Mona leans backward subtly, pushing me with her shoulder toward the door.
“She’s coming in here with me, or I quit!” she announces loudly.
Before he can say anything, she’s got me through the door and into the dark, smelly interior of the bar. In a hurry, she tugs me back toward the kitchen and bathroom area. I try to keep up, practically stumbling over the legs of barstools as my eyes slowly adjust.
“Mona, just let me go home! I didn’t even really want to be here!”
Flinging open the door to the kitchen, she guides me through stainless-steel countertops and grills. The lone cook gives me a startled glance, then turns back to the sad burgers frying among the caramelized onions.
Overhead fluorescent lights flicker as she drags me to a small cubby at the back. Cigarette smoke drifts in through the six-inch opening at the back door, which is propped open with a cinderblock. Mona dumps her handbag on a pile of handbags in the corner underneath a stained commercial sink.
“Just leave your stuff there,” she huffs. “Nobody will bother it.”
“Mona, are you listening to me? I would rather just walk home, okay? He doesn’t want me here, and I can still make it to Krazy Mart for a shift.”
“What are you talking about?” she sniffs dismissively. “You’re here, Libby. You’re hired. Just leave your bag here and let’s get on the floor so I can show you what’s up and get you started.”
Confused, I drop my bag on the
pile like she told me.
“What are you talking about? He said he wouldn’t hire me. You heard him.”
“Oh, fuck that guy,” she rolls her eyes. “Ty says a lot of things he doesn’t mean. He is so high, he probably doesn’t even remember what just happened. You can’t believe a word he says.”
“Wait, what? He’s high? Then why were we… I don’t get it!”
She shrugs, scratching the back of her arm absentmindedly as she squints at a plastic cup full of lip glosses in various shades. After a moment, I realize that this area of the kitchen seems to almost be like a dressing room. There are dusty pots of makeup and mascara tubes with dried black globs of goo caking the sides.
That cannot be sanitary, is what I am thinking.
“There is nothing for you to get,” she sniffs, holding out a purple tube of lip gloss to me. “Put this on. I think this shade will look good with your hair.”
I take the lip gloss in my fingertips, noting how sticky the scuffed fake metal cap is.
“You want me to put this on my face? On my actual lips?”
“Jesus, it’s not poison, Libby! It’s lip gloss! They put stuff in it to make it… you know. Antibacterial and stuff.”
“Yeah, they definitely do not do that.”
Turning to face me fully, she cocks her head to the side and raises her eyebrows accusingly. I realize that I am at the very outer edge of her patience.
“Okay, Liberty Jane, I am just trying to help you, all right? You’re here, you’re going to serve beer, and I will make sure that Ty keeps his filthy paws off you so that you can earn some money for your future, got it?”
“Um, yeah, okay,” I mutter, figuring that she’s not really up for a solid argument right now.
“That’s more like it!” she snaps. “You know, a little gratitude wouldn’t hurt you every once in a while!”
“Yeah, okay,” I wince, wondering why she is being so mean all of a sudden.
She raises her eyebrows at me imperiously. Then pauses. Then waits.
“I mean… thank you?” I offer meekly.
Her shoulders finally relax and she takes a deep breath. “There. That’s all I wanted,” she grumbles. “And you’re welcome. Now, let’s get you out there and do some quick training. It’s not brain surgery or anything. I am sure you can handle it.”
It’s only been a few minutes, but apparently this is the time of night when the crowd really starts to roll in. The bar is darker, but now there is some kind of light show going on. The music is turned up. I keep an eye on Mona’s sultry back as she expertly navigates through tables, chairs, and customers. She doesn’t pay any attention to them, but they all turn as she walks by, looking her over with unhidden delight. It looks like everybody here already knows her.