Maybelle pinned Wanda with a stare and declared, “We need to get you a man.”
“No argument here,” Wanda shot back.
Wanda was Maybelle except white, and without the husband and three daughters. Wanda had two ex-husbands and a son who was so wild, he did her head in.
She was currently giving her son tough love by grounding his ass every three days, which meant he was out getting in trouble even if grounded so he earned more groundings. Thus this was not working.
She was also looking for husband number three and Wanda pretty much had only two things she was looking for in her new man. One, that he had no problem taking a firm hand with a wayward teenage boy. And two, he just had firm hands that he knew how to use.
On that thought, a piercing whistle filled the air, and all heads, including mine, turned toward the bar and I saw Ham taking his fingers out of his mouth only to crook one at me.
“Seriously, I don’t care if feminists hunt me down and burn me at the stake, that man crooked his finger and me, I’d follow him into a bank and rob it at his side,” Wanda muttered.
I smiled at my boots before I gave them a glance and said, “I’ll be back.”
Then I walked to the bar.
Ham met me there and leaned into his forearms toward me.
God, I loved that.
“Did you just whistle for me?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“It was loud,” I noted.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“You gotta teach me how to do that,” I told him.
His eyes dropped to my mouth and he murmured, “Easy.”
“Ham, no fair. Whenever you say that, my nipples get hard. I gotta work. I don’t need chafing.”
His gaze shot to my breasts, then to my eyes, and he smiled.
I smiled back before I asked, “You whistled, mein herr?”
His smiling lips twitched before he informed me, “I prefer Bruiser.”
“Bruiser Ham drags me into his bed and shows me an alternate universe I want to move to forever. Mein herr whistles at me to get my ass to the bar,” I explained, then went on. “So, you whistled?”
“Right, cookie,” he said through his still-present smile. “I’m your man but I’m also your boss and you been standin’ at that table fifteen minutes. Don’t mind that but you got empties on other tables, I get a bonus if I sell a shitload of booze, and the women you’re talkin’ to, one threatened me a few weeks back and is givin’ me looks I don’t much like. The other one is givin’ me looks I don’t much like that say she’s thinkin’ of drugging me, taking off my clothes, and tying me to a bed. She isn’t ugly but she’s not my type and, I think you know, I already got a woman.”
I burst out laughing and found Ham still smiling at me when I was done.
“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to win Maybelle over. She’s feelin’ we’re goin’ a bit too fast,” I shared.
“She’ll learn otherwise,” Ham replied.
It was firm and I thought that was sweet.
I carried on.
“And Wanda’s overdue for gettin’ her some. Though, we’d just swung around to the topic of findin’ her a man, and if we manage that, you’re off the hook for the drugging and tying to a bed threat.”
“Good news,” he muttered.
“Do you really get a bonus if you sell a shitload of booze?” I asked.
“Last manager was lackadaisical. If the waitresses don’t work the floor, remindin’ them when their drinks are low, they don’t sell a lot of booze. I up the bar’s take, which I’ve done, keep it there six months, which I’m gonna do, they give me a bonus.”
I felt a smile curve my lips, leaned into him, and stated, “We are so on that.”
He gave me another smile in return and replied, “Then get that sweet ass on it, cookie. And, just sayin’, the way to do that is not leanin’ into me bein’ all cute so I want you to take a break so I can take you to my office and make you moan. It’s gettin’ on the floor and not yammerin’ with your girls.”
I kind of wanted him to take me to his office and make me moan but I was getting the sense Ham wanted me to sell booze now and make me moan later. Further, talking about it would make me want it more so I ignored that and focused on something else.
“I have to yammer with them. A lot is happening and it’s my sworn duty to the sisterhood, even if I’m workin’,” I shared.
“Well, sell some booze in between,” he shot back.
“That I can do,” I told him.
“So do it,” he returned.
I moved back, gave him a salute, and turned away. I lifted a one-minute finger to Maybelle and Wanda to share with them I’d be back and I got my sweet ass on selling booze.
My section included the left side of the bar, which included the recessed area that held the pool tables, the pool paraphernalia on the walls, and a few high tables and stools scattered around for people to rest their drinks and their asses during the taxing activity of playing pool.
I’d swung around to the dimly lit back corner when I stopped dead.
My mother, looking uncomfortable and even panicked, sat alone at the farthest table, her modestly expensive but classic handbag on the table in front of her, her hands resting on it like she was terrified someone was going to snatch it away.
My first thought was to hightail my ass back to the bar and ask Ham to make this go away.
My second thought was that would make me a sissy, and if Ham knew my mother was there, there was a possibility he’d blow his stack. I tried to tell myself I felt nothing for my mother, but even so, I didn’t think she could handle Ham blowing his stack. She could barely handle putting one foot in front of the other, so scared she’d do it wrong, Dad would lay into her.
So I kept my eyes on hers and she kept hers on mine as I walked to her table, taking her in.
She, too, was blonde but her blonde was lighter than Dad’s and mine.
Xenia got her hair.
She was also petite and had blue eyes.
Xenia got those, too.
In fact, if Xenia had had another twenty years or so, I figured she’d look a lot like Mom.
I made it to her table and asked, “Get you a drink?”
“Zara—” she started, but I pinned her to the stool with my eyes and she abruptly stopped.
I knew my face was hard and my eyes unfriendly.
I also didn’t care.
“Get you a drink?” I repeated.
She leaned into her hands on her purse and kept hold of my eyes. “Honey, please. I came here to talk to you and it’s real important you hear what I have to say.”
“Not to be a bitch,” I began, intending to be just that, “but, lookin’ back, I’m not sure you ever had anything to say that was real important.”
She closed her eyes through her flinch and I felt something I didn’t want to feel flow through me.
Guilt.
Guilt at hurting my mother and more guilt for doing it intentionally.
But she kept my nephew from me and I didn’t have it in me to let that slide.
Still, I hated doing it, so I needed to get out of there.
“Now, Mom, can I get you a drink?” I asked yet again.
She opened her eyes and I saw the effort it took her to straighten her shoulders before she announced, “Your father isn’t real happy you’re back together with that man.”
That man.
Dad had called Ham that back in the day, time and again, even though I’d corrected him dozens of times, telling him Ham’s name.