Chapter Four
Four
It was going to be my last shift. I tried giving notice the rest of the week after my interview, and Bobby Dean avoided me like the plague. Someone got drunk and bragged to everyone I was going to leave that joint and be richer than them all. That someone was big-mouth Joanna. Who needed finesse? Tact? A plan for respectfully giving notice to your employer for the last three years? Not me when I had Joanna to broadcast my business for all to hear.
It was finally Sunday, and I started my real job the next day. No more smelly shoes. Goodbye, clogged toilets. I was moving on to the greener pastures of the corporate jungle. Sundays at the bowling alley were always a doozy. We had discounted beer pitchers and shoe rentals, so families came and spent all day here. The kids bowled, and parents drank with their buddies, taking bets on which kid would bowl a strike first.
I parked my car in the lot. Joanna refused to wear our uniform to or from work. She waited to change until the last possible moment. I had to give her props for her commitment to her style. I was lazy. I wore my uniform on our commute in and out. It was satisfying to peel it off at the end of the night and throw on pj’s. I didn’t want to change two times like Joanna when I was tired. But her style was her thing.
I popped my trunk and used a broken pool cue to prop it open. Joanna took out her fishing tackle case full of her latest beaded works and her uniform. I held up an old sheet, and it became Joanna’s own personal changing room. She threw her cutoff shorts over my head, landing them perfectly in the trunk. Next came her vintage Dr. Martens boots, landing with hard thuds.
“All right, I’m ready!” she sang.
I lowered the sheet, and it was unfair that Joanna could make our cheap white baseball jersey–inspired uniform shirts look so good. The Bobby Dean’s logo curved across our chests in rough screen-printed blue ink. Joanna filled hers out, her boobs peeking from her V-neck. Mine looked like I was wearing my brother’s clothes, so big and baggy. Whatever, we would be covered in equal amounts of fake cheese and stale beer by the end of the night.
“Yeeooow!” A loud catcall came from the front of the bowling alley. I was walking behind Joanna and couldn’t see who it was right away.
“What the hell are you doing here, Tito?” Joanna stopped and crossed her arms. I stepped from behind her to stare bloody daggers at my brother’s best friend and worst influence. He was shorter than Sage by a lot. He was about my height, and what he lacked in size, he made up for by having a personality that filled the parking lot. He kept his dark hair cropped short, and today, he was sporting baggy shorts and Sage’s favorite Metallica T-shirt.
“My queen,” he said, placing his hands over his heart, one still holding a lit cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers. “You wound me. Can’t I just chill and play some bowling?”
“Not this far from Ada you can’t. The fuck you want, Tito?” I asked. My patience had evaporated.
Two guys and a girl came out of the bowling alley laughing. More of Sage’s “friends.” River and Skye were brothers, and Ricki was Tito’s on-again, off-again girlfriend. She came down the steps and wrapped her arms around Tito’s middle, taking the cigarette and inhaling deeply.
“You do it yet?” she asked on a lazy exhale.
“?’Bout to.” Tito lifted his chin to me. “You’ve been dodging Sage’s calls from jail. That’s fucked up.”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” I wanted to escape inside, but Native Tweedledee and Tweedledum were blocking the entrance.
“He said you haven’t even visited,” Ricki said and took another drag, placing Tito’s hand over her boob in her pink tank top. I guessed they were on again at present.
“Been busy working. I know it’s an unfamiliar concept to you.”
“Ha ha, play nice, E. Sage wanted me to tell you that he needs some money on his books.”
“Why do you think I’ve been dodging his calls?”
“They don’t feed him enough in there, ya know. It’s mad fucked his sister won’t help him out.”
Before I went to jail myself, Joanna stepped up, pulling me back by the arm. “We got the message, Tito. We wouldn’t want Baby Sage going hungry. Now g’wan’n git, shitass.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just looking out for our boy.” He blew a kiss as they brushed past us, heading to one of the beater cars in the lot.
“Don’t let them ruin your night, come on.” Joanna looped her free arm through mine, the other carrying her jewelry box.
“Tito doesn’t fucking know all I have done to help Sage.”
“Tito is an idiot who should be sitting in jail with Sage right now. It’s your last night at the bowling alley. Don’t think about all that. Let’s live it up!” She kicked the door open.
I walked into the warm embrace of that plastic cheese and bowling alley floor wax smell. I wasn’t an overly sentimental person, but a part of me would miss this musty old place. Bowling balls thundered along the lanes and collided with the dense maple pins; the sound of the impact ricocheted off the walls. Kids ran around screaming as adults milled about, drinking their beer from clear plastic cups. The dollar-a-song jukebox was blasting “Pour Some Sugar on Me” while some rowdy guys, clearly already drunk, rocked on, fists pumping in the air.
“Great, you two are here.” Bobby Dean, the man, the myth, and the legend of the bowling alley himself, dared to acknowledge me. He wore his patched and overworn denim vest over a black T-shirt, his graying hair combed back in an Elvis-inspired pompadour.
“Hey, Bobby Dean, can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked, and he ignored me.
“Joanna,” he started, pointing with his thumb behind him. “The bar needs help. Ember, the men’s toilet is backed up and we have a full house.”
He started walking away.
“Wait!” I called.
“Get to it,” he threw over his shoulder, and he was gone.
“Rotten luck.” Joanna gave me a salute and got to work.
If I didn’t need the money, I would have just walked out, but as it stood, I was starting a new job, and I wouldn’t have tips or anything holding me over until my first paycheck. This last shift was gas and food money for me. Stupid cheap-ass Bobby Dean and his shitty plumbing.
I grumbled on my way to the back, where the supply closet was nestled between the men’s and women’s bathrooms, to get the plunger and toilet auger. That’s right. I was about to snake a goddamn toilet.
On my way, I spotted a tall Native man sporting one long braid down his back. My heart lurched, and I ducked behind a family with three kids picking out their bowling balls. It was irrational to assume that just because this man was tall and had a long braid, it was somehow Danuwoa, but I didn’t want to stick around and confirm that it was him. The family finished grabbing their selections, and to my right was the Little Big Horns league on lane two. Like a cartoon thief, I hunched over on hurried feet.
Of the five retired men, Bucky was the slimmest. I turned over my shoulder and couldn’t see the possible Danuwoa lookalike anywhere. I ducked down behind the bulky ball return hood.
I was met with curious looks.
“What’re you doing down there, Ember?” Ron, the leader and former semiprofessional bowler, asked. He was sitting next to Bucky.
I ignored his question to ask my own. “Bucky, if I give you ten bucks, will you let me borrow your shirt?”
“Did you fall and hit your head?” He sounded bewildered. The rest of the men laughed.
“What do you care? Has a woman ever wanted to pay you to take your clothes off before?” Leroy quipped.
“Just your mom,” Bucky said.
Damn, even I laughed out loud at that one.
“Yeah, she said she wants her money back. Don’t waste your time with him,” Leroy said to me as he moved his hat, which said native veteran on it, down over his face to hide his laugh.
I peeked over the hood and found, to my dismay, that it was definitely Danuwoa; I could not mistake his profile and jawline. He was at lane six with a group of girls, their ages unclear from this angle. I ducked down again before he could feel someone staring at him.
“I’ll up it to fifteen dollars, please?” I hoped my puppy dog eyes would do the trick.
“Why?” They all leaned forward in their seats.
“Fifteen dollars and free beer, you don’t need to know why.”
Ron and Leroy screamed, “Done!” They began lifting Bucky’s shirt off him, ignoring his protests and wiggles. Finally, the shirt was free, leaving poor old Bucky in a dingy tank. Leroy threw me Bucky’s Little Big Horns shirt with his name embroidered on the right breast. Immediately, I threw it on over my work top and sniffed my underarms.
“Gross, Bucky! This smells like you haven’t washed it in weeks.”
“I haven’t.” He took a sip of his beer while the others laughed.
Was it worse to be caught working here or worse for Danuwoa to catch a whiff of me smelling like a drunk, dirty, sweaty old man? I stood up and saw that it was Danuwoa’s turn. He was focused on the pins, and while his attention was diverted, I scurried over to the bar to inform Joanna of this unfortunate development.
“The fuck are you wearing? Did the toilet splash you again?” she asked me.
“No!” I ducked under the bar and pulled her to the small corner for the illusion of privacy.
“Ember, you stink! Did you fall into the toilet?” She held her nose.
“Danuwoa is here.”
“The hot IT guy from your new job? That Danuwoa?”
“Do we know of another?”
“Chill. What’s the problem?”
“He can’t find out I work here. I lied on my application to get that job. If he let it slip that I worked here, it will all unravel.”
“Is that why you stole Bucky’s jersey?”
“I was desperate.”
“Don’t ever repeat that.” Joanna ducked down under the cash register and opened her tackle box full of jewelry. She lifted the top tray full of earrings and dug around. “Aha! Here!” She thrust her old Victoria’s Secret body spray at me.
“I hate Love Spell,” I grumbled.
“Love Spell or poop. Which would you prefer to smell like?”
I groaned.
“Which would you prefer Danuwoa smell?”
I spritzed the spray from my head to my feet and gave two extra pumps under my arms. It was so strong and artificial smelling that it instantly gave me a pulsing headache behind my eyes. To my nose, I smelled worse.
“It’s worse.” Joanna coughed and gagged in confirmation.
Great. I turned around, and Danuwoa stood in front of me on the other side of the bar, leaning on his forearms. He looked just as surprised to see me.
“Danuwoa! Hi!”
“Ember? Do you work here?” He tilted his head in confusion.
“No, she doesn’t!” Joanna pushed me under the counter.
“Danuwoa, this is my best friend, Joanna. She works here.” I popped up from under the counter. Danuwoa took a step back away from me.
“Hey,” he said, waving to her. “What’s that smell?”
I laughed. I laughed the cringiest and fakest of laughs and changed the subject, because what could I say that would make any sense? I promised myself I would be honest after I landed that job, and here I was, lying again. “What brings you here?”
“I brought my sister and her friends to play. We’re wrapping up. What about you?”
“I’m in a bowling league and we’re playing.”
“This I have to see. Which lane?”
“We were just taking a break.”
“Is that so? I’d love to meet your teammates, Bucky .” He read the name at my breast, saying the name like it was a dare. A challenge.
“Yeah, Bucky , go introduce Danuwoa to the gang,” Joanna said, snickering.
“Um…well…” I was stalling, and in my indecisive state, I spotted Bobby Dean talking to a few regulars by the entrance. Shit! I hadn’t fixed the men’s toilet. “Sure. Let’s go.” I grabbed Danuwoa’s arm and used him as my very large human shield to hide from Bobby Dean. Once we passed the line for food, I dropped his arm.
“Are you hiding from someone?”
“What? Me? No.”
He lifted his eyebrow, and that said it all: Why the hell are you acting so weird?
I could only give a fake smile in response. This was a deep, deep grave I’d just dug.
“How did you get the nickname Bucky?”
“I really love deer.”
“So, no buckteeth when you were a kid?”
Buckteeth! Damn, that was good. I should have thought of that. “Nope, never needed braces. Just love good ol’ Bambi.”
He stopped short. “What’s really going on, Bucky ?”
“My weekly bowling league game is all. Why?”
“You’re acting weird, and you smell disgusting.”
“What a rude thing to say to a lady you hardly know.” I crossed my arms. We were surrounded by families and the loud crashes of pins falling.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Bucky , take me to your team.” He kept saying Bucky like he was waiting for me to crack and admit the farce. I doubled down.
“Thank you, right this way.” We walked to lane two, snaking through the crowd. The real Bucky was missing. What a blessing.
“Hey, hey!” Leroy exclaimed as he slammed his elbow into Ron’s side.
“Hey, Bucky! We’ve been waiting. It’s your turn.” They all were laughing. Sure enough, Bucky’s name was blinking on the screen. The real Bucky was going to hate me for this. These men were serious about their game and their points. I just hoped the free beer would smooth it over.
Working at a bowling alley for three years meant I was pretty good at bowling. But these men were semiprofessional, and all used their own heavy balls with huge finger holes. It was like the macho man contest of whose dick was bigger, but with who had the largest and heaviest bowling ball.
Bucky’s was a shimmering green with his name engraved in cursive. I lifted it with my knees and slowly made my way to the top of the lane. It was so heavy, there was no way I could wind my arm back. I wasn’t proud of it, but I used both hands and I granny-pushed that thing from between my legs and watched as the ball smoothly and slowly rolled its way straight into the pins.
Lucky Bucky! I got a strike! The men grumbled, clearly hoping I’d lose the game for him, but he was now in the lead.
“Shitass,” Leroy cursed under his breath as I walked back to Danuwoa.
“Not bad, Bucky,” he said, biting his lip.
“You can just call me Ember.”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the real Bucky hobbled over in his white tank.
“Hey, Ember, did you know the men’s toilet is backed up again?” He took the empty seat next to Ron.
“Thanks for the TMI, man!” I yelled over my shoulder. “These guys are a hoot.” I rolled my eyes at Danuwoa.
“Should we get the manager?” he asked.
“This place is a dump; they know about it.”
He shook his head and smiled. “I need to get back to my sister. It looks like they’re done. I’ll catch you at the office, Bucky .” He winked and went back to lane six.
I watched Danuwoa as he sexy-walked his fine ass over to the group of girls. They were changing their shoes. I pretended to be deep in conversation with the Little Big Horns as they left.
“Ember!” Bobby Dean barked as he found me. “Get over here.”
I ripped Bucky’s shirt over my head and threw it back at him. “Thanks, I’ll get you another round of beer.”
“Hey, Bobby—”
“Cut the shit. Why isn’t the bathroom fixed?”
“There was a ball stuck in lane two that I just got out. I’m heading to clean up the men’s room right now.”
“Good, take this out back on your way.” He handed me a full black trash bag and turned to leave.
“Wait! I have to tell you that tonight has to be my last shift. I’m starting a new job.”
“All right. Get your shifts covered.” He turned on his heel and headed to the bar.
Three years and not so much as a Thank you for your efforts . Whatever. After tonight I was done. No more late nights cleaning the bathrooms that college kids messed up while hooking up or getting high. No more dealing with entitled moms throwing birthday parties for their kids. And no more ass-grabby old men who loitered all day drinking three-dollar beer.
I dragged the trash out back, propping the door open with the mop bucket before swinging back the trash bag, preparing to launch it right into the dumpster.
Meow!
I screamed, releasing the trash bag too early—it missed by a mile. The orange tabby cat that haunted this dumpster rose on its haunches, hissing.
I hissed back.
“Fucking demon cat,” I muttered. I bent to retrieve the trash, and the damn cat pounced. I only just managed to jump back before it could get its claws in my jeans. It had happened before. The mangy thing scared the shit out of me. My nose started tingling and my eyes watered. I was allergic, and this cat, in particular, was beyond demented.
I left the trash on the ground in front of the dumpster and retreated inside to relative safety.
I fucking hated cats.
I plunged and snaked the toilet, breathing through my mouth and wiping my runny nose on my sleeve. It was not glamorous work. After I washed my hands, the rest of my last shift passed by in a blur. It was time to close, and someone had put on “Okie from Muskogee,” a Merle Haggard standard, and we all sang off-key as I started shutting down the bowling alley for the last time.