Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Rachel
“S eriously?” Tabitha smiles around the sides of the straw she’s sucking on. “Was he like, trying to pick you up?” She chuckles and carries on grinning while she slurps her seven-and-seven.
“I don’t think so. He just walked up, said ‘Thank you for the great service,’ dropped it on my tray and walked away. I wasn’t even their waitress.”
A shiver causes my shoulders to shimmy. Something is in the air and I can’t shake the feeling that the mountain man that looked at me had something to do with the guy that gave me that tip. But I can’t figure it out and it’s making me feel unsettled in an excited sort of way.
Tabitha drains her drink and shakes her glass at me, making the straw tap against the sides.
I give her a motherly look. “Aren’t you driving?”
“Not for a while.” She smiles. “Oh come on, you’re no fun. I mean, you work in a bar and you don’t even drink. Just one more, then I’m done.”
She holds up her pinky to illustrate the point, then pushes her empty glass across the table at me. Up at this end of the bar it’s staff only, which she isn’t, but that doesn’t bother her. The high top table is her home when she’s in here.
I roll my eyes and turn to the bartender, Leonard, with the empty glass held high. He shakes his head but reaches for the Seagram’s anyway as he grabs a clean glass and fills it with ice. He’s not supposed to give Tabitha free drinks, but everyone gives Tabitha free drinks. She’s got that something. Something I do not have.
“Are you done with these?” I ask, reaching for the loaded cheese fries on Tabitha’s plate.
“Yeah, help yourself. I already ate what I want.”
I’m holding the first fry to my lips when I hear Lacy’s voice from behind me.
“A moment on the lips, girls.” Her sing song sarcasm rakes on my nerves. “And your hips don’t lie.” She laughs with a shake of her ass.
Lacy looks like a tattooed Barbie gone Goth. It’s not that I don’t like tattoos, it’s just that on Lacy everything seems ugly. We’ve worked together for four months and she’s not warmed up to me one bit.
“Shut up,” Tabitha barks.
Tabitha is not only more personable than me, but tougher too. We both grew up in a trailer park a good hour and a half east of here, but we are so different. She’s got this strawberry blond hair in cute, little ringlets. And that alone is a constant source of amusement when people first meet her.
She looks like a little kewpie doll but she’s got talons behind that innocent exterior. She’s a few inches shorter than me but makes up for it with sass. I like being around her, she’s good with people, chats with anyone like they are an old friend. Me? I have trouble figuring out how to put a noun and a verb together in most social situations.
After all these years as friends I would have thought some of her personality would rub off on me, but no. I’m still that shy, plump girl who thinks nothing she has to say would be of any interest to anyone.
I reach into my skirt pocket for my ChapStick, and Tabitha watches me as I pop the cap and rub the waxy goodness over my lips. Then I rub them together and pop them playfully in her direction.
“You and your ChapStick.” She leans back in her chair, fiddling with one earring. “It’s an addiction. For real. ”
“What. Ev. Er .” I turn my nose up and exaggerate an air kiss at her, then stuff the black and white tube back in my pocket.
“I mean it. I looked it up. There are websites and support groups. You, my friend, have a problem.” She points at me and I set down her empty glass on the service end of the bar then come back around to the small high top table where she’s planted herself for the evening.
I giggle, half because of the absurdity and half because it’s true. I’ve looked it up myself. Me and ChapStick go way back. And I am particular as well. Only original will do. Not mint. Not cherry. Original.
“So, did the jeans you ordered fit?” She asks as she gets up to retrieve the drink Leonard had set down for her. She grabs it and slips back into the stool at the table.
“Not really.” I have an ongoing battle trying to find jeans that fit. I ordered some online from a specialty shop with hope in my fingertips as I placed the order.
When someone says you have a beautiful ‘hourglass’ figure. Sure, great. Try finding jeans that fit those proportions. It ain’t easy. Usually Aunt Jessie alters the ones I do buy but someday I wish a company would figure out how to fit a girl like me straight off the rack.
We’re hunkered down at the corner table tucked away at the end of the bar, which is where the waitresses take breaks throughout the evening. Well, that’s what it’s here for anyway. A lot of them go outside instead to smoke cigarettes or do other things. Most of the time I’m the only one that takes their break here.
Tabitha doesn’t work here, so she’s not supposed to be in this part of the bar, but she’s not much for rule following and besides, the owner has known us both since he’d found us around midnight one night when we were seven years old dragging a suitcase and a lunch bag with two peanut butter sandwiches inside like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer.
There we were, making our way across his back lawn on our way god knows where, and Crutch took pity, took us in and then drove us home. Said that running away would never solve anything. His house was just a few blocks from the trailer park, but since then he moved over this way since he opened the bar. When I moved in with Aunt Jessie it was nice to see him again. So Tabitha gets special treatment, and I think that’s part of the reason why Lacy hates us. Me.
She is my nemesis, and I certainly can’t think of any other reason why she would hate me. I mean, I’m the first to admit I’m not perfect, but as far as I know there is not a whole lot about me to hate.
I take a bite of a French fry, cheese and bacon dripping from the end, and my cheeks flush. Lacy rolls her eyes and goes over to shout her drink order at Leonard before turning back around and winking at me.
“I’m on this new diet,” she says, smiling, baiting me.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Tabitha chimes in, tapping a finger over her lips like she’s thinking, then widens her eyes with a dramatic gasp. “The New Bukkake Diet. You only get to swallow what lands on your tongue.”
I snort out a laugh and Lacy glares.
“Oh, ha ha.” She flutters her false eyelashes then looks away to scan the crowd.
I’ve dieted. I started when I was ten and only gave it up when I moved in with Aunt Jessie. I don’t date, in fact, I’ve never dated.
I mean, is being a little ample here and there the absolute worst thing a person can be? Lacy doesn’t practice what she preaches about eating either. Her stomach may be flat as a board, and she might cut off her Crutches tank top so high it barely holds on under her bra, but I once watched her throw back a triple bacon cheeseburger and fries in ten minutes, and then top it off with three Budweisers. It’s just that her belly never puffs out one bit. She must have a hollow leg like Aunt Jessie says.
Lacy may be more what some consider pretty, but there are ugly parts to her as well. She’s got five or six guys at all times that she’s playing. Her family doesn’t speak to her and I hear she has two little kids that don’t even live with her.
“Hey, did you see that guy over there? Like Grizzly Adams.” Lacy says as she nods into the mass of humanity and I don’t need to look to know exactly who she’s talking about.
Something makes me feel protective, and I speak before I can check it. “Yeah. He’s at my table.”
“I think it’s my table now.” Lacy sneers.
“Drinks up, Lacy!” Leonard bangs a hand down on the bar and Lacy jumps. “Get on back to work, you’re not on break.” Leonard winks at me from behind her back. “And I catch you stealing tables again, you’re fired this time. Clear?” Leonard wipes the counter service area clean keeping her in his line of sight.
Leonard is like an older brother to me. He’s been working here forever, he and Crutch know each other from their time in the Navy. Crutch has ten years on Leonard, maybe more, but I know he’s always in my corner along with Crutch, and I also know that grinds Lacy’s gears.
“Whatever.” Lacy flips her Morticia Adams hair off her shoulder and dismisses me with a shake of her head. “Can’t I have a little fun? Besides, I don’t have to wait on his table to get what I want.” She tosses an arrogant smirk my way.
She sashays away with her tray on her shoulder, her daisy dukes riding half way up her butt crack.
“Uggggh.” I throw the French fry down onto the plate.
“Eat it, stupid. Don’t let her bother you.” Tabitha leans forward. “You can’t let her see it get to you. That’s all she wants.”
I tug my lips to the side, retrieve the coated French fry and stuff it in my mouth with a satisfied sigh.
“See?” Tabitha chuckles. “That’s as good as sex.”
I chew and swallow, look down at my watch. My ten minutes are up.
“Like I would know.” And with that, I maneuver my tray to my shoulder and put my game face back on.
“Trust me, most guys have no idea what they are doing.” She lifts her drink to her mouth, then pauses. “The fries are better,” she says, then sets her mouth back on the straw.
Honestly, I have no idea which one is better. So I just giggle and make my way back into the crowd.
I’ve taken no more than three steps before my belly begins to tighten. That giant guy, the one from that table with those girls, is standing there like a carved statue. His friend is next to him, happily gabbing away with their dates, but he’s just standing there.
Looking right at me.
I’m trying my best to give up most of the self-loathing over my weight, but there are times it rears its ugly head. Right now my tank top feels too small, my skirt too short and the waistband is digging in. It’s as if my body is overflowing my clothes.
I hate that Lacy gets to me like she does. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t had the easiest life, and she doesn’t seem to be nice to anyone so I know it’s not personal, but I still hate that she gets to me. The only place I seem to be able to be comfortable is at home on the farm with Aunt Jessie.
She’s taught me to love myself. I’m who I am today because of Aunt Jessie, despite the short time I’ve been there. Not that it’s always that simple. I have these insecurities from my past, and it’s a struggle some days more than others. But at least I don’t wake up every morning wishing I was someone else. Or no one at all.
But with the way this guy looks at me, all of those insecurities come back to light on my shoulders, whispering in my ears. Most of the other girls that work here wear short shorts or miniskirts. But the dress code only says no long jeans, so I usually opt for a nice knee-length, flowy sort of skirt. I’m just not built for sexy.
He’s still staring as I make my way to my section. At least I think he’s staring, it’s hard to be completely sure. Between the dim light, the flashing strobe, his ball cap and the facial hair I could be wrong.
“ Stoooop looking at me ,” I mutter under my breath as I work my way forward slipping their drinks onto the table mumbling about running a tab.
The guy in the cowboy hat says yes to my question and I turn and get out of there before I completely embarrass myself somehow.
When I’m at work I’m as outgoing as I’m going to get. As if I’m in character, I smile and joke around with the customers. But I still talk to myself. I guess it’s because in real life, I don’t have much to say. Books are my friends. I love to read them and I love to write.
Apart from Tabitha and Aunt Jessie, I don’t talk all that much to people outside of work. Not for pleasure, anyway. So I talk to myself instead.
This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone around here, but this bar has grown and gathers people from all around. I’ve become very adept at sizing up who’s who. City, town, rancher, farm hand, etc. But this guy, with his beard and long hair, has me a bit stumped.
Despite my best effort, I look his way. Immediately, my skin warms and some low voltage courses up and down my back. My eyes are drawn to him, and every time I lose the battle and glance his way, his eyes are pinned on me.
I take care of every table but theirs, half hoping that they’ll leave and half dreading the very same thing. My stomach is knotted up in ten different ways, but I know deep down I can’t avoid them forever. A momentary lapse and they’ve caught me looking their way. The two girls thrust their empty glasses in the air like it’s some sort of salute. I smile and nod, but they just raise their eyebrows and mouth something I know I don’t want to hear, looking impatient.
He’s still staring. The mountain man.
But when the two girls start waving at me and acting annoyed, mountain man breaks his never ending gaze at me, barks something toward the two girls. Their arms come down and they look down at the table.
“Deep breath, it’s just a drink order,” I mutter.
I’m deceiving myself if I think he’s actually staring at me with anything other than impatience. I mean, he may be rugged, but he’s hot . Like Viking, sling you over my shoulder and carry you off to make babies kind of hot. And that kind of guy does not look at this kind of girl. That’s not the way the world works.
But he is looking at me, and from the way the hairs stand up on my arms, I not only see him looking at me right now, I feel it.
And it feels pretty darn good.
In the time I’ve worked here, I’ve never felt anything like this. Sure, even with my extra fluff and my plain-Jane, down home looks, I get my share of flirting from bar guys. I always assume it’s the beer-goggles talking.
But this is different. And maybe I should be scared, he’s more than a little scary looking, but for some reason I’m not. I’m interested. And my body is telling me that it’s not all one sided, even if my brain is insisting otherwise.
I lick my lips and muster up a smile as I reach the side of their table. My palms are sticky and I don’t seem to know where to look.
His friend is sitting, leaning over and chatting it up with the brunette. Mountain man is still standing, an empty chair right in front of him, and I wonder why he isn’t sitting with his date.
I admit I’m sort of glad he’s not, but still, it just adds to his mystery.
I put on my happy face and stand next to the blond.
“Hi, you ready for another round?” I push a smile to my lips and hold it there.
“Yes.” The blond starts off snarky, but when she glances up at the standing sentry glaring at her she changes her tune. “Yes, please, two more rum and diets. Thank you.” Her sticky sweet change of manner makes me smile.
“And for you two?”
“Yes, ma’am. Gimme another Guinness on tap.” The guy sitting down gives me a warm smile, it’s flirtatious but not obnoxious.
He’s cute in a cocky, mischievous sort of way, but I don’t feel anything dangerous with him. “And I’m trying to think of the name of a drink for my friend.” He looks up at the other guy then toward me with a question in his eyes.
“Okay, I’ll try to help,” I answer, trying to keep my eyes on him.
I feel his friend staring at me and the warmth that covers my cheeks is sinking down over my torso, making me shift my legs in an effort to keep the tingling between them at bay. “What’s in it?” I ask, trying to focus.
“Well, I think it has something called ‘Relax’ and then it’s mixed with something else called ‘Lighten up and have some fun.’” He turns from me so his words are directed at the brooding mountain standing to his left. They’re buddies alright, no doubt about it. He backhands the man mountain in the gut and doesn’t get his teeth knocked out as a reply. “My friend here needs a double.”
I take a shaky breath before I look up. It’s one thing glancing his way from across the room, but this close I feel like I’m lighting up inside. A glow is radiating out from inside me and I’m just sure everyone can see it. Somewhere deep inside I have this niggling feeling I’m going to be humiliated somehow.
I’m about to ask if he wants an actual drink, when the lady selling roses steps from the crowd to his left and leans into the table so both guys can see her.
“You like to buy a rose for your dates? They’re a dollar each.”
The girls both flip their heads around with hope in their eyes.
What girl doesn’t like to get a rose?
And there it is, exactly what I was expecting. Mountain man reaches for his back pocket and my heart sinks. He pinches a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and reaches to the roses as he shoves the money into her hand.
I don’t wait for his order. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” I look down at the floor and wish I could crawl away. A thick wall of people blocks my retreat, forcing me to make my way around the back of the table behind both guys.
“Come on, Rachel, why do you care?” I whisper to myself, fighting off the prickle of jealousy about a man I don’t even know.
I’m close enough I pick up on the girl’s joyful giggles, and against my better judgment I swivel my head around just enough. Out of the corner of my eye I see them each holding a red rose under their noses. I look anywhere but at him as I shuffle forward, putting as much space as possible between me and the table before I have to turn around to go behind.
My muscles tense as a hand comes from nowhere to rest on my arm. It’s crowded in here and I hate it when customers touch me.
The hand is firm, not forceful, but I mean, just use your voice. I’m already shaking with embarrassment, thinking of all the ways I can just go crawl into a hole.
“What?” I snap, my lips quivering. I’m ready to unleash on someone but the smell hits me.
The aroma of roses and the quintessential scent of a real man engulf me and I lift my eyes to see him standing there.
The mountain.
And he’s holding the entire basket of flowers looking at me with something in his eyes that makes a kaleidoscope of butterflies start flapping in my belly.
“These belong to you.”