policy.
Katie presses the check presenter into my chest.
“Just be careful, okay?”
“If by ‘careful’, you mean ‘no nookie in the parking lot’, I think I can do that.”
She groans and walks away, remembering to toss up a middle finger at me over her shoulder.
I laugh and open the check presenter.
Emily has left all the change, which comes out to about a fifty-dollar tip on a thirty-five-dollar tab. I toss the cash into the tip jar to split with Katie. The receipt is what I’m after, and I’m not disappointed.
Written on the receipt with the pen I provided is a message: “Seaside Motel. Room 37. Don’t keep me waiting. You promised.”
Tucking the slip of paper into my wallet, I glance up to see Katie shaking her head at me in disgust.
I make the sign of the cross and press my hands together, as if begging for forgiveness.
She gives me one last shake of her head and goes back to cleaning bottles.
It’s five past midnight. I’m wiping down the bar while Katie enters her credit card tips into the register. We’ve stopped serving and the few remaining customers are finishing up their drinks. The music has been turned off and the lights are turned up, which is the universal sign for everyone to get out.
Alex emerges from the office.
“Okay, who is leaving first?”
Katie raises her hand. “That would be me.”
Alex pops open Katie’s register and runs her sales report.
They disappear into the office to do her checkout. A few minutes later, she reappears, holding her check presenter and counting her credit card tips. She tips out Tommy, our barback, who is mopping the floor, and comes to sit at the bar.
“You want to hand me the tip bucket?” she asks, settling onto a barstool.
Instead of handing it to her, I extract the cash from the bucket and lay the bills on the bar in front of her.
“Keep it. It’s yours.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I still owe you.” I tip the bucket over in my hand. A mass of coins slides into my palm and I deposit it into my pocket. “I’ll keep the change.”
I really do owe her and I’ll still get my credit card tips for tonight. Besides, I love taking the change. I keep it in a jar on my dresser. Every month or so, I’ll cash it in. It’s usually a couple hundred bucks and I treat it like that ten-dollar bill you find in your jacket pocket at the beginning of autumn. I’ll go out for a steak dinner or take a day trip to Napa.
“Thanks,” she says, placing the bills in her personal check presenter, which is already stuffed with slips of paper.
“How many numbers you stack?” I ask.
We each have our own check presenter where we keep our change, credit card receipts, cash, order pad. A bartender never wants to leave their check presenter behind. It’s also where we keep the phone numbers customers give us. Katie and I have our own little rivalry. We call it “Stacking Numbers”. At the end of the night, we’ll see who got more phone numbers. It’s always Katie, to the point that I have a “ten-phone-number” handicap.
“You don’t want to know,” she replies, confidently.
“I would like to know who you’re having dirty sex time with tonight.”
She tuts her tongue at me and takes my hand. “Oh, Clay. Are you jealous?”
“Hey, don’t worry about me. I’m having my fun.”
“Yeah,” she says, sadly. “But it’s not with me, is it?”
I snatch my hand away. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” She laughs and gives me a knowing wink.
“Then get out of here before I do.”
She hops off the stool and heads for the door. “Good night, Tommy!”
“Good night, Katie!” he replies, bent over the mop.
“Good night, Clay!”
“Good night, Worst Person in the World!”
She stops in the door, turns, and blows me a kiss. I grudgingly return the gesture. She “catches” it, slaps it on her backside, and heads out into the street.
“You two are a walking lawsuit.”
I spin around to see Alex standing at the end of the bar.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go,” he says, popping my drawer and running the sales report.
I grab the drawer and follow him into the office.
Alex sits at his computer, working on the inventory while I count my drawer.
I quickly make sure that the amount in the drawer is the same as when I started, minus my sales and credit card tips.
“I’m dropping four-hundred-twelve dollars and sixty-two cents and my credit card tips are two-seventy-four-eighty,” I announce and hold the drawer out to Alex.
“Give me a sec,” he says, slowly pecking away on the keyboard.
I keep the drawer right where it is, hovering near his face, and don’t say a word.
Unable to ignore it any longer, he looks at me. “You got somewhere to be?”
“Maybe. And she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
He snatches the drawer. “I don’t want to know.”
He double checks my figures and counts the money.
“Perfect, as always,” he says, signing my drop slip. “Get out of here and do whatever it is you need to do.”
I pop out of my chair and head for the door. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist getting one last dig before I go.
“I’ll tell her you said ‘hi’.”
He jams his fingers into his ears. “La-la-la-la-can’t-hear-you-la-la-la-don’t-want-to-know-la-la-la.”
“Have a good night!” I shout as I exit the office.
A couple minutes later, I’m driving past the gazebo in the town square, which is festooned with lights, as I head towards to the ocean. I’m already anticipating the sex that is mere minutes away.
Emily
