“Play Creep,” someone yells. I normally don’t take requests, but tonight I make an exception and start the riff to Radiohead’s song. It’s actually one of my favorites to play and am happy someone asked for it.
As my set continues, I find myself watching the waitress. She intrigues me. She doesn’t look flustered, but I can see that she’s struggling. This crowd is a bit rowdier than Piano Man or Poet’s, the people a little more demanding and probably a bit drunker. Yet, she looks determined to hold her own.
I sing three more songs before I take my bo
w and Zeke comes on to remind everyone that we’re all struggling artists, blah blah blah, and people rush to the stage. A few ask for my autograph, but I pretend not to hear them. Zeke doesn’t encourage fraternization among the talent and patrons. I sort of like his rule.
I’m storing my guitar when the waitress comes up to me. I was right, she’s frazzled and has beads of sweat resting on her forehead.
She hands me a beer. “Zeke said you’d want this.”
“Thanks.” I set the beer down on the floor and continue putting my stuff in my carrying case.
“I think I know your sister,” she says with a slight southern drawl.
“Doubtful and he’s not interested.” Elle butts her way in front of the waitress, effectively pushing her out of the way. She stumbles but rights herself quickly.
“That was rude,” I tell her as soon as we’re backstage. Zeke meets me there and hands me my bucket, which I almost forgot.
“She doesn’t know me or Peyton. She’s just saying it, so you’ll give her attention.”
“Hi, Mom.” I lean forward and kiss my mom on the cheek.
“You were the best.”
“Thanks, but you’re biased.”
“No, I’m not. Oh, but I do feel sorry for the young girl who did the poetry. I want to help her.”
I run my hand over my beanie while looking around for her, finally shaking my head. “She won’t take your help. I’ve tried, but she says she’ll make it on her own. In fact, those are the only words she’s really ever spoken to me.”
“But—”
I hold my hand up. “I put a Ben in there. I do it every week.”
My mom gives me another kiss on the cheek and tells me how proud she is of me, while Elle puts her arm around my waist. I glance over her shoulder and spot the waitress, who is watching everything unfold, looking dejected, which just adds to my earlier thoughts that, like the others, she won’t be sticking around for long.
8
Eleanora
The money I earned in tips tonight is piled by denomination on my bed. If I were a cartoon character, my eyes would bug out right about now. It’s no surprise the ones have the most in their pile. Actually, it’s a huge surprise. I had never waited on a table before and tonight was trial by fire.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I pull my earnings together in a stack and start counting. The bigger bills are from the credit card transactions, and I noticed rather quickly that people tip more when they’re using a card, or they’ve had three or more drinks.
It’s two in the morning and I’m wide awake. I hear Kellie come in, trying to be as quiet as possible. She knocks on my door. “Eleanora, are you awake?”
“I am.”
She enters, and her mouth drops open. “What did you do?” she asks. I wave the wad of cash and smile. “Don’t tell me you were so desperate you decided to Pretty Woman yourself?”
I gasp and it’s not the good kind, the one that comes with the perfect kiss or most amazing present. The one comes with utter shock and disbelief that my friend thinks I’d sell my body after being here for a few days.
“Um, no. I worked a night at this place called the Bean Song. They’re hiring and gave me a test run.”
Kellie rushes toward me, tackling me in a sumo hug. “You scared the daylights out of me,” she says as she rights herself. I look at my hand, still clutching my tips and laugh. Not even an assault like that would make me let go. I worked hard for this.
“I would never,” I tell her. “I’m here on vacation. I didn’t come here to find a dream or make a life, ya know. I have to go home eventually.”