9. Jay
CHAPTER 9
JAY
T he Rusty Oak is a bit slow tonight, but it’s Tuesday. It’s never very busy on a Tuesday, but I enjoy the ebb and flow of customers. I get to know my weekday patrons a bit more than my weekend ones.
It’s Violet’s first shift since Saturday night. Since I told her to dress more appropriately, then threw myself against her in the kitchen. I try to focus on making drinks, but my eyes keep darting to where Violet is serving tables. She’s got that determined look on her face, and I have a feeling it’s because of me. I’m the one who attacks her at every turn. I don’t mean to; it just happens.
I guess I’m not good at gently correcting.
Harold is nursing his usual Bud Light, watching the action with his usual detached interest. I crack open another and slide it to him, knowing he’ll want another in a few minutes. “How’re you doing tonight?”
He gives me a shrewd look. “I’m one day closer to dying. How do you think I’m doing?” There’s nothing nasty in his voice, just the same old acceptance of his current lot in life. Harold nods toward Violet. “Now she… Violet, I believe, is holding her own. Better than I expected, to be honest. I don’t know what sort of talk you had with her, but she’s on the ball tonight.”
I sigh, wiping down the counter. “Yeah, she’s doing fine.” I was really hoping to have a conversation about something other than Violet.
I’m on edge, and I can’t seem to figure out why. I don’t know why I’m so wound up, but I can’t shake the feeling that tonight’s going to be a disaster.
And then, it happens. I hear a crash and turn to see Violet standing over a spilled tray of drinks. The group of twenty somethings that she was serving looks annoyed, and one of the girls is dabbing at her shirt with a napkin.
I stride over, trying to keep my temper in check. “What happened?”
Violet’s face is flushed with embarrassment and frustration. “I tripped. It was an accident. I felt the tray about to fall, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.”
I glance at the floor, not seeing anything she could have tripped over. “An accident? Or were you not paying attention? How can you trip right here?”
Her eyes flash with anger. “I said it was an accident, Jay. I’m doing my best here.”
“Your best isn’t good enough. This is a bar, not a charity. I don’t employ people out of pity. You need to keep it together.”
I can feel the table get quiet. I can feel their eyes turn on me as they realize I’m not there to help clean up the mess or make things right. I know I should stop myself, but I can’t seem to control my mouth.
Violet tosses a long tendril of red hair over her shoulder and narrows her eyes at me. “I’ve seen you make mistakes too. Don’t act like you’re perfect.”
I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “I’m not perfect, but I’m the boss. And right now, you’re making my life harder.”
Violet stares back at me, not cowed at all by my anger. “Maybe if you weren’t breathing down my neck all the time, I wouldn’t be so nervous.”
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. I throw my hands up in the air. “You know what? I’m done. Handle this mess yourself. Get them new drinks too, but they’re coming out of your paycheck.”
Then, I do something I’ve never done before.
I storm out of the bar, the cool night air hitting me like a slap in the face. I walk down the street, my mind racing. I don’t know why Violet gets under my skin so much, but she does. She’s got this fire in her, this determination that I should admire, but it just pisses me off.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never lost my cool like that on a member of my staff. It’s not like I’ve never seen a waitress spill some drinks. Why do I hold Violet to such a different standard?
It’s a Tuesday. Things are slow. They will take care of themselves while I cool off. It’s the beginning of October, and with darkness creeping across the sky, I quickly realize that I should have brought a jacket.
Not wanting to stand on the sidewalk shivering, I step into a shop without taking much time to see what store it is.
I’m not in there long before another customer approaches me. She looks a few years younger than me, but definitely older than college-aged.
“Can I help you with something?” she asks.
“Oh, do you work here?” I glance over my shoulder at the counter. The woman slumped over her cell phone behind it looks like she couldn’t be less interested in which of the fruity smelling candles I choose to buy.
She’s also wearing a shirt with the shop’s logo, but the woman standing next to me is wearing a gauzy dress with no name tag or logo in sight.
“No, but I’m so bored. My friend thinks she has to sniff every candle before buying one.” I glance over to where the woman is pointing and see another woman with her nose buried in a waxy candle.
I smile just a little, the mundane complaint making me feel just a little better.
The woman next to me offers her hand. “Charlotte.”
“Jay,” I say, offering my hand and shaking it. I turn back to the display and study some of the candle names with no intention of buying one. I can already feel myself cooling down, but I still don’t know how to address the situation back at the bar.
“So, Jay, do you live here in Maplewood?”
I’m surprised to see the woman, whose name I’ve already forgotten, still standing there speaking to me.
“Sorry,” I say, doing my best to be polite, “What did you say?”
“Are you living here or just passing through?” She tosses her hair and blinks at me, and that’s when I realize that she’s flirting. She’s flirting with me ? I know I’m attractive, objectively. People have told me that, but I have no interest in this woman.
I answer her question though, because the silence is starting to stretch into awkwardness. “Oh, I live here. I actually own the bar just down the street. The Rusty Oak.”
The woman’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’ve been telling my friend we have to go there for drinks, but she has been so against it. Maybe if she meets you, she’d want to come.”
I smile politely, but my smile feels stretched and forced. “Sure, yeah, you’re welcome anytime.”
As I wonder why I don’t have any interest in the woman, was her name Cheryl? I study her. She’s attractive—long hair, curvy. Absolutely my type on a normal day. What is it about her that doesn’t turn me on at all?
It’s because I can’t stop thinking about Violet.
The realization hits me hard. Both women are attractive, but there’s something about Violet that has gotten into my head. I can’t just move on and continue living my life as normal. I want Violet in it.
But I know that she wants nothing to do with me. I imagine her cleaning up the glass by herself, and I instantly feel guilty for the way I stormed out.
I have to go fix this.