All of these thoughts swirled through my mind as I entered the Shamrock and slung my backpack onto my coat hook in the back room. Taking a deep breath, I pulled my hair back into my work ponytail while knotting the Shamrock t-shirt near my left hip. It had taken me a while to catch on, but the tighter I made my shirt, the bigger the tips I got. I don't care what my feminist classmates might say; sex sells.
The bar was still pretty quiet when I clocked in, with a few folks enjoying early dinners. The Shamrock is a pub in the true Irish sense, so it had a chef in the back, a guy named Juan who turned out pretty good fish and chips, in my opinion. That an Irish pub had a Hispanic guy working the kitchen was just good irony. "How's the chips tonight, Juan?"
"Hola Sophie," he said. "You look down. You okay?"
"No buena," I said in reply. "But don't worry about it, I'll get through it all."
"Cool. Well, you know it's Saturday, so be on your toes."
"Comprende," I replied, going out behind the bar. The afternoon bartender, a nice older guy named Liam who was also the co-owner of the Shamrock along with his brother, gave me a smile and a nod before drawing a beer for a customer.
* * *
I was soon caught up in my work. After Liam got off, I was the main bartender, working with two others who shuttled beer and food out to the fifteen tables that dotted the area. About seven o'clock I was drawing a beer when I heard someone call out my name. "Hey, barkeeper?"
"Just a minute," I said, finishing off the pint of Guinness and drawing another of Kilkenny Red. I set the two pints on a tray and rang for Dave, the waiter working that table, for service. Wiping my hands on the towel I kept near my waist, I turned towards the voice. "What can I get you?"
The customer was one whose face I'd seen pretty often over the past three weeks. She was Asian, although I couldn't really tell you which origin. She'd been coming in almost every shift I was on, and I'd placed her as a new office worker in the area. She always wore a business suit, and she spoke with a bit of a British accent. I'd assumed she was a transfer from an overseas office, Royal Bank of Scotland had a regional office nearby. "I'll take a Porterhouse Oyster Stout, if you have them tonight," the woman asked, "I'm knackered."
"Good choice," I replied, grabbing a bottle from the cooler chest and popping the top. "Bottle or glass?"
"I'll take a glass if you don't mind," the woman replied. I poured carefully, making sure to get just the right amount of head, and set it along with the rest of the bottle in front of her. "Thanks. By the way, I'm Becky. Been seeing you around a lot lately."
"Sophie," I replied with a professional smile. "Well, my school work is wrapping up, and I haven't gotten any bites back on my resume yet. So, I asked and they let me pick up a few extra shifts."
"Well, it's good to have you around. The guy before you keeps giving me the horny eyeball, if you know what I mean. But you don't look yourself tonight. Everything okay?"
"Ah, not too bad. I had a bit of a falling out with a guy I've been seeing this morning."
Becky took a sip of her glass and sighed. "I know what you mean. What caused it? Caught him in bed with another woman? Text messages?"
I shook my head and chuckled. "Nothing so dramatic. Just.... he's got a secret side to him that he won't let me into."
"I understand. I've lost a few boyfriends to that myself. The last one turned out to not trust me when I told him that yes, I really was working late and no, I couldn't tell him. After all, if what I knew got out to the wrong people, the NASDAQ takes a hit and the SEC is knocking on my door."
"I know, I'd thought of that, but I met a few of his coworkers today. And let's just say they weren't very nice guys."
Our conversation continued on and off for the next hour, as I got called away to fill orders. Still, each time I ended up drifting back down the bar to where Becky was sitting, and we just kept talking. As we did, I just felt comfortable sharing with her everything I was worried about between Mark and I. His handsomeness, our economic differences, even our difference in education. Finally, Becky set down her glass after finishing off her second stout, and looked levelly at me. "You mind if I ask a blunt question?"
"Go ahead," I said, keeping my eyes on the bar. A guy down on the end gestured, and I got him a pint of Harp Lager before coming back. "Might want to hurry, though. The place is getting busy, and the band starts up in twenty minutes. Once they do, you won't be able to hear a damn thing most of the time."
"Sure. Listen, this man, is he a good man? Not the secrets, not the money, none of that other shite, but is he a good man?"
I didn't even need to think about my answer. "Yes. One of the best men I've ever known."
Becky smiled and drained her glass. "Then I think you know what you should do next. Listen, I gotta go, I love the beer here but I hate the band. I'll see you around." She handed me her glass and bottle, and by the time I got back she was gone, with a fifty dollar tip tucked under her coaster along with a note. "I kept you from enough customers, you deserve it. Call him. -B"
I tucked the note into my pocket, stuck the fifty in the tip jar I shared with the other staff, and called out to the waiter on the floor. "Dave! Take the bar for five minutes, I need to step out."
Chapter 14
Mark