“Well, that’s important too, but there are other things we can do. Would you guys hate it if I made shirts once my designer friend finishes the new logo?”
“No, why would we hate it?” Brandon asked as he headed up to the front door to switch the closed sign to open.
“I didn’t want to go all new management on you guys just yet. I told you I wouldn’t change anything big, but I think a few adjustments could make the place a little nicer and more fun.”
“I agree,” Cece said, smiling at Abby and Brandon. “I knew you’d be the shot in the arm this place needed.
“Me too,” Abby said, sending me a little smile before she headed to the back.
Aside from my office and the break room, the bar also had two empty rooms that looked like the original owner might have had parties or private events in. So far, I’d only known about thereallyprivate parties some patrons tried to sneak back for, but unlike Larry, I kept the doors locked.
“Too early for a drink?”
I laughed when I recognized a newly familiar face come up to the counter.
“They say it’s five o’clock somewhere, but I’m a firm believer in any time after twelve, unless it’s brunch,” I said. “Rough week?”
Angel was a city import like me. He’d just moved to Kelly Lakes from the Bronx a few months ago and worked at the local district attorney’s office. I’d met him and his wife on opening night, and we’d all bonded, so happy to meet someone else in town who wasn’t a lifer.
“Old me would laugh at what I call a rough week now,” he chuckled as I filled a beer glass from the tap and handed it to him. “You would not believe the squabbles we deal with on the regular. Over the dumbest things. I think that’s what happens when you live in the same town with the same people and they all start to get on your nerves.” He smiled around the glass as he took a long sip.
“Are you drinking on the job? You’re going to get me into trouble with my boyfriend for aiding and abetting you.”
“No, I’m off today. I drove Liz to a spa appointment a couple of towns over and thought I’d do some self-care of my own.” He raised his glass.
“Why didn’t you go with her?” I cracked up at the cringe twisting his face.
“Not my thing. Liz had a rough couple of weeks teaching at the high school so I gave her a day at the spa to relax after I convinced her to take today and tomorrow off. She does it her way, and I do it mine,” he said, raising his glass.
I waved to a couple of older gentlemen whom I’d come to know as regulars as they sat at their usual table.
“Excuse me a second,” I said to Angel. “Let me know when you’re ready for more self-care.”
I grabbed the TV remote and headed over.
“Hey, Claudia. Gorgeous as usual today.”
“Thanks, Benny,” I said to one of the men at the table. “You’re good for my ego. I have a surprise for you guys,” I sang, waving the TV remote before I changed the channel.
The eyes of all four men lit up behind their glasses when they saw a panoramic view of Yankee Stadium on the screen.
“Larry never put on anything but that TZZ gossip show and the news without the sound,” Bill noted next to him. They all dressed the same, button-down shirts over crisp khaki pants with various amounts of white hair on their heads. They were adorable, and I delighted at making them this happy with a free cable trial.
“Larry was all right but a little on the cheap side,” Diego noted in his thick Spanish accent.
“Imay be too cheap after the free trial is over, so enjoy it while it lasts.”
“When you get sick of Davis, you let us know,” Benny said, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to my wrist.
“You’ll be the first one I tell,” I said, laughing, until my gaze homed in on the muffled voices at the door.
Artie stumbled in with Larry’s brother Lou behind him. And by stumbled, he could barely walk a straight line to the seat at the end of the counter. It was barely two in the afternoon, and he was already drunk. I met Cece’s gaze and spotted the same wary look in her eyes. We couldn’t serve him, and telling him wasn’t going to go over very well.
“Cece, could we have a Coke, please?” Lou pleaded as he tried to settle Artie onto the stool.
“Fuck a coke. Scotch. No ice,” Artie slurred.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t serve you alcohol.” I approached Artie, his bleary eyes looking me over with the same disdain as usual.
