing Time turned out to be nestled between a Mexican restaurant and a sporting goods store at a strip mall. The parking lot only had a few open spaces toward the back, but there was no telling how many of those people were eating, shopping, or day drinking. Steeling his shoulders back, he covered the distance to the door in long strides.
Though some kind of coating on the window kept him from seeing in, when he crossed the threshold, he realized the effect only went one way. He could see clearly back out into the parking lot, and, more importantly, sunshine mingled with the overhead lighting, illuminating every corner of the room.
Like The Spot, the bar was shaped like an oval so it faced both sides of the room, but the similarities ended there. The space was bright and clean, the dark wood of the bar, unmarked. Red pleather covered the barstools, and booths lining the left side of the room had matching upholstery. The right side featured four tall, round tables and four dart boards, two of which were currently in use. Two old-style arcade games stood in one corner and two women shot pool all the way in the back.
He counted about twenty people, most on the right side, but one couple shared a basket of fries at a booth. The room smelled like chicken fingers.
Everyone looked to be around his age, except for the man behind the bar who greeted him with an easy smile. The crinkles around his eyes and the gray in his hair made him look close to fifty. “What can I get you? Longnecks are two for one right now.”
He returned the man’s smile, though he doubted he projected the same ease. “I’m here about the job.” He held out his hand and the guy shook it. “Name’s Matt York.”
“It’s a pleasure, Matt. I’m Tom, and I sure am glad to meet you.”
Turned out, Tom owned the place and served as both bartender and short-order cook for the time being, since two of his employees ran off together, leaving both of their significant others behind.
Tom rubbed at his clean-shaven jaw. “Tell me you’re not interested in any relationship drama.”
He most definitely was not. He had enough drama to last him a lifetime. “No, sir. I’m just trying to earn some extra cash to help take care of my mom and my son.”
Tom’s friendly smile somehow grew even warmer. “A family man? Oh, I like to find guys like you. How old is your boy?”
