13. Plausible Deniability
“Don’t clock in.” Diego advised.
I was pissed! I dressed up all cute for New Year’s Eve. My shirt was a walking mirrorball. Shards of light beamed this way and that as I stood under the neon and laser lights. The DJ spun music from the past year, cueing up our nostalgia enough to order another round of shots. Bonus points if you happen to catch the eye of that certain-someone from across the bar.
For right now, however, I must pout.
“I told them to put you on call in case it gets busy.” Dante explained. “We don’t need you now.”
Clearly, they did. As I watched, Diego and Dante could barely keep up with drink orders.
“I may need you at 7 o’clock for a VIP party. We may get busy then.” Kai explained
I respected Kai. Of all the managers, he was the voice of reason. I was happy to follow his lead. However, my seven o’clock call time was still two hours away. I got a good parking spot. Did I mention I was dressed cute? There was no way I would give that up and drive back to my apartment to twiddle my thumbs for 90 minutes before coming back. No way.
“Then if you need me, I’ll be at Number One.”
“Do you, boo.” Kai replied, bussing a table.
I sat at the bar, vodka soda in hand when I saw Greg sitting on the other side. “You gonna sit and mope or come join me?” Greg offered.
I got up and took a seat next to him at the bar.
“I thought you were working.” Greg said.
“They want me to come back in 2 hours.”
“So you’re out drinking until then?” He asked. I nodded before he asked the last thing I remember from that night. “Shots?”
I wake up the following day with a splitting headache.
The fog in my head matches what is outside—a thick layer of blurred uncertainty. From what I remember, I told myself that I was not going to get drunk on an amateur night such as New Year’s Eve. The upside of that night, I did not drive. I walked home. I fell down the dirt hill next to my house. How do I know that? My Mirrorball shirt was torn to shreds. A shower of mirror shards sprinkled across the floor. There’s blood in the bathroom—oh, and a fully naked coworker is in my bed.
Way to bring in the new year.
And whoever is in my head with the jackhammer, can you take a lunch break while I reach for the ibuprofen?
Hangovers send my brain into a thick mental fog. When I’m hungover, my writing is pure trash. I will sit at my desk and watch the cursor blink, egging me to write another useless sentence I will meticulously edit until I delete it altogether.
Another unfortunate side effect is the loss of Time. Time travels both fast and slow, and I am not fast enough to handle this brunch rush. Thankfully, for my fellow hungover commiserators, the hair of the dog is a vodka soda.
Pedro grumbled to himself while I maneuvered my way around him. He was in a piss-poor mood since his roommate didn’t come home last night.
Yeah, he was asleep in my bed. I thought to myself.
“Why is it that everyone just leaves me?” He asked, pouring vodka into his energy drink. I didn’t feel like replying.
Two of Benny’s regulars sat at his side of the bar. A flash of blue and red holographic shirts popped up somewhere in my memory. I remembered complimenting their outfits, but when did I do that? Was it something from some distant dream?
“It was really good seeing you last night!” Kelso greeted.
“Did you wear a flashy red and blue shirt last night?” I asked.
“Yeah! Mason wanted me to tell you that he found the shirts at Flashback’s.”
So I ran into them last night. I hope I was nice.
“Oh, thank you! I was gonna ask.” I fibbed. “Where is Mason?”
“Parking the car. How was the rest of your night?”
“I don’t remember.” I told Mason’s partner, Kelso, as Mason sat down.
“Oh, someone had some fun last night.” Mason suggested.
“I must have. Enough to turn off ‘record’ with my internal camera.”
“Plausible Deniability.” Kelso reasoned. “Works every time.”
Rhett approached my bar with a drink ticket in hand. "I’ve been waiting ten minutes… echoing in my head. Before I heard it, that feeling that can only be described in French jumbled around my brain.
“Deja vu, am I right?” Rhett asked.
That’s it! “What do you mean?”
“Bar couldn’t make my drinks last night. Here you are being a hero, once again.”
I was confused. Why was Rhett being nicer than usual? “I gotchu.”
“Say, my table, 117, the two guys from Vegas, said they really liked your kamikaze shots you made them.”
“When was this?”
“They were so good last night! What did you put in them?” Kelso asked.
Last Night? I could feel all the color leave my face. Benny arrived just in time to catch my suddenly-ashen face. His face beamed, excited to know there’s a story right on the tip of my tongue.
“Yeah, you poured a shit ton of shots for us. Well, it was actually for Rhett, but you made two extra and handed them to us.” Mason explained.
“I’m sure that’s what makes working here so fun. You get to have fun and take shots with us, all while you’re working!”
“You can’t be serious…” Benny noticed my expression and connected the dots.
All I could do was nod my head. The realization unlocked more memories, at least their endtrails.
8:45 p.m. (allegedly)
I returned to work with Greg in tow. We had just spent the past two hours spilling stories from each other’s lives. Usually, such connections make me lose my balance with reality.
Kai hugged Greg and I. “Gottdamn!” Kai exclaimed. “You two certainly don’t waste no time.”
“What do you mean?” Greg asked.
“Y’all on a good one. It’s a good thing because I don’t think we need you tonight, Pablo.” Kai frowned.
“Can we come in and drink?” Greg asked. Kai nodded in reply.
Suddenly, Rhett tapped Kai on the shoulder. “I’ve been waiting TEN minutes for a dry martini. Bar says they’re too busy to help!”
“What happened to Pedro?” Kai asked.
“He went home. Making one drink ticket every half hour wasn’t his cup of tea.”
Rhett looked my way. I took the drink ticket and walked to the bar. “I gotchu.” I slurred, pushing through the crowd to get behind the bar.
“You helped me out last night, Pablo.” Rhett praised. “You know, deep down, I think there’s gold in your cold little heart.”
Benny giggled at the interaction, recalling my admission to finding a coworker in my bed. “Was it him?”
“Helll no.” I quickly rebutted.
“C’mon, you two hooked up once before. Maybe being here rekindled that.”
“I don’t shit where I eat.”
“He says, after just admitting to sleeping with a coworker.” Benny replied with a wink.
“It was literal sleep!”
Benny flashed a Sure, Jan look before getting a guest’s drink order.
Greg stepped behind the bar, helping himself to the stack of martini glasses. “We are out at our bar.” He reasoned.
Pedro groaned. “Do you really have to take six?”
“It’s for the whole bar. Each one of us is getting two.”
Pedro kept quiet. His anger was only expressed with the aggressive vigor of his tins.
“Oh, by the way, thank you for letting me crash at your place.” Greg said.
I blushed. I could feel Benny and Pedro staring at me. “You’re welcome.” I muttered.
“You slept with Greg?” Benny asked.
“Literal sleep, Benny. Side by side.”
“At least Greg is sticking to his type.” Pedro said.
“What does that mean?” I asked, pressed.
“Bald, Latin. Emotionally unstable? You thought we are good roommates because we’re friends? We dated, you know.”
If there is one downside to working at a gay bar, it is the gossip at work is just that much juicier. By shift’s end, everyone knew about Greg and I. Including Damien.
“My little birdies told me some fun news. I’m gonna pull the disappointed dad card. Of all people to hook up with, it’s Greg?”
“Ugh, we didn’t hook up!”
“Yeah, I thought you wouldn’t, because you were lip-locked with someone else by your eighth or tenth shot.”
Okay, drunk Pablo needs to take several cold showers after this.
11:30 (most definitely)
That’s the correct time because Mowgli usually barks for his food on the doggy monitor. Like most other things in the house, everything is on a timer while we’re away. Mowgli can just be an impatient little lab. I chucked a small treat his way on the monitor when Pablo stopped by.
He just completed his sixth victory lap—a term he coined after finishing a long list of drink tickets. I didn’t find out he was working until his seventh one.
“Lucky number six! You know the Bible used the number six to represent Man’s Number. It’s one digit away from the perfect number, 7.”
I poured two shots for us. Yeah, I’m still drinking. The key to taking shots without getting caught is facing away from the camera. If you ever check the cameras, you’ll see my barback, Cyrus, and I standing together, heads raised in unison. We have it down to a science. Drunk Pablo seemed to catch on, standing parallel to the three of us actually working.
Two steps later, I see that little gremlin lip-locked with some guy dressed in mesh and neon camo gear. He goes on one more victory lap before he leaves the bar with Greg.
“It’s one thing to be drunk. It’s quite another to make ‘choices.’”
“It’s not what you think.” He said.
I poured two more shots for us, sending him off.
“Either way, leaving with Greg is certainly a ‘choice.’” Damien deduced. “Don’t tell me he ‘crashed’ at your place.”
I didn’t need to respond. Damien already knew the answer.
“First, you hook up with a porn star and now this? Do you want a downward spiral? Because this is how you get a downward spiral!”
“There’s nothing between us. Based on what I learned, I am pretty sure we were just talking.”
“Save the chatter for the lesbians; that is, unless you two are U-Hauling.”
“We’re not…ugh, why do I have to explain everything to everyone?”
“Sweet child of mine, you are working at a gay bar. Hillcrest only got smaller when you became a bartender. Everyone keeps receipts, records video, and chats about it the next morning over mimosas and ketamine.”
I groaned, realizing the clarity in his words was not judgment but a warning, a particular awareness he doesn’t disclose to everybody.
“I’ll do better. It’s all I can do, right?” I replied.
“What you can do is restock the bar. I ain’t starting my shift in a total pig-sty.”
aftermidnight
The hills were alive with the sound of fireworks and cheers. We finally made it to the new year.
Pablo stumbled into his apartment. It was an organized chaos of clothes.
“Make yourself at home.” He offered. “I know I will.”
It’s not even two steps into the apartment that he grows quiet. He stares at the digital photo frame as it swipes right to a picture of him and his partner.
“I can’t stop fucking up, Greg.”
“So do better?”
“Easier said than done.”
“How about this? How about you follow me to the bedroom?”
“I just admitted I can’t stop fucking up. You think going to the bedroom will amend that?”
“Not like that, dumbass. Ew, sister dick.” I soothed. “Just trust me on this.”
I offered Pablo my hand. He took it, snuggling against my shoulder as we entered his bedroom.
I rolled the blinds to show the neighboring apartment.
“This is the place.” I said to myself. “Do you see that apartment on the first floor?”
Pablo takes a deep sigh. “These blinds are dirty.”
“Focus! I used to live down there.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Back then, I found myself in trouble with drugs. You name it. I did it.”
“That tracks.” Pablo whispers, laughing to himself.
“I’m serious.” I insisted. “We have low moments in our life, but that’s not who we are. You’re a mess, but you are not a fuck up. I promise this next year will be much better for you.”
Pablo slumped over his bed. I could hear little whimpers under his breath. Whatever this kid’s endured, it’s far from over. For tonight, however, we are certainly getting this tequila-monster to bed.
He removed his shirt as he extends himself onto the bed. “Please stay.” He asked. “I don’t want to be alone.”
I sat on the bed, rifling through the hookup apps to see if anyone was nearby. I’ll stay until he’s asleep. I told myself, until I checked my Uber. A 1-mile ride was still $45. I might as well get some rest while I can. We got work in the morning.
I texted Pedro to tell him I’m not coming home tonight. He sent upset text messages about some hookup not showing up and why it was my fault, but as I rest my head on the pillows, that is slowly becoming tomorrow’s problem.
“Heard you two slept together.” Hudson mentioned.
Benny and Ginny bust up laughing. “You can’t be serious!” Ginny cackled.
“Yes, but no sexy stuff.”
“C’mon, you know he’s got a big one. Just what you need.”
“Hudson!” Benny scolded.
“What? She’s pent-up. She’s one bad decision away from landing on a traffic cone and calling it a honeymoon.”
I laughed. For the first time, my head doesn’t hurt. Maybe it was the shot Damien snuck my way or Hudson’s jab. Bar-Dads know best.
“So you have a good ride?”
At this moment, I realized these jabs were nothing but friendly fire. No way were Hudson, Ginny, or Greg going to say a word about my nightly activities. Regardless of what happened the night before, I know there is a bond we all share. Whether it was trauma or enduring the thick and thin, I realized whatever I said here would remain here, which is why I chose the path of least resistance—or, as my regulars said, plausible deniability.
“Like you wouldn’t believe! I was surprised how it starts off pencil-thin and then just gets girthy! Like, where did all that meat come from?”
“You disgust me.” Hudson disapproved while also struggling to hide a smirk. “This is why they’re trying to take gay rights away from us.”
“Right, like your fist-fucking wasn’t reason enough.” I replied.
“No, because I’m not sticking my dick in places where it doesn’t belong.”
“But a hand’s okay?”
“Look, during the pandemic, I got really good at checking for prostate cancer. The boys thank me.”
“Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, everyone.” I replied.
Just before we can finish up, the owner, Danny, stepped into the office.
“We almost done counting?” He asked the room.
“Waiting on Pablo here.” Greg said. “Always the last one.”
“I’m a perfectionist. I always gotta carry that one.”
“I was hoping to have a private moment with Pablo. Can you all leave the room for a moment?”
The room got quiet as everyone shuffled out. My heart dropped into my ass. My only hope was that I wouldn’t shit it out.
Danny closed the door behind him.
“What up?” I chirped, trying my best to hide the fear in my voice.
“I just wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”
The room suddenly grew cold. Still, I strained to keep that smile on my face. I could feel the weight of the world grew on my cheekbones.
“I’m sorry the boys blocked you from working.” Danny said. “It’s no right of them to undermine the schedule so they could make a couple extra bucks. Especially when it comes at the cost of several concerns from guests.”
I nodded. Okay, this isn’t about me. Phew.
“After Pedro stormed out, you stepped up to look out for the guests. I really appreciate that.”
It’s customary at this point to expect the worst and be surprised by the best. While I certainly wasn’t expecting a random sit-down with Danny, I was relieved to know, amidst my feral drunk energy, I was getting praise.
“Of course, anything to benefit the guest’s experience.”
“I just wanted to pull you aside and thank you.”
“Now everyone will think I’m in trouble.”
“Why’s that?”
Of course, you gotta open your damn mouth. “Meh, I’ll let them worry about that.” I dismissed, hoping my foot doesn’t make it into my mouth, yet again. “A random Oscar Wilde quote came to mind.”
I reunited with my Sunday bartenders at Charley’s, where they asked 20 questions around Danny’s impromptu meeting. I guess sometimes you gotta keep some people guessing.
Taking a hiatus to work on a project. See ya in February.