Read Online Whenever You Call by Anna King - Free Book Online

went blank and I thought I might be losing my mind. What was I doing in this disgusting room, with a bunch of weirdoes (not counting Al), on a Monday morning, following some cockamamie diagram of how to set up a bar when I could be sitting in a cafe with my laptop inventing witty dialogue for a couple of non-stressful hours? This becoming a bartender idea suddenly seemed stupid. Then I reminded myself that in one week I could have the certification and go out into the real world, get a real job, and be a real person.
    The problem with being a novelist was that nothing was real. I was always making things up, and I had the feeling my imagination worked overtime, turning my whole life into one of my stories. Lots of drama, some high moments of joy, then the inevitable tragedy that’s the only thing to make Life, or the Story, meaningful. I just had to get real.
    So I threw myself into it. My setup was the first to be finished. I waved to Al, signaling that I was ready to have it checked out.
    Obviously, Al knew his bar setup inside out, so with a single sweeping glance, he could see I’d aced it. That’s what he said.
    “Good job, Marley, you aced it.”
    I hadn’t had anyone call me by my last name in quite some time, if ever. Still, it reminded me of how a book review always referred to the author by a last name. I was used to being Marley, but not hearing Marley. Which gave me an idea. I would start to call myself Marley when I went to get my first bar tending gig. Rose was too feminine and effete, anyway. Marley was the perfect name for a bartender.
    Al arched an eyebrow at me. “I have a feeling you’re going to be good at this.”
    I grinned. “I have a feeling you’re wrong.”
    He threw back his head and laughed, then went to help Ike who was perplexed by the arrangement of cherries, olives and picks.
    By the time we broke for lunch, I’d made three dozen martinis. Obviously, we didn’t use real liquor, although they somehow made the “vodka” have a thick, syrup quality so that we could fine-tune our pouring time. Water would come out a lot faster and our rhythm would be thrown off. The hardest part for the women, from my point of view, was reaching the bottles on the tall shelves behind us. Al said high heels were pretty much de riquere if you were under 5’5”.
    Cathy of the hammer-face said, “And heels are sexy, too!”
    “Definitely.” Al smiled at me, not her, as he agreed.
    Holy shit , I thought. Is that man coming onto me?
    The whole class decided to go to the pizza parlor on the street-level below us for a quick lunch. Al was right behind me on my way down the stairs. He said, “Are you Austrian?”
    I turned partially around. “Excuse me?”
    He pulled up next to me on the stairs, which brought him very close. With his hand, he twitched at my skirt. “Are you Austrian?”
    “Oh, no! I just wore it—” Since I knew the skirt looked awful, and I in the skirt, it became more and more inexplicable why I was wearing it.
    “I wondered because I am.” Al picked up a bit of the skirt again and gave it a little tug. “Nice memories of my mother.”
    Naturally, I thought, a mother-figure. That’s what happens when you get older. If a younger man does decide you are strangely attractive, surprising even himself, it’s always because you’re a mother-figure. Never again will I be a daughter-figure. Those days are kaput. The only thing I had left to look forward to was become a crone-figure. Should I be so blessed. On the other hand, better than nothing.
    “Don’t get too excited,” I said. “Tomorrow I’ll be wearing a kilt.”
    “That could be fun.”
    We were almost to the bottom of the stairs. I took a chance. “Are you an actor?”
    He dipped one shoulder modestly. “I go to auditions, that’s about it.”
    “As a fellow artist, I do understand.”
    Lunch with my bartender classmates started in complete silence. I fiddled with my straw, popping it in and out of the diet soda.