Good Will by Tiffany W. Killoren

Author:Tiffany W. Killoren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amphorae Publishing Group, LLC
Published: 2020-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

22. Celeste

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Dickie said, putting a small glass in front of her and wiping up a sticky spill on the bar top that had been left too long. “Everything good?”

Celeste took a drink and inspected a new freckle on her hand. She knew they were age spots but preferred to think of them as freckles that came from a sun-kissed life.

“It’s all good,” she said, rubbing at the freckle like it might fade. “I’ve been working a lot at the boutique because I had to let my part-timer go.”

Dickie raised an eyebrow curiously and stopped rubbing the sticky spot long enough to make eye contact. “Well, that’s too bad,” he said.

Dickie was a bartender in the classic sense. He’d claim that he genuinely cared about people’s problems and wanted to help, but Celeste knew he loved to gossip as much as the group of gray-hairs who met at the bar weekly for “Bible study.” He’d take what you told him to his grave, but that wouldn’t stop him from asking follow-up questions like a skillful interrogator, tilting his head slightly as you spoke to show concern, intrigue, or a suspicion you were holding back because your story didn’t add up. If he had a tape recorder under the bar, Dickie could have made millions from blackmailing patrons who had caved under his tilted-head interrogations, their drinks topped off when they were lost in a memory. That’s not why he did it, though. Dickie claimed not to like to spread gossip—he just liked to be in the know.

“Remember that guy who used to work here who was helping himself to a bottle or two on his way out the door at night?” Celeste asked.

“Jesus, the nose-ring kid?”

He was, in fact, referred to as the nose-ring kid the entire time he worked at the bar. The ring hadn’t been in one nostril, it had hung in the middle like he was a bull ready to charge. Because the kid had taken it out during the interview, Dickie felt blindsided when he showed up for work on his first day with a large silver ring in his nose. That employment relationship was doomed to fail from day one. Dickie made jokes about built-in towel rings and waved red towels like he was a bullfighter. The kid stole liquor in retaliation and did as little actual work as possible. Interestingly, Celeste ran into the kid months after he was fired working at a movie theater. There was no nose ring in sight.

“That’s the one,” Celeste said. “Let’s just say that I had his female equivalent working at the boutique. They should meet. They’re part of the same dark and angry generation.”

“True dat,” Dickie said, crossing his arms in front of him like he was he was a rapper.

“Oh, Lord, don’t do that,” she said, laughing and taking another swig of the harsh brown liquor that she wished she could pump directly into her veins at times.

Dickie looked up at the sound of the front door’s bell.

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