The Salvation Shark, Chapter 42

Jesse

I’m at work, making up a re-order list in the freezer when Kevin yells, “Jess! You got someone to see you!” He normally swears. I didn't work here when Kevin's brother owned the place, but the cook says nobody gave a shit about nothing. Then Kevin's brother had to move down south to avoid going up the river. Technically, Kevin is only the manager, but from what I understand, the brother doesn't have any immediate plans to return.

The kitchen doesn't open until four, so only Kevin's "friends" come by in the afternoon. They walk past me without looking to spend ten minutes in Kevin's office with the door closed. Today, a few hardcore drunks came in early. They're in their usual seats at the other end of the bar by the cigarette machine. Kevin lets them smoke before three. Tammy is probably middle-aged, but drinking has added 20 years. Chris is a tow-truck operator that left his glory back on the football field in high school. Bill is as old as Tammy looks, the type of drunk that grows on trees around here. Eva is at the other end, holding onto her water glass for dear life.

"Hey, put those out," I say, taking Bill's cigarette and stubbing it in the ash tray.

"Oh, sorry," Chris says, and he and Tammy follow suit.

"That's illegal in New York," I say and walk down to Eva. "How may I help you, miss?"

She smiles nervously, says “Hi.”

“Good to see you,” I say. What the hell is she doing here? How the hell does she even remember me, let alone where I mentioned I worked?

There is an extended, awkward silence, and finally, she says, “I... um... I... I just wanted to... To apologize for last night.” Apologize? Her eyes are still having a hard time finding mine. She is almost doubled over on that bar stool, her hands clenched together in front of her like she is praying.

“It’s okay,” I mumble. “You don’t... You don’t have to, I should be apologizing.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head emphatically. “I... I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.” She looks at my face for a moment and looks way again. “What I did last night... I don’t normally do that kind of thing... I’ve never done that kind of thing before. I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of... some kind of slut, or something.”

I can read lips. She fucked up. There is no way I'm in this girl's league, and I should have been stupid to think I even had a chance. "Yeah, you're right," I say. I spent all morning reliving the events, but staying behind in my mind. We had breakfast. We cleaned up. We fucked again. It was great. "We screwed up."

She looks up at me, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

You're not good enough for me? Fuck you! You have no idea who I am! "I've got a girlfriend.” She is totally thunderstruck. It’s almost vindicating after what she put me through, coming here like this. “I was really drunk last night too, and I don’t want Courtney to ever find out about it. I feel like shit for doing this to you, for doing this to her. I’m so sorry.”

She looks into my eyes for the first elongated period. The horror, the sadness, the weakness, the humiliation. She came here to tell me something else, and I didn’t even let her get it out of her mouth. I’m smiling on the inside.

“I... I have to go, Jesse... I’m sorry,” she says, getting up and practically running out of the bar.

The bar-flies don’t even notice her going. I hate the three of them more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my life right now. They are always here, always talking to me, always trying to weasel a free drink out of me. I wish I could kill them with a look, just crush them under the weight of my loathing. Tammy is carrying on about a Tigger volleyball, and her voice is piercing my brain like a knife. I want to scream at her to shut her fucking mouth.

Kevin comes out from the back and looks at me still leaning on the bar. “You going to get to work?” he asks.

“You wait on that fucking trash,” I growl.

“Haven’t you been sent home enough?” He doesn't wait for me to answer.

The old hag yells about how she did well in gym class. She had to be on that bar stool before I was born. Chris and Bill are staring intently, like she has something interesting to say. I hope I'm dead before squeaking a pity-fuck from a creature like that looks like a better option. “I got an ‘A’ in reading class!” she bellows. “You can tell by how good I talk!”

I shamble down to that end of the bar. They all look at me like they are going to order. “Hey,” I whisper. “We don’t serve trash like you, so why don’t you get the fuck out?”

They look at me with so much shock on their faces that I almost burst out laughing. “Well I never!” Tammy cries.

Chris puffs up. He has some muscle on him, but also has a tired look in his eyes and a giant beer-gut. He doesn't pose a threat to anyone but his wife. “Look,” he says, slapping his meaty hands on the bar. “You don’t know who I am...”

“If you don't get out, I'm going to kick the window out of your trailers," I say. "Go."

Bill is the first to leave, followed almost immediately by Chris, looking back at me like he’s deciding whether or not he wants to come over the bar at me.

“How dare you...” Tammy snarls, still hesitating.

“Shhh,” I say, waving at her. “I just wanted them to leave, so we could be alone.” I’m all smiles now. “Can I get you a beer, on the house, of course?”

Tammy's pint is empty. Tammy smiles. "Well I ain't going to turn down a drink on the house."

I fill a pint for her. “So, how are you?” I ask. Before she can answer, I splash the glass in her face. She is crying as she runs out.

“Jesse!” Kevin calls from the back room. “What’s going on out there?”

“Nothing!” I yell back. “Someone just spilled their beer!”

“Clean it up,” he orders.

“Fuck off,” I mutter.

The mop is in the closet behind the freezer. The bucket is already filled with rancid black water. I pour in more floor cleaner and mix a little hot water to kill the odor. I feel sick to my stomach. Eva didn't come to tell me she made a mistake, she came to say she was happy! I'm the one who fucked up, not her.

I’ve hurt a lot of people in my time. At first, it was agonizing, it was against every fiber of my being. Over the years, as apathy slid in, it hurt so much less. It was like my conscience was burned away by hours of cathode radiation. History and religion taught me to care about people, life taught me not to bother. In fantasy, good deeds were rewarded. The good guys got respect and were happy. A good Samaritan makes a good target. It was easy to stop being nice to people. Why help people when they dive head first back into trouble? Why leave the house? There is only people that want a piece of you. Just turn on the television and sit back. Have a drink, smoke some weed, and forget about everything outside the front door.

Why should I feel any different now? It’s not like I could tell Eva the truth about me, could I? I haven’t told anyone about me in years. I learned that lesson really fast. I still think it’s all true, the things in my head, the things I’ve been told, it’s not like I’m crazy. People don’t want to believe the truth about me, though, so I can’t tell them the truth.

I only wanted to sleep with her, nothing more. It’s not like she’s the first, and who knows if she will be the last. She wasn’t the best, who I suppose would be Courtney, or else I wouldn’t go crawling back to her all the time, but Eva was fairly high on the list. Why should it mean so much to her? It was just a drunk hook-up, it was meaningless!

“How long does it take you to mop up spilled beer?” Kevin shouts, coming out of the back room with his reorder clipboard. Every two or three days, he wanders around the bar for twenty minutes so he can say he works. As far as I know, he doesn't count anything, and the cook calls in our orders as we run out. "My god, man, I've been watching you swish that mop back and forth for fifteen minutes. That spot is cleaner than it's been in years, mop something else." Kevin reads something on the clipboard and shakes his head when I'm still standing there. Kevin sighs. “Come on, Jess, get on the ball here!” He hands me the clipboard. “I’m going for lunch, you want to finish this up?”

"How long will you be gone?" I ask.

Kevin shrugs. "An hour."

“An hour?” I say, raising my voice. "You just got here!" He never makes it back in an hour. I'll be stuck here until the night bartender gets here.

“Yeah, Jess,” he snaps. “An hour. Do you have a problem with that? If I thought for a second that I could get you to work open to close, I wouldn’t care how long of a lunch you take either. Since I’m going to be here until at least midnight, I think I’m entitled.” Some nights he doesn't come back until midnight, but he's not about to let anyone else count the money.

“Whatever,” I grumble. “Do you want, it’s not like I can stop you.” I turn away from him and continue to mop.

He says nothing for about ten seconds, his eyes boring into the back of my head like drills. “You’re lucky Chrissy's out of town, or you'd be gone! I’m really getting sick of the attitude, Jess. I spend day and night sweatin' over ways to keep this place turning a profit. If your mouth don't learn to be quiet really fast you and I are gonna have some real problems, pal.”

I continue mopping without looking at him. “Whatever.”

He waits a few seconds before he repeats, "Yeah, whatever," and stomps to the door. I glance over while he waits in the door so he can slam it and stomp to the car. The dude drives a cherry-red Alpha Romeo. He didn't buy that agonizing over the profits of Myer Road Bar & Grill. I call Pete from the rotary phone under the bar.

He picks up after five rings. Pete only has a landline, but he's usually home. Now that he has cable Internet you can always reach Pete if you are willing to wait on the line. People who call him are drug users and abusers. They want what he has to offer, and if he isn’t there the first time they call, they will call again, usually every half hour until he answers. If they don’t, someone else will. “What’s up?” he asks, sounding like he has a mouthful of chips.

“Hey," I say, trying to decide if I hear another person with him. "You home?" Courtney wouldn't be caught dead at Pete's filthy house.

“Yeah, waiting on some kid stocking up for a party."

“We invited?” I ask.

“Could be. He wants to meet up with Phil, but he don't stick around long." Pete shoves another handful of chips in his mouth. "Did I tell you how sticky Phil's been? This kid is some spoiled little waistoid. His mom'd probably buy for him if he asked. Could be lucratious in the future. I'll let you know if we're going to this party. You need something, man?”

I laugh and scratch my head. “I was wondering if you had that Eva chick's number?”

"Aw, man I can't give that kind of thing out. You know that." I try pleading while he chomps down another mouthful of what sounds thick enough to be corn chips, probably stale. Pete is far more interested in the chips than anything I have to say. "No, man, I already had to tell her where you worked to keep from giving your number to her. I am completely trustworthy with that kind of information. You guys playing tag, or something?”

"She got it from you?”

“Crazy chick came to my apartment and said she would eat all the strawberries in the fridge if I didn't give her your cell."

"My cell phone is dead," I say. "Why wouldn't I want her to have your number?"

"I'm telling you, man, my Mom bought me those strawberries. I was saving them for something special," Pete says around another mouthful of chips. "Just tell her your phone is dead. She won't come hanging around the bar all the time. She'll go away."

“Pete, I want her to have my number. She was here, but I missed her. She didn’t leave a number where I could reach her. Give it to her if she calls you. Even if she doesn't ask for it.”

“She was there?" I can hear him rummaging through drawers and flipping through papers. “Were Chris and Bill there?"

"Tammy too."

Pete laughs. "One of those assholes probably said something to offend her. Here it is.”

I jot down the number on a bar napkin and get off the phone. I stare at the napkin a long time before I finally pick up the phone and dial. I get her voice mail. “Hey, Eva, this is Jesse Black. I’m... I'm a friggin' retard, and I was hoping you'd let me take some of that back, you know, maybe a little rewind. Um... yeah. Uh... sorry? You can call me back at this number. It's the bar, I'll be here until seven." The phone rings a minute later. I'm still leaning over it, rephrasing what I should have said in my head. “Myer Road Bar and Grill,” I say in a monotone.

“Jess? It’s Eva,” she says. Did she have time to call me back, or has she not heard my message?

“Yeah,” I say, banging some glasses together. “The uh... The bar is really busy right now, and I... I just got off break. I just... I'm just... I don't know what I'm doing, Eva. I really... I'm really... I made a mistake. I wanted to take some of it back."

"Courtney found out?"

"There is no Courtney," I say. "I made up the name, she doesn't exist, I was just kind of freaked out."

"Freaked out about what?"

"I didn't think you liked me," I say. "I thought you were coming here to brush me off. I made her up so I didn't like completely pathetic. I didn't realize what I'd even screwed up until after you left. Look, my boss is giving me the 'time's-up' sign, do you think we could meet up when I'm done and pretend none of that happened." I cover the phone and yell, "I'll be right there!"

"I don't know..."

"Please? Pretty please? Extra pretty please."

"It's a little weird."

"How many extras will you need. Have a beer with me. Reserve all opinions about me until after the first drink, and I will make it worth your while."

I can't believe that actually works.

Go to Chapter 43