half full of margarita—and whipping it straight at her. Instead, though, she stayed very still and kept her voice low, each word slow and separate like nursery school: “Denny. Is. What?”
“No kidding,” Keith said.
“That’s what I said! Yeah, down at the end somewhere.” Colleen pointed.
Lena pushed herself up and forward to get a good view. No Denny. What she did see, however, sitting there on the last bar stool, chewing a swizzle stick, cross-legged and staring off like some poetry reading, was the new girl.
“Your idea of helping?” It was almost a real question, but if the new girl had a real answer, Lena wasn’t going to wait to hear it. She took the girl squarely by the shoulders, guided her off the bar stool, and steered her through the crowd—stopping only briefly to let her grab her purse and coat—then into the kitchen, around the cooks and prep tables, to the back door. All the while, Colleen followed behind, whimpering about giving the kid a break. If you listened to Colleen, nothing was ever anyone’s fault.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Lena told the girl, unlocking the door, “you’re welcome to come back. In fact, hey, here’s a deal, if you can drum up a bartender—or someone with the vaguest idea on how to wait tables—we’d be delighted to see you again. Delighted.” With that, she gave the girl a light shove out the door. It snapped shut behind her, whirling a few specks of snow into the hot kitchen air for an instant, like confetti.
2.
Denny rubbed his hands as the engine spat and sputtered. He flipped on the defrost. That was always the worst—the cold air before it turned, blasting at you. His left big toe was pinging, a constant high-pitched throb. The truck was an ’86 Ram on its way out. It took forever to warm up. He’d barely make it home before the second half. He’d have just enough time to pull off his boots, open a beer. Call Steph. Maybe she’d pick up this time.
He rolled through the radio stations, passing the halftime crap, finding nothing but commercials. Lately he’d been listening to the religious shows. They reminded him of growing up. The soapy ladies ranting about sin, going on and on. And the men with their even angry keel. Talking in command. Denny remembered that. He knew exactly how these guys sounded at the breakfast table: Pass that salt, son. They had permanent echoes in their throats.
Denny closed his eyes and lit a cigarette, cracked the window. He had a bag of weed in the glove box, but he needed a minute, even for that. After a shift everything turned jelly. The rum and Cokes had kicked in too, and for a moment Denny thought about falling asleep. Just leaning the seat back a bit . . .
The Bible Man was on. Luke Lanko. A woman was trying to argue the biblical significance of vegetarianism. Ol’ Luke was pissed. He got pissed at stupid questions. You have it all wrong, he boomed. The next caller knew better. Bless you, Luke, I have your books.
By the time Denny saw the new girl it was too late.
Or it was almost too late: if he really tried, he could leave. If he was fast about it. There she was, though, coming at him, red-faced and breathing clouds, her dark hair flopping in her eyes. Now, he thought. If he gunned it, he could scoot around her and make a straight shot of it.
“Denny?!” She slapped an open palm on his window.
He rolled it down.
“Oh. Good. Wow. Hi, it’s you,” the girl said, out of breath. “You’re still here.”
He snapped off the radio, ground out his cigarette. Unlocked the passenger-side door. “Get in,” he said.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I have a car.” She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. It made a squishing noise and she sniffed.
“Get in, will you?”
She hesitated but ran around and did, then almost fell back out closing the door. “Yikes. Cold,” she said, wriggling to show it. Thirty degrees out and she was wearing shorts. Denny watched her fasten her seatbelt.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
“Oops! Sorry. Habit. Hey, um, it’s really busy in there. Do you think—”
“Nope.”
“But if—”
“Nope.” He imagined what they’d told her inside: No matter what he says, make him come in. He’ll come in. He always comes in.
“I don’t think it would be for long, Denny, honestly. The bartender will be back soon, anyway. I mean, right?”
“Not if she’s smart.”
She waited. Rubbed her nose. Went at it with a knuckle, made that wet sound. “So . . . okay?”
He shrugged, grabbed another cigarette, thought about lighting it. Thought about going home to his new apartment. Steph had quit answering his calls weeks ago. She let them ring and ring until the machine would come on, and for a while there, before she changed the outgoing message, Denny was hearing his own voice coming back at him. The dog yapping in the background, some snippet of TV. An afternoon. Sometimes he called just so she’d see his name pop up on the caller ID. Other times he punched in the code to make it read unavailable, but mostly he just let it pop up. Either way, he didn’t get her.
“Listen, Denny, Lena—” The new girl stopped herself and took a breath, like here was a place for courage. “I think they’re having some sort of crisis in there. I think we should go in. Now. Seriously.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Lena—”
“That’s really sick.”
“What?”
“That thing you do. With your nose.”
She froze. He could make her cry if he wanted to.
They were all the same, the girls Bill hired. She was just like the rest of them, guessing when to laugh, apologizing like crazy, complimenting shit for no reason. Oh those are cool straws. She’d ask for a ton of shifts and then a few months’d go by and she’d have finals or papers or something and she’d be freaking out, expecting time off. Expecting everyone to cover for her. Colleen’s fourteen-year-old had more sense than this girl.
He stuck the unlit cigarette behind his ear and fished around on the seat beneath him for his pack of rolling papers. “You smoke?”
“No.” She paused. “Sometimes, when I feel like it. I like Marlboros.”
“I mean weed.” He held up the papers, like Exhibit A, then reached across her legs and got the ziplock out of the glove compartment.
“Oh sure. I’ve tried that too.” She rubbed her thigh where he’d brushed it. “I think we should be getting in, though. Seriously. It’s my first day and all.”
“Relax, will you?” He had to give her credit, she was persistent. “So you’re a student, huh.”
“Graduated.”
