“Then who was that despicable man in the grocery store?”
I just barely managed to keep my eyes from rolling at that. And I swear the effort gave me an instantaneous headache.
“A customer at my job,” I told him honestly.
“And he remembered you?” Frederick asked, dubious. “Seems unlikely.”
“Plenty of patrons remember their bartenders, waiters, or other service providers,” I shot back, shrugging.
“He knew your name.”
“He did,” I agreed.
“And he threatened me.”
“I recall.”
I found that the less you spoke, the less rope you gave someone to attempt to hang you with.
“That’s the kind of company you keep?”
“I have no choice in the types of people I deal with at my job.”
“I feel I might need to inform Edmund of this incident.”
“What incident?” my father asked from behind me, making both Frederick and I jump, not expecting him.
I had to get ahead of this.
“The last time I went grocery shopping, a patron from my job approached me because he thought Frederick was bothering me,” I told him truthfully.
“He was an unsavory sort of character.”
To that, my father surprised me by saying, “That does tend to be true of the patrons of dive bars.” It wasn’t even what he said, but how he said it. Like it was just a known fact, like it was no big deal. “Is that the whole ‘incident’?” he asked.
“The customer threatened Frederick,” I admitted.
“With violence,” Frederick clarified, as if there was any other threat he could have made.
My father looked between the two of us, brows pinched, trying to make sense of why this was an incident he really even needed to know about.
“Is that all?”
“That is quite enough,” Frederick insisted.
“While I do wish Theodora wouldn’t associate with rough characters, she can not exactly control what practical strangers do and say in public spaces. No harm was done, correct?”
“Correct,” I responded before Frederick could get another snide comment in.
“Okay then. I have been informed. Frederick, don’t you have a meeting right about… now?” my father asked, glancing at the clock on the stove.
“Oh, right. Right. Well, they will wait for me,” Frederick said, shuffling toward the door. “I’ll be back later,” he added. “To check on you,” he finished.
After the door was closed, my father let out a small chuckle.
“What?”
“I know I was born privileged, but I pray I never sound quite as pompous as Frederick does sometimes.”
“Don’t worry, I would tell you if you were,” I told him.
“Good kid. Keeping your old man humble. So was that really it?” he asked, going to the coffee machine again. “With the so-called unsavory character?”
“Yes. And in his defense, Frederick looked like he was blocking my way.” Because he was. “He genuinely thought I was being harassed. You know, it doesn’t look good. Older man, younger woman, that sort of thing.”
“Fair enough. So what was he? A mechanic? Frederick believes anyone with dirt under their fingernails is unsavory.”
“Actually, he was an outlaw biker,” I told him honestly.
To that, a smile tugged then broke free across my father’s face.
“Please tell me Frederick knew that fact.”
“I mean, he had a biker cut on with the one-percenter badge, but I somehow doubt Frederick knows what that means.”
“Do I want to know how you do?”
“I grew up in biker bars,” I said, shrugging. “And mob bars. And strip clubs. All sorts of unsavory characters around.”
To that, my father’s face darkened for a moment before he slipped his disinterested, rich-guy mask on.
“Why do you insist on working at that bar?” he asked.
“Because I believe in working for a living,” I said, shrugging.
“You work nearly every night of the week. And then you come here during the day. You don’t need to do that.”
My empty cabinets and fridge said otherwise. But this was the agreement I’d insisted upon. I couldn’t bitch about it.
“I’m used to being busy,” I told him. “And with so much being different, it’s nice for one thing to be old and familiar.”
“Tell me there are at least a few savory characters who frequent the place.”
“I’m sure some of them are your average blue-collar folks.”
“But?”
“But the cartel guys tip the best,” I told him with a smirk as I put down my mug and gathered my folders.
“You’re giving me gray hairs, kid,” he said, shaking his head.
“I hate to break this to you, old man, but those were gray before I got here,” I told him, making my way toward the front of the house where I would prop myself up in the living room to study.
He would go back into his office.
But not for long.
He always started his days strong, but he went too hard, and he started to fade fast in the early afternoon.
I stayed around to help him with tasks until it was time for me to head out to the bar for my shift.
Then the night nurse would take over.