might work.
Tom gave her a long look when she came in, then shrugged, leaning over the end of the bar where she stood out of everybody’s way. “Ready to go?”
“I guess so. What do I do?”
He shrugged. “It’s pretty straight. Take the orders. Bring them to me or Harry. Pick up the drinks. Take them back to the table. Get the money.”
Deirdre blinked at him. “What do I do with the money?”
He gave her a look that made her feel like a moron. Correction, more like a moron. “Bring it to me. Here. When you get a break.” He turned back to open the cash register, reaching inside. “Here’s a stack of ten singles to start with. For change—put it in your pocket. Keep your tips in your other pocket so they don’t get confused.”
She nodded, folding the money into the pocket of her khakis, then turned back to the room. Just men. Nothing to be nervous about here. Just men. She stiffened her spine and walked to the first table. “What can I get for you gentlemen?”
One of the men glanced at her, cupping a hand over his ear. “What?”
“What do you want to drink?” Deirdre felt like she was bellowing, but the rest of the table hadn’t even turned her way yet.
“Hey,” the first man called to his friends. “Doofus. What are you drinking?”
Two other heads swiveled back.
“What can I get for you?” Deirdre shouted.
“Shiner. Three drafts,” the first man bawled out.
Deirdre turned on her heel and headed back to the bar. “Shiner. Three drafts,” she yelled at Harry.
He poured them in record time, sliding them across the bar. Deirdre stared at them dumbly. She had no idea how she was supposed to pick them up.
“On the tray,” Tom explained. He pushed the three steins together so that the handles formed a circle, then lifted them onto a metal tray. “If you get more than three or four, call Chico to help you.”
Deirdre grabbed the tray and hoisted it to her shoulder—it was a lot heavier than it looked. She staggered back across the room, then plunked the steins into the middle of the table.
The three men looked up at her. One of them gave his buddy a quick grin. “I can’t reach it, honey,” he bawled. “Push it a little closer.”
Deirdre frowned. He wouldn’t have much trouble if he just leaned forward. Still, she was supposed to do her best even if this was a transparent attempt to look down the front of her shirt. Not that the front of her golf shirt was all that enticing . She leaned down slightly and shoved the beer in his direction.
The man’s grin widened and then stopped abruptly. Deirdre had a sudden sense of someone at her side and looked up to find Chico glaring at the table.
The men looked away from her as the song ended on the jukebox. “That’ll be six dollars,” Deirdre said quickly in the relative silence.
The first man handed her a ten. Deirdre started to reach into her pocket, but he shook his head after glancing at Chico. “Keep it.”
“Thanks.” Deirdre moved on to the next table, vaguely aware of Chico in the background. She was glad he’d come over, but she needed to look out for herself if she was going to do this.
She went back to the bar to give Tom the ten, then pocketed the tip. Another table gestured at her, trying to get her attention. She had a feeling others were beginning to turn her way. Oh well. The more tips you get, the closer you are to getting your shop.
She pasted a smile on her face and headed for the next group of drinkers.
Tom watched his newest barmaid square her shoulders as if she were heading into battle. In a way, of course, she was. A battle against the assholes of the world. Unfortunately, it was a battle she wouldn’t win, but then neither would anybody else.
Deirdre Brandenburg could eventually work out well, assuming that she got the hang of the job. Right now she looked at little like a refugee from prep school who’d stumbled into the bar by accident. He sighed. While she was dressed like that, most of
Tom gave her a long look when she came in, then shrugged, leaning over the end of the bar where she stood out of everybody’s way. “Ready to go?”
“I guess so. What do I do?”
He shrugged. “It’s pretty straight. Take the orders. Bring them to me or Harry. Pick up the drinks. Take them back to the table. Get the money.”
Deirdre blinked at him. “What do I do with the money?”
He gave her a look that made her feel like a moron. Correction, more like a moron. “Bring it to me. Here. When you get a break.” He turned back to open the cash register, reaching inside. “Here’s a stack of ten singles to start with. For change—put it in your pocket. Keep your tips in your other pocket so they don’t get confused.”
She nodded, folding the money into the pocket of her khakis, then turned back to the room. Just men. Nothing to be nervous about here. Just men. She stiffened her spine and walked to the first table. “What can I get for you gentlemen?”
One of the men glanced at her, cupping a hand over his ear. “What?”
“What do you want to drink?” Deirdre felt like she was bellowing, but the rest of the table hadn’t even turned her way yet.
“Hey,” the first man called to his friends. “Doofus. What are you drinking?”
Two other heads swiveled back.
“What can I get for you?” Deirdre shouted.
“Shiner. Three drafts,” the first man bawled out.
Deirdre turned on her heel and headed back to the bar. “Shiner. Three drafts,” she yelled at Harry.
He poured them in record time, sliding them across the bar. Deirdre stared at them dumbly. She had no idea how she was supposed to pick them up.
“On the tray,” Tom explained. He pushed the three steins together so that the handles formed a circle, then lifted them onto a metal tray. “If you get more than three or four, call Chico to help you.”
Deirdre grabbed the tray and hoisted it to her shoulder—it was a lot heavier than it looked. She staggered back across the room, then plunked the steins into the middle of the table.
The three men looked up at her. One of them gave his buddy a quick grin. “I can’t reach it, honey,” he bawled. “Push it a little closer.”
Deirdre frowned. He wouldn’t have much trouble if he just leaned forward. Still, she was supposed to do her best even if this was a transparent attempt to look down the front of her shirt. Not that the front of her golf shirt was all that enticing . She leaned down slightly and shoved the beer in his direction.
The man’s grin widened and then stopped abruptly. Deirdre had a sudden sense of someone at her side and looked up to find Chico glaring at the table.
The men looked away from her as the song ended on the jukebox. “That’ll be six dollars,” Deirdre said quickly in the relative silence.
The first man handed her a ten. Deirdre started to reach into her pocket, but he shook his head after glancing at Chico. “Keep it.”
“Thanks.” Deirdre moved on to the next table, vaguely aware of Chico in the background. She was glad he’d come over, but she needed to look out for herself if she was going to do this.
She went back to the bar to give Tom the ten, then pocketed the tip. Another table gestured at her, trying to get her attention. She had a feeling others were beginning to turn her way. Oh well. The more tips you get, the closer you are to getting your shop.
She pasted a smile on her face and headed for the next group of drinkers.
Tom watched his newest barmaid square her shoulders as if she were heading into battle. In a way, of course, she was. A battle against the assholes of the world. Unfortunately, it was a battle she wouldn’t win, but then neither would anybody else.
Deirdre Brandenburg could eventually work out well, assuming that she got the hang of the job. Right now she looked at little like a refugee from prep school who’d stumbled into the bar by accident. He sighed. While she was dressed like that, most of
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