DAISY
The uniform for Annie’s bar is pretty simple. A short and tight black skirt and any black T-shirt you want. I’m wearing an old Guns N’ Roses T-shirt that by any definition is vintage.
I call it desperation because there’s no way I can afford to buy any cute black tops for work just yet. At least, not until I get my paycheck. And even then, my last one has had to stretch further than it should already. Plus, there’s a growing list of things Elsie needs first.
And while I know my love for her is infinite, my finances are not.
Which is why I’m so glad Vandal did those repairs last night. I’m as capable as the next girl of looking up basic tasks on YouTube, but when it all starts to need tools like screwdrivers and washers and new bulbs, I need to tap out.
As I was getting ready this morning, everything I touched made me think of him. Grabbing the milk from the fridge for Elsie’s cereal. Running the water to make the coffee. Standing beneath a light that didn’t flicker.
But then I gave myself a good talking-to.
If and when I eventually find a man, he won’t be a fixer-upper.
He won’t need me to mother him or nag him.
When he shows up, he won’t be drunk or high or smell like he hasn’t showered for days.
He’ll already know how to take care of himself and will appreciate that while I can take care of myself, it would be amazing if he wanted to take care of me and Elsie too.
Then I’ll tell him the truth about who we really are.
“Can I get you guys anything else?” I ask two workmen who came in for lunch as I place their burgers on the table.
The one with kind blue eyes looks up at me. “Don’t suppose I could get your number?”
“Smooth,” his buddy says before he takes a bite of his burger.
I smile, politely, because I’m supposed to. “I appreciate the request, but the only numbers I’m going to be giving you today are your check.”
His eyes drop to my legs and back. “That’s too bad. If you find yourself leaving here today and change your mind, I’m Rob, working on the lines down by the marina. Come see me.”
There’s a rumble by the door, and four bikers walk in. Immediately my eyes scan for Vandal, which is a bad sign. What about all the things I just tried to tell myself? That I don’t want a fixer-upper, a drunk, someone to take care of.
Rob reaches for my wrist, but the move leaves me cold. “You find yourself in trouble with this crowd, let me know.”
It’s nice of him to offer, and given the size of him, I think it would be a fair fight. But I pull my hand from his. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“How’s Elsie settling in at the camp?” Annie asks when I return to the bar for a hot second.
I take the cloth she offers and wipe the tray I’m using.
“So far so good. I want to get the place set up nicely so we can have a few of her new friends over for a playdate or something. Would be good for her to have some kids her own age to hang out with and maybe become friends before school starts.”
“If you want to get out of here like twenty minutes earlier so you can meet some more of the moms at pickup, I’m fine with that. I remember how we always used to chat while waiting.”
I appreciate her offer, but twenty minutes of income is not something I want to mess around with. “Thanks, but we’ll figure it out.”
Annie takes the cloth back but puts her hand over mine. “I’m not gonna dock your wages. But if it helps you settle in, I don’t mind it on quieter days.”
It’s weird. I’m not used to people doing nice things for me for no real reason. This is the second person in two days. “Thank you.”
“Now, go see to Knox and his crew. They don’t bite for the most part.”
They’ve taken a table in my section, and I head over to them. They have the same cuts as Vandal. Iron Outlaws. I guess that’s the name of their group…club…chapter…whatever.
Given Vandal’s name was right there on his chest, I check out the four bikers. Knox. Havoc. Sunny. Reaper.
Their titles are on there too.
None of them are as large as Vandal.
“Hey, I’m Daisy, and I’m going to be looking out for you guys today. Can I get you started with drinks?”
The man named Knox looks up from his phone. “You new here, Daisy?”
“Third day,” I say. “So go easy on me if I screw it up.”
He smiles at that. “Four beers. Annie knows which.”
I take a deep breath, because that wasn’t painful, and I don’t know why I feel nervous.
No, wait, I do. I’m lying to myself again. It’s because if these four men come in, there’s a chance that Vandal might, and at least I’ll get to say hi to him occasionally.
When I return, Annie already has two of the beers poured and is working on the third. “I guess you know them well, huh?” I say.
Annie laughs. “Not on when they come in, but what they order when they do. See Havoc?”
I turn around and see the Viking-like biker scouring the menu. “Yeah?”
“He does that every day. Looks at the menu like he’s not going to order a burger, extra cheese, extra onions, and substitute the fries for onion rings, knowing full well I’m gonna give him the fries as well.”
I chuckle at that. “Given everything I’ve ever seen on TV about bikers, you wouldn’t think they’d be so predictable. What’s the tastiest thing on the menu?” I ask.
“Hmm,” Annie says. “I’d say either the Cuban or grouper sandwiches.”
“Good to know,” I say.
She finishes pouring the third and fourth beer and places them on the tray. “There you go.”
I carry the tray competently to the table and place the drinks out. “What can I get you all to eat?”
Havoc has his phone to his ear. “You sure you don’t want to come join us?” he says.
So I start with Knox, who takes the Cuban sandwich, Sunny takes the chili, and Reaper orders a chicken salad.
“One sec, Van,” Havoc says when it gets to him, and my heart flips. He could be talking to anyone, but often the obvious answer is the right one. Van…short for Vandal. “I’ll get a burger, extra cheese, extra onions, and substitute the fries for onion rings, please, Daisy.”
I bite back a smile at his order. Annie was so right. “No worries, I’ll get that right to you all.”
I head to the bar to punch the order into the system.
“Daisy, wait up a sec,” Havoc shouts.
I turn back to him. “You need something else?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Double the burger order.”
Those four words, without context, shouldn’t have the ability to set my pulse racing.
But in less than two seconds, I’ve built a whole narrative where Vandal heard my name and decided he was coming to the bar and—
We do not need a fixer-upper.
I feel like I should get that tattooed somewhere visible. Like on my wrist, beneath my bracelets. Just the initials.
WDNNAFU.
“You got it,” I say, trying to keep my voice on an even keel.
But the next fifteen minutes are arduous. Every time someone walks in, I look up to see if it’s him. I take orders, deliver drinks, and hustle back to the kitchen when I hear the food service bell and my name called.
I have a million conversations in my head. Reminding myself how red and bloodshot his eyes were. And how he smelled somewhere between a brewery and old, worn socks.
But in between brutal assessments is the sight of Elsie hugging a man.
Elsie, who has been so terrified of men because of deep-seated memories she can’t actually recall. Men who shout and scream and demand subservience once they have you situated in a golden prison.
Yet she ran up to Vandal and hugged him. Gave him a gold star, even. Simply being around him made her feel better. And this morning before school, it was “Vandal this…” and “Vandal that...”
“Those are the two beers for the two suits over there,” Annie says when I collect the tray. “They came to the bar to order. Told ’em you’d be right over with them.”
They stand out because they don’t look like most people around here.
South Florida has a split personality. You’ve got the coolness of Miami, where appearances matter, especially wealth and influence. There’s even a joke in Miami that you have to look sexy at a funeral. And then there’s the gothic weirdness of the swamp towns where people embrace their uniqueness.
Just as I get close to their table, the unevenness of the old and warped wooden flooring catches me out, and I trip. The tray falls out of my hands, the beers go up in the air, and I fall forward, watching in horror as beer splashes one of the men.
Thankfully, it only catches the lower half of his trouser leg, but the pale gray fabric grows darker as it spreads.
I throw out my wrists to save my face from hitting the wood floor and land with an awful bounce.
It’s unclear what’s worse. The pain or the humiliation.
“You stupid bitch,” the man calls out, jumping up and shaking his leg like I just peed on him. He flails around so much that drops from his shoe hit my face and T-shirt.
I climb to my knees. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get a—”
He glares at me. “You’ll get a what? A new suit so I don’t have to turn up to my meeting stinking of booze?”
Memories of being yelled at take over, and the shaking starts.
You’re okay, Daisy. Get up.
I wince, lifting my hands off the floor, when the man takes a step toward me.
Dark boots and jeans with frayed hems appear in front of me. “Take another step forward, and it’ll be the last one you take.”
Vandal.
He turns to face me, puts his hands beneath my arms, and lifts me to my feet like I weigh nothing. “You okay, Daisy?” he asks. His pupils are blown wide, and I have a feeling he’s on something.
“I’m good.” I peer around Vandal. “I really am sorry, sir. I’ll get you some cloths and water, and I’ll pay for your next round myself to apologize.”
Annie chooses that moment to arrive with some supplies. Cloths for him, and a mop and bucket for me.
“You need to hire better staff,” the man says. “She’s incompetent and gonna cost you customers.”
Annie looks around the full bar. “It’s one thirty on a Wednesday. Bar’s doing fine with her in it. Maybe it’s different customers I need.”
“Oh no,” I say, panic rising in my throat. I need this job. I don’t want to cost her customers. “You don’t need to—”
“Kick him out, Vandal,” Annie says.
I try to step by Vandal to make this right, but he puts his arm out to stop me without even looking. “You heard the lady. You got three seconds to walk out of here under your own steam, or I’ll be happy to break both your legs and carry you out.”
Havoc comes to stand on the other side of me but doesn’t say anything. He simply looms.
“We already ordered our food,” the man says.
Which makes me feel a million times worse.
Even more waste.
Even more money lost.
“I’ll pay for it,” Vandal says.
“No, I’ll—”
“Easy,” Havoc mutters beside me. “Let him.”
“One,” Vandal says. “Two…”
He doesn’t have to say three. They are up and out of the bar as if it were on fire.
He turns to face me, but Havoc squeezes his shoulder. “Come sit, the food’s out.”
“One second,” Vandal says. “You go ahead.” He waits for Havoc to leave us, then trails me to the bar. “You okay, Daisy? That must have hurt.”
Emotions snowball. The remaining ache from the fall, the humiliation of everyone watching, the fear I felt on the floor as the man stepped toward me, and the panic at the scene and inconvenience I just caused Annie.
I can’t seem to get a grip on the rational feelings that it was an accident.
That everyone just supported me.
I shrug out of his hold. “I’m fine. And I don’t need to you making a scene where I work.”