“For those guys? Looks like they've already had a few.”
“Yeah.” Frankie swabbed her tray with a bar napkin. “They’re not regulars, I take it?”
“Naw. I’d say engineers, from out at the nuclear site. You’ll get to know the regulars pretty quick. Give yourself a week or so.”
In the week and a half she’d been waiting tables at The Wheel, most of the customers Frankie had indentified as regulars were railroad workers and bus drivers just off duty. The bus terminal and the railroad depot shared an alley and a parking lot with the bar, and Frankie guessed that The Wheel Club’s name came from one or both of those sources.
Frankie took the doubles Mike handed her and returned to Table 3. The short man smiled when she set the drinks on their table. “M’name’s Gary. What’s yours, Sugar?”
“We’re celebrating,” said Gary’s friend, not waiting for her answer.
“Oh? Celebrating what?”
The thin man pointed at Gary. “Promotion.”
“Well, congratulations, Gary. Can I bring you anything else?”
“Just keep those doubles coming, Sugar.” Gary pointed at the Indian. “Can you believe that one? Looks like he’s about to howl at the moon.” Frankie glanced again at the Indian. He was still standing with his head thrown back, but as the bartender placed a beer in front of him, he lowered his gaze and looked into the mirror in back of the bar. Frankie could see his big face clearly without staring at him directly. It was still astonishing.
Frankie swiped her bar towel over imaginary moisture on the table, then took the fifty-dollar bill Gary’s friend held out to her. “I’ll haveta get change. Back in a minute.”
Gary gulped his drink and clapped the glass down sharply. “Bring another pair of doubles when you do, Sugar.”
Frankie took her time returning to their table. She first made the rounds of the other customers, replacing napkins and emptying ashtrays. Things were picking up a little, getting fairly busy for a Thursday night, and she worried that she wouldn’t be able to handle it all. This was only the third night that she’d been on a shift by herself. At least Mike’s ‘tending tonight. He’ll help out if it gets too bad.
A few more customers came in, and gradually, the noise in the bar increased, conversation and laughter completely overtaking the piped-in music. The air grew blue-grey with smoke. Someone dropped a glass, and Frankie hurried to clear the pieces away.
When she returned with two more drinks and the change from the fifty, Gary didn’t wait for her to serve him, but grabbed his drink from her tray. “So, d'you come here often?” he said around gulps of liquor. Both men laughed.
“I don’t know what you mean. I work here.”
“Yeah, but do you cum here often?” The men laughed again, harder. Frankie turned away. “Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!” Gary half rose from his chair, but his friend pulled him back down.
Drunk. Frankie moved off quickly to another table. She concentrated on the new drink order. “Two Scotch and sodas, Black Jack straight up water chaser, Long Island ice tea, two vodka screwdrivers,” she repeated. Two Scotch and sodas, Black Jack straight up water chaser, Long Island ice tea, two vodka screwdrivers she chanted on her way back to the bar. Two Scotch and sodas, Black Jack straight up water chaser, Long Island—
“Hey, Sugar!” As she passed his table, Gary’s arm snaked out, pulling her off balance. Frankie fell against him, knocking her shin on the edge of his chair. Gary circled her waist with both arms and pulled her onto his lap. “Le’s wrassle,” he said, “I’ll let you win.”
“Knock it off. Let me up.” Frankie twisted in Gary’s lap and pushed hard against his chest. Where was Mike? Over her shoulder she could see the bartender talking to a customer, his back to Frankie.
“Come on, Gar’. Leave her alone.” The thin man pulled on Gary’s arm, but Gary shook off his friend’s hand.
“Come on, Sugar. First a little kissee,” panted Gary, “then a little—“ His voice rose sharply. “Hey, man, le’go!” Gary suddenly released Frankie, and she nearly slid to the floor. She caught herself on the edge of the table and stood up.
The Indian with the big face was standing just behind Gary, one large, friendly-looking hand on Gary’s shoulder, as if to congratulate him. But the collar of Gary’s shirt gaped away from his neck, and his pale flesh was quickly reddening under the Indian’s grip.
The Indian with the big face was standing just behind Gary, one large, friendly-looking hand on Gary’s shoulder, as if to congratulate him. But the collar of Gary’s shirt gaped away from his neck, and his pale flesh was quickly reddening under the Indian’s grip.
“Hey, man, let go,” Gary repeated, but this time his voice was less belligerent, almost polite. The Indian let go. He watched while Frankie retrieved her tray and backed away. Then he turned and mounted his barstool again, his back to Table 3 and the rest of the room.
As Frankie turned away from the table, she saw that Anne, The Wheel’s owner, had come out of her office behind the bar. Frankie held her breath and hoped that Anne, like Mike and apparently all the other customers, hadn’t noticed the trouble.
*Photo of the bus depot sign courtesy of Connie Rodriguez-Flatten, 2011
*Photo of the bus depot sign courtesy of Connie Rodriguez-Flatten, 2011
