“Well, I’m glad Shaw gave you a job and a place to stay. That’s really nice.” I mean it now with sincerity and this tidbit of information is making me see Shaw in a new light. He might be an asshole, but at least he’s an asshole with heart.
“It was my own fault,” Jeremy continues. “I started using a few years ago. My parents kicked me out. They gave me loads of chances, but I always chose the drugs.”
“Are you still... using?” I ask. Unfamiliar with drug addicts I don’t know exactly what to say. “Is it something you can stop doing?”
“I’m trying.”
Loud footsteps coming from the hallway sends us both scurrying back to work.
Shaw glares in our direction and sets a crate of clean glasses down on the bar top. “Put these away,” he orders with his dark eyes boring down on Jeremy. When he looks my way, I think he’s going to bark a new order at me, but instead, his scowl deepens and then he turns around and walks back down the hall. When he’s out of sight, Jeremy releases a heavy breath.
“Dude is intense,” he says with a chuckle.
“Seriously.”
We continue talking and getting to know each other, but the conversation never turns as heavy, with no more discussion of programs or drugs or being homeless. Jeremy is originally from Texas and used to live in a suburb of Houston, so we have things to talk about. Like, one of my favorite Japanese restaurants happens to be somewhere he and his parents used to go on special occasions when he was younger. After that conversation, we both agree we need to find a good sushi place when we get paid.
“I know I shouldn’t splurge on sushi, but...”
“Well, all work and no play is for the birds,” Jeremy says with a sigh. “A few pieces of sushi won’t break the bank.”
“Right,” I agree with a laugh. “Besides, I don’t technically have a bank account anymore, so...”
“Bank accounts are for the birds too.”
We both laugh and I can’t say I disagree. I’ve never been too concerned with money. But, then again, I had plenty growing up. We weren’t rich, but we never did without. My grandparents and parents never put much emphasis on it, therefore neither did I. Brant on the other hand, he’s different. His mother came from money. They inherited a large piece of land when his grandparents passed away. Maybe that’s why he’s so consumed with success. Regardless, it doesn’t excuse him of his transgressions. In reality, I think I fell out of love with Brant a long time ago. I might’ve been holding out hope that the spark would reignite, but when he hit me, all of those hopes went out the window.
“So, tell me more about living in Houston,” Jeremy says, interrupting my thoughts. “How did you get there?”
“Can we talk about something else?” I ask, not wanting to think any more about Brant. I decided a few days ago I don’t want to give him another second of my time, but after the call I didn’t take this morning, I know I’ll have to. He won’t stop. I made the mistake of checking my bank balance yesterday morning and saw that he cleared out what little money I had left in there. Honestly, I’m surprised my phone still works, but that’s probably just because he needs a way to contact me. I know I need to talk to him, at least to inform him I’m not coming back and to tell him to go to hell, but I’d rather not discuss it right now.
“Sure,” Jeremy says easily, none the wiser to my inward struggles. “Who’s your favorite band?”
“Hanson, hands down.”
“Han-who?” His look of confusion makes me crack up laughing.
About that time, Shaw reappears and ruins the mood and our friendly banter.
“Paulie needs your help,” he says looking at Jeremy. When Shaw leans over the bar, turning his attention to me, Jeremy rolls his eyes behind his back and offers a wave as he departs.
“You can handle the bar until Kevin gets here, right?” Shaw asks.
Why do I feel like this is trial by fire?
“Yep, got it covered,” I reply, trying to sound confident.
“If there’s a drink you don’t know how to make, just tell them it’s temporarily off the menu. We’re a no-frills kind of bar. Our patrons are used to no one catering to them, so you shouldn’t catch any shit. I’ll be back at eight.”
And just like that, he’s gone and I’m left tending the bar all by myself. Granted, there aren’t any customers yet, but the fact he’s trusting me with it on my first official day makes my chest swell a bit with pride. This feels good—working, fitting in, making a go of things. And I have a new hope that there’s more to Shaw than being a grade-A asshole.
Things are looking up, and I realize as I’m standing behind this bar in the French Quarter of New Orleans that I haven’t been this happy in a long time.
When the familiar ring from my phone comes from under the counter where I placed my backpack earlier, I freeze, staring at the wood like I have x-ray vision. Somehow, I know it’s Brant and now isn’t the time for that talk. But I also feel safer, here at the bar, feeling Shaw’s solid presence even in his absence.
Call me crazy. I know he’s an asshole, but I also feel like he wouldn't let anyone come in here and beat the shit out of his employees. Regardless of his surly behavior, he seems like the kind of guy who stands up for those who are weaker than him. Like Jeremy, and the other people he helps.
I’m also at work, which gives me a good out. I won’t be able to talk long. Impulsively, before I change my mind, I reach for my bag, unzip it and pull the phone out, just in time for it to stop ringing. Holding it in my hand, I stare at the screen again. This time, a voicemail notification pops up.
With slightly trembling hands, I press my thumb down hard on the screen and swipe to open the message.
“Avery,” Brant’s rough, thoroughly pissed voice comes through the phone, loud and clear, and it takes me back to eight days ago when I woke up on the hard floor of our apartment—my face bloodied and bruised. Instinctively, I touch the spot on my lip that just recently began to heal.
“Fucking call me,” he demands with a growl and I can picture his jaw tensed with his teeth clenched. “I’ve spoken to your mom and she said you’re not at home. If you’re there and she’s lying, I’m going to be so fucking pissed. You can’t just leave without a word. I’ll be in Honey Springs this weekend. I expect you to be there as well.” There’s a long pause and I can hear his labored breaths. “Don’t make me look like a fool.”
The last statement is laced with intention and ire. He’s always been good at threatening me without using words that would make him look like what he truly is—a bully, an abuser.
Don’t make me look like a fool sounds an awful lot like don’t make me hurt you...don’t make me slap you into submission. Now that I know what he’s capable of, and know he’s willing to cross that line, I can’t help it. All along, before he ever laid a hand on me, I think he wanted to. His words of belittlement and intimidation were meant to make me feel small. He wanted me to be scared of him so I would fall in line.
My good mood from being left to tend the bar slips away as I place the phone back in my backpack. I was ready to face him and get this over with, but it’ll have to wait. Right now, I’m afraid I’d crack. I need time to prepare myself. Tomorrow...I’ll call him tomorrow.