Read Online Escape (Part Three) by Zelda Reed - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Zelda Reed
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look back. I threw a look over my shoulder and standing in the window was Chace, watching the car roll down the road.
Ten
My sister was a wizard behind the bar, her wrists were like magic, flipping heavy bottles perfectly into the air, fingers twisting around their necks, pouring perfect counts of alcohol into slippery metal shakers – one, two, three, four, five – until she snapped it back up and filled the tin with ice. She would shake while pouring four shot glasses full of bright blue liquid, lining them neatly on the bar top for one of the other servers to take.
They were magical too but in a lesser way, one that was contained in their tight mouths and sharp eyes, concentrating on balancing a tray full of drinks and food on one palm, while smiling and maneuvering through the crowd.
Men loved watching her. Groups of them would crowd at the bar, their eyes dropping to her breasts dripping out of her V-neck dresses. Bartenders were allowed to wear dresses and boots that came up to their knees, but they were the only ones.
“There has to be some distinction.” Richard, the manager of the bar told me. “Between those who are allowed behind the bar and those who aren’t.”
Bartender was a coveted position, one my sister sweat over for months before she was promoted. The tips were better, you could make a living wage, and you didn’t go home doused in grease and ketchup and salt and smelling like the kitchen.
I didn’t envy her, or the other bartenders, like the rest of the new server girls. The ones who’d hopped off the train at Grand Central a few weeks ago, with years of serving experience at their local Denny’s, and were stunned to find out that no one would treat them like a superstar here. They had to start from the bottom, again. We were all called variations of our physical traits: Blondie, Brown Eyes, Lips, Hips, Girl-with-the-Rack. Except for me.
My name was “Laura’s Sister”. Or sometimes just “Sister”. It didn’t bother me as much as it would’ve months ago, before I screwed up with Chace, lost my job, and had to beg my sister to let me work with her.
I loved being called “Laura’s Sister” because every time Laura heard it made her scowl a little less. When our eyes met across the bar the corner of her mouth would tug into a grin, especially when I managed to complete an order without spilling beer on a customer’s arm, or dousing their plate of food with a twenty dollar glass of Gin Martini.
I was absolutely shitty at my job. Richard told me so after every shift but the longer I worked there the more he said, “But you’re getting better,” which was better than staying the same.
Working for seven hours straight kept me busy. I rarely thought of Chace and the incident with Jennifer, even when Evie was blowing up my phone with text messages. She kept her promise and visited every other weekend, staying in Manhattan in a pricy hotel room she begged me to share, the two of us pigging out on room service and overpriced bottles of champagne, drinking until we were tipsy and confident enough to order an entire cake.
Much like Chace she was good with kids. My niece and nephew flocked to her like lambs. When my sister and I had to work, Evie gave the babysitter a break and spent the day with them at the park or the museum, whispering lines of French in their ears, planting dreams of Parisian secondary schools and universities.
She visited last week and told me she wasn’t going to see me for a while. “I’m going to France,” she said with a smile.
“For what?” I asked, popping a chocolate covered strawberry in my mouth.
“My mom’s selling the estate and moving into a smaller house. It’s something she’s always wanted to do and now that my father’s gone,” Evie cleared her throat. “Tyler’s moving to Los Angeles --”
“To do what?”
She shrugged. “Jonah’s back in the city. Mom’s finally immersing herself in her art and I thought, it’s
Ten
My sister was a wizard behind the bar, her wrists were like magic, flipping heavy bottles perfectly into the air, fingers twisting around their necks, pouring perfect counts of alcohol into slippery metal shakers – one, two, three, four, five – until she snapped it back up and filled the tin with ice. She would shake while pouring four shot glasses full of bright blue liquid, lining them neatly on the bar top for one of the other servers to take.
They were magical too but in a lesser way, one that was contained in their tight mouths and sharp eyes, concentrating on balancing a tray full of drinks and food on one palm, while smiling and maneuvering through the crowd.
Men loved watching her. Groups of them would crowd at the bar, their eyes dropping to her breasts dripping out of her V-neck dresses. Bartenders were allowed to wear dresses and boots that came up to their knees, but they were the only ones.
“There has to be some distinction.” Richard, the manager of the bar told me. “Between those who are allowed behind the bar and those who aren’t.”
Bartender was a coveted position, one my sister sweat over for months before she was promoted. The tips were better, you could make a living wage, and you didn’t go home doused in grease and ketchup and salt and smelling like the kitchen.
I didn’t envy her, or the other bartenders, like the rest of the new server girls. The ones who’d hopped off the train at Grand Central a few weeks ago, with years of serving experience at their local Denny’s, and were stunned to find out that no one would treat them like a superstar here. They had to start from the bottom, again. We were all called variations of our physical traits: Blondie, Brown Eyes, Lips, Hips, Girl-with-the-Rack. Except for me.
My name was “Laura’s Sister”. Or sometimes just “Sister”. It didn’t bother me as much as it would’ve months ago, before I screwed up with Chace, lost my job, and had to beg my sister to let me work with her.
I loved being called “Laura’s Sister” because every time Laura heard it made her scowl a little less. When our eyes met across the bar the corner of her mouth would tug into a grin, especially when I managed to complete an order without spilling beer on a customer’s arm, or dousing their plate of food with a twenty dollar glass of Gin Martini.
I was absolutely shitty at my job. Richard told me so after every shift but the longer I worked there the more he said, “But you’re getting better,” which was better than staying the same.
Working for seven hours straight kept me busy. I rarely thought of Chace and the incident with Jennifer, even when Evie was blowing up my phone with text messages. She kept her promise and visited every other weekend, staying in Manhattan in a pricy hotel room she begged me to share, the two of us pigging out on room service and overpriced bottles of champagne, drinking until we were tipsy and confident enough to order an entire cake.
Much like Chace she was good with kids. My niece and nephew flocked to her like lambs. When my sister and I had to work, Evie gave the babysitter a break and spent the day with them at the park or the museum, whispering lines of French in their ears, planting dreams of Parisian secondary schools and universities.
She visited last week and told me she wasn’t going to see me for a while. “I’m going to France,” she said with a smile.
“For what?” I asked, popping a chocolate covered strawberry in my mouth.
“My mom’s selling the estate and moving into a smaller house. It’s something she’s always wanted to do and now that my father’s gone,” Evie cleared her throat. “Tyler’s moving to Los Angeles --”
“To do what?”
She shrugged. “Jonah’s back in the city. Mom’s finally immersing herself in her art and I thought, it’s
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