11. Julieta
Chapter eleven
Julieta
“The limes go on the other side. No, not there. Other side.” T’s voice sounds clipped, all business, as I walk up to the bar. “Hey Trevor, can you show Gavin where the boxes go in the back?”
As I sit down on the barstool, I notice the new face behind the bar. Tall, lean and polished. They walk to the back, chatting quietly, and I notice T prepping glasses and garnishes for the night with her stoic, resting bitch face.
“What’s going on?” I hedge.
Delfi slides up next to me then.
“Fucking Steve, that’s what,” she retorts. “Brings in his buddy as a new hire, and has me train him for a position that I want.”
My eyebrows lift in hearing this.
“What a fucking surprise. Steve and his bullshit strike again.” She huffs out an angry breath, moving bar glasses around with force. “Why the fuck am I still here?”
Trevor and the new hire walk back over, just as a couple settles in at the bar. T moves to making our usual drinks and greeting the couple. As she comes over with our orders, the new hire slowly moves in.
“Hi, I’m Gavin,” he says, stretching his hand out for a handshake. All those sharp edges: a sharp jaw, taut cheekbones are juxtaposed with warm eyes and a soft demeanor as he introduces himself. There’s something strangely familiar about it.
“Julie,” I respond, taking his hand.
“Delfina,” she says with an overly friendly smile.
“My cousins,” T adds in firmly.
“Nice to meet you,” Gavin nods, then turns to T and lifts up extra bottles. “Where do these go?”
“In the storage closet,” she responds curtly, and he walks away, leaving the three of us in a strange silence.
“Hm.” Delfi breaks it.
“Don’t,” T says quickly.
“He is … good-looking .”
“Christ. Pretty sure Samantha already dropped her panties somewhere, and Manny has a sudden desire to upsell drinks to all his tables.”
Delfi snorts a laugh while I hide a smile behind my own drink.
“He’s also trying to steal my job,” she hisses under her breath.
“Okay, I need some snacks for this show. Let’s get the calamari,” Delfi says. She holds up the menu, looking through it as if we’re not here all the time. “Want to try the burrata? Or maybe a flatbread?”
“That sounds good,” I say.
T takes our order and continues with her night, chatting with her regulars, making drinks for the tables as she goes. Trevor works alongside her, and Gavin watches everything, getting acclimated to T and her own brand of chaos.
I turn to Delfi. “How was your week?”
“Oh, it was fine.” She waves it away. “How are you? How have things been?”
While I’ve been feeling so mentally drained and unhappy at my job, it’s only been accentuated by the fact that I now have something fun in my life. Something that allows me to feel excitement instead of indifference, or stagnation, or irritability.
“Oh, you know. Same shit.” I shrug. Doesn’t mean I’m comfortable telling them about it, though.
“How’s Babs?” T asks me, using the nickname she’s given Barbara.
“One of these days I’m going to slip and call her Babs and she’s going to key my car and fire me.”
“I don’t think she has it in her to key your car.”
“I’ve seen her do worse for less. Just last week she screamed at Jim in front of the whole office and told him he would be uninvited from the holiday party.”
“She’s so miserable.” T scowls.
“I had a boss like that. It’s never good to be in that environment,” Gavin chimes in. I didn’t realize he was listening, but now I feel concerned that he might have heard something he shouldn’t have.
Agostina just gives him a very hard look, one that screams, nobody fucking asked you.
But Gavin just shrugs, unbothered. “I’m just giving my two cents.”
"You can keep them," she retorts.
Trevor laughs in the background. “He’s not afraid of you, T.”
“I know,” she mumbles under her breath, giving him a look from the corner of her eye. “It’s bad for business.”
The bar is starting to really fill up now. Stragglers from a large party in the party room, couples and friends ordering drinks and bar bites. T moves effortlessly through the bar as she always has, efficient and quick and damn good at her job. Trevor and Gavin move quietly in the background with her. Gavin is focused, learning, the perfect complement to her organized chaos.
Manny comes by checking on his drinks, saying hi to us in passing. “Dale, rubia. I need my drinks for table 32.”
T just ignores his comments, setting down the two drinks in question.
The night continues in a blur until everything starts winding down. The din of the restaurant falls into a more agreeable sound. Low murmurs, a slower rhythm. I should get back to my cases. I should work on some tonight. But for once I think, maybe tomorrow. Maybe this weekend . Tonight, let me enjoy this. Delfi and I are just relaxing, and I’m not in a hurry to go anywhere, to just sit in the pleasure of it. I’ve got a near-empty glass, and our snacks are mostly gone. T is quietly wiping down the bar, showing Gavin how to start closing everything.
“We’re headed next door after this,” T says to the guys working around her.
“Count me in,” Delfi says.
The restaurant closes at ten o’clock, so they will usually clean up and head over to the bar down the street. It’s tucked away off the main road and conveniently stays open until two in the morning. I always opt to go home, but tonight I’m feeling energized. A little more alive. A bit more enthusiastic than I have been in quite some time.
“Can I join?” I blurt out.
Delfi and T’s eyes widen, and I almost shrink down in my stool for asking.
“Fuck yes,” T responds enthusiastically, and my answering smile is quietly filled with relief.
“You look good, Julie. Something going on?” Delfina asks.
“Not sure how offended I should be by that question.”
“She’s just living life with her snazzy new haircut.” T winks at me. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m just playing the role of new me. Maybe once my hair grows back this rollercoaster might end, but for now I might as well hold on tight because even I don’t know what’s getting into me.
***
Delfina and I find ourselves at the bar next door close to eleven, T trailing behind with Manny and some of the kitchen crew. They all wave to the bartender once they walk in, some lining up at the bar, some sitting on stools, others taking their drinks and snacks to the outside patio area. This bar—not fancy in the slightest, with a gaudy nautical theme and names carved into the wood tables—is a neighborhood and staff favorite.
“Hey Derek, let me get two glasses of the IPA on tap,” T calls out to the bartender, ordering drinks for her and Manny. She turns back to Delfi and me and asks, “What do you want?”
“Get us the same thing,” I answer.
Meanwhile, Trevor calls out, “Hey T, grab me a vodka Sprite,” before walking to the back patio with Manny and Delfi tagging along.
T’s eyes turn sharp at something over my shoulder, but she quickly swivels back to Derek at the bar, adding on to her tab.
“Hey everybody. I invited my brother, too, if that’s okay,” a voice behind me says. “This is Logan.”
Logan?
We all turn to find Gavin standing with his brother, who happens to be none other than Logan , and when he spots me, his smile slowly grows wider. The crowd mumbles scattered “heys” while Gavin comes closer. And before this can escalate to allow something else to slip, I stick my hand right out and say, “I’m Julie.”
“Hi Julie.” He smiles, shaking my hand briefly, eyes lingering.
How the hell do I end up seeing this guy everywhere?
“We’ve got a table out back,” T says to them, balancing beers and mixed drinks expertly in her hands, then turning to walk away.
“I’ll grab the rest,” I call out as I set my elbows on the sticky bar littered with paper coasters. There’s a jukebox in the corner, a fancy one that you have to download an app for, playing an eclectic mix of loud music.
“What do you want?” Gavin asks Logan.
“Whatever you get is fine,” he responds as Derek sets the remaining drinks down in front of me. I can see their similarities standing this close—their tall and lean figures, their sharp jaws and broad shoulders. Gavin is still in his bartending uniform consisting of his white button up shirt and black slacks. He’s lost the tie, though. Logan is in a basic shirt and shorts, something simple, but he wears it so well. He’s effortlessly cool, so comfortable in his body. Maybe that’s the dancer in him, I don’t know.
I grab the drinks and hear Logan’s voice beside me. “Need help?”
“I’ve got it, thanks.” I lift one in brief cheers, then turn and walk to the patio.
The outdoor patio sits under an awning with several high tops and low tables around the perimeter and three pool tables off to the side. It’s surrounded by bushes and greenery, and twinkling lights hang from the awning. Manny found their usual high top near the pool tables and snagged one for playing. T is getting her cue set up while Manny racks the balls. I walk over to join Delfina, passing her a beer.
“Damn. Good genetics,” she says, eyeing Logan and Gavin stepping outside with draft beers in their hands.
“I know.”
“Wait. Isn’t that the guy we saw last time?”
“Is it?” I feign interest and take a sip of my drink. “How do you even remember that?”
“Can’t forget a face like that.”
Another pool table has emptied out, so when the brothers walk up to our table, Gavin asks, “Anybody want to play?”
“Sure!” Delfina answers. Logan takes her seat, leaving the two of us at the table.
I take one long swig of my drink then set it down gently, the condensation already growing on my glass on this humid night. The rotating fan in the corner above our table is occasionally throwing a welcome breeze my way, my hair swaying with it.
“Should I be concerned with how often I’ve been running into you?” I ask Logan while looking over at Manny gloating over his good shot.
“Should I?”
I crack a smile. “So, your brother is the new bartender.”
“Guess so. He got laid off from his other job, so I mentioned the restaurant last time Tara and I were there.”
I watch Gavin miss a shot. “That sucks about getting laid off.” I think about what I would do if I got laid off. Probably cheer. Probably decide to reinvent my life. Or, realistically, probably just daydream about it and go get another office job.
“And what do you do? Considering how often I’ve run into you I don’t really know much about you.”
I turn to face him then. “I’m a lawyer.”
His eyebrows shoot up briefly. “That’s fancy.”
“Is it?” I guess it is on paper, but most days it feels less than fancy when I’m elbow deep in paperwork, up late at night sacrificing sleep and social time for it.
“I can see it.” He nods, taking a sip of his own beer.
“See what?”
“Your personality matches,” he chuckles.
“That’s depressing.” I scowl.
“Oh, not in a bad way. Just …”
An upbeat song starts to play on the speakers, something from that jukebox. T and Manny start to dance, and I can’t help but smile.
“And those are your friends?”
“Cousins. Well, Agostina is. She’s the blonde. Everybody just calls her T. And Delfi is the brunette.” I point to Delfina playing pool with Gavin.
“Ah, got it.”
“Manny is a friend,” I explain. “And your brother’s coworker,” I add.
“Yeah, guess so,” he chuckles. “That’s nice.” He smiles softly.
The moment we had in the grocery store feels like ages ago. I almost wonder if I imagined it. The bubble we were in then seems to have burst now, out in the open, with so many other faces around.
We look at each other, and I wish I knew what he was thinking.
“Tell the truth, now. How many boxes of Uncrustables did you buy after that first bite?” he asks, smirking.
I slowly smile at the question, the topic that makes me think maybe he’s been thinking about me, too. “I bought them out,” I say, grinning as I sip my drink.
“The only appropriate answer.”
The grocery store might have been one time, but the dance classes have been consistent. And with all these faces around, I can’t help but feel a little uneasy.
“Don’t tell them about it,” I say then.
He meets my eyes in question.
“The dance classes,” I clarify. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like I don’t know you.”
“I’d tell you I’m not offended, but I am confused.” He gives a quiet laugh.
“It’s … complicated.”
He eyes me curiously. “Family usually is.”
I sigh loudly. “Complicated like you’re so sure they love you unconditionally, but sometimes things sure do feel conditional.”
The look on his face mirroring mine looks like he might have his own experiences, own grievances with it. The complications of family. The hard parts of it. The good parts, too.
“I love my family,” I start. “So much. But they’re also a lot. I like to think my cousins would support me no matter what, but who knows what would happen if the news inevitably traveled up the chain.” I take another sip, looking over at Delfina aiming for a corner shot. “Like I said, this whole thing is complicated.”
“Have you thought anymore about the milonga?”
Of course, I have. And of course, the answer is still no. “Yeah.”
“But you’re not going to do it.”
“What does it matter to you? You get commission on how many people show up?”
“Yeah. I’ve got bills to pay.”
“Seriously?”
“No,” he laughs. “I just think it would be good for you.”
“And what do you know about what would be good for me?” I snap back.
His smile drops abruptly. “Not a thing.”
“That was so shitty, I’m sorry.” Where did that even come from? “I appreciate your enthusiasm for this, I do. And I don’t expect you to understand my resistance to it, but I just don’t know how ready I am for something like that.”
“I’m sure you’re very busy,” he says in understanding. “I see you check your phone all the time. You frown at that thing more than any disappointed parent would.”
I sigh in exasperation. God, what must I look like to the outside world? An overworked, boring business professional whose profession matches her boring ass personality? This is starting to get really pathetic.
I want to keep this conversation going, but Gavin and Delfi come over now, commiserating on a good game.
“Wanna play, asshat?” Gavin asks.
Logan laughs, “Nah, I’m good. See if she wants to,” he says pointing to another coworker Samantha.
Gavin smirks and heads over to her, walking past T whose mouth turns to a scowl almost immediately. I bite back a laugh.
“I’m going to grab another round. Do you want one?” Logan asks.
“No, thank you. I’m probably going to head home after this.”
Once Logan heads inside, I watch Gavin start a game with Samantha, while T and Delfi come back to the table.
“Making friends?” T asks upon sitting down, with a smirk.
“Being friendly,” I tell her pointedly.
“He looks like he’s being friendly, too.” She lifts an eyebrow.
“He’s thirty-three.”
“And?” She asks like she fails to see any problem.
“He’s younger than me.”
“Seriously?” Delfi says almost in disbelief, or maybe it’s renewed interest.
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Julie,” T cackles. “Jesus Christ, stop making excuses. You need somebody to have fun with.”
“I know how to have fun by myself.”
“Oh, do you? When was the last time you had any fun? Before tonight.”
I keep my mouth closed. I meant it when I said this whole thing is complicated, for so many reasons. I’m not interested in giving my secrets away right now. I don’t want to talk about it, about all the fun I’ve been having at this tango class. About the fun I’ve surprisingly found outside of it, with a certain someone that is walking back over to the table with a drink in hand.
“It’s time for me to head out anyway,” I say, wrapping up this conversation.
“Me too, I think,” Delfina agrees.
“Fine. Manny and I will keep this party going in your honor.” T says.
“Be safe,” I tell her, giving her a kiss goodbye on the cheek. “Text me when you get home.”
“I will,” she sighs. Years ago, I would have driven myself crazy trying to control what any of my other cousins, or siblings, did. I would have tried to control the drinks, the partying, the late nights. I would have tried to reason with them, get them to come home, too. I realize now I can’t control them, I never could. And besides what did it get me? Sitting on the sidelines of someone else’s fun. Trying to attach rules, trying to keep everything comfortable for me.
I’m older now, but I still want a text when they get home.
“Nice meeting you guys.” Delfina waves to Gavin and Logan, now quietly chatting in a corner. I wave, too, leaving words between Logan and me unsaid. Leaving them lingering in the currents between us: his eyes that hold the smallest twinkle, the smirk that is showing restraint from becoming a full smile, the hand that is waving back that once held me close as we danced. This is a strange secret to keep, I know, but as conflicting as the whole experience has been, it has been no less fun.
So, for now, I’ll keep thinking about the dance.
Or maybe, I’ll just keep thinking about him.
I don’t really know why.
***
I cuddle up on the couch with my laptop and a glass of water, googling Logan Beck like I probably should have done some weeks ago. The search results are not surprising: accolades that feature both him and Tara, his own website, the dance studio’s website. Seems like he’s taught at different ones throughout the city. Dance shows and events. Features in international championships. And then videos.
I cue one up and press play, a local competition from about two years ago, him and Tara taking the stage. I look on, mesmerized, this feeling not an unfamiliar one, and yet.
I haven’t felt this in so long, the feeling of my heart being pulled from my body. The silence in the room, the desire, the burning. The way my legs are twitching. I haven’t felt this since … well, since I was eight.
It’s incredible to watch, really—watching somebody do something they love and watching them do it so well. He’s dancing with Tara, strong and powerful Tara, who holds the power in this dance. Perhaps that’s been part of the appeal for me: how a woman’s body can move so sensually, say so much. How much power it can carry throughout a song.
I notice then that this festival is one my grandmother attended several times throughout the years. As a dancer in the beginning, and then later as a guest judge. She invited me once when she had traveled to the States for it. I was in the thick of studying for exams, elbow deep in the stress of law school. By that point I was in my twenties, but I took one night and went, pushing aside my responsibilities for just a moment. And I adored it, watching these couples dance, in gorgeous glittering dresses and three-piece suits.
Of course, once my mother found out I’d skipped out on a morning class because I had been out too late the night before, I never heard the end of it. I was destroying my life, she’d said. I was throwing away my chances at a good career. I was being careless with my time.
“Pero Maria, por favor,” my grandmother had chided. “Déjala.” Let her be. She’s young.
But after that, I couldn’t let myself get off track. If only because I didn’t want to hear the shit anymore. If only because I kept being reminded how much my family had already sacrificed for me to have this opportunity. And how dare I not be grateful?
Sometimes it felt like the guilt trip wasn’t worth the fun I was having otherwise.
Would the guilt trip be worth the fun now?
Either way, I’m opting not to tell her. I’m choosing to keep this for myself. And even though my grandmother isn’t here to see this, she left me these priceless shoes. She’d probably want me to do this.
At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself.
“They are fantastic,” I hear somebody in the video whisper.
She’s right. And there’s a frightening feeling building within me that makes me think how much I’d like to be up there, too.
My phone buzzes with an incoming email, an inconvenient reminder from Barbara that there is too much to do, too much going on and leaving the office early is ‘not indicative of those who want to be here.’
Logan telling me about Gavin’s layoff was an unrealistic daydream. This email from Barbara is a harsh reality. What would happen if I got fired? What would it look like if I had to sit my family down and tell them that I was let go from my job? The intrusive thought is a jolt of fear to my heart.
When I graduated college and law school, my brother joked how I was the golden child that could do no wrong. He was so proud of me, he’d said. He always looked up to me. My parents were equally impressed, so proud, so honored. My mother consistently reminded me how smart I was, how she always knew I would do great things.
But what they didn’t know, what they couldn’t know, is just how stifling it is. How difficult it has rendered my life. And how I haven’t noticed the extent of it until recently.
Julie with the new haircut wants to create a life she’s proud of, just as she has silently wanted to do her whole life.
I want to do great things.
Suddenly, I feel a rush within me, almost like the swelling of a wave, the rising of a tide. I’m going to do it. I’m going to chase this one thing that is making me feel like something more. That is finally making me feel .
Months ago, I would have folded at the sight of this email, but right now, I’m going to figure something else out. I’m going to fight back.