Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
This is my last shot.
I push myself off the wall, take a deep breath, and push open the door. A cloud of humid heat hits me. The place is jamming, and everyone looks drunk. The tables and booths are all taken, and several people mill around in groups, standing in the open spaces around the place.
The bar is crowded too and even from here I can hear people screaming, they’re next. The jukebox is playing in the background; a song I don’t recognize. It’s barely audible over the sound of drunken laughter, conversation, and shouts.
Well, they all sure look happy. Actually, very happy.
No one is fighting or arguing. No one looks like they don’t want to be here. In fact, everyone seems to be having a great time except the harried looking waitress who pushes through the crowd holding a tray loaded down with drinks high above her head. She does it with ease.
I could do that, I tell myself.
I push deeper into the room, squeezing through the throng. My rucksack hits the back of a seated man’s head as I push through towards the bar and I cringe, waiting for him to go off on me as I stutter out an apology, but he just laughs and waves away my apology. Whoa. Maybe this place isn’t as bad as I thought it was.
“What you got in there, honey? Are you running away from home or something?”
“Something like that.” I grin back at him.
“Cheers to that,” he says cheerfully.
He picks up a shot glass filled with clear liquid and swallows it down to a round of cheers and whoops from his table. The grin on my face widens. This place is sure growing on me.
I make it to the crowded bar and wait until the couple waving money in front of me are served, before I push my way into the spot they’ve vacated.
“Hi,” I chirp brightly, when the bartender gets to me.
“ID,” he barks.
“I’m not here for a drink. I saw your help wanted sign in the window,” I explain.
He turns away from me, leaving me standing there, unsure of what to say or do.
“Larry?” he yells. “Someone here for the job.”
He comes back to the bar, and ignoring me, moves onto the next customer. A voice yells something indistinguishable through an open door from the back of the bar. The bartender looks back to me.
“Go on through,” he says, jerking his head towards the open door behind the bar.
I have no idea how I would get to the door, and I stand staring at him dumbly for a moment. He rolls his eyes which makes my cheeks sting with embarrassment.
“Coming through,” he shouts at two drunk looking men who are standing at the side of the bar.
They back up a little and the bartender lifts a section of the bar up and beckons to me. I push past the men and squeeze through the gap. It’s so noisy I don’t catch a word the bartender says, but he points at the door behind him, and I step through it.
It's cooler back here and a little quieter. I square my shoulders and start moving along a corridor with worn, red and green patterned carpet.
“Hello?” I call out timidly.
“For fucks sake, get in here,” a voice shouts impatiently.
I follow the sound of the voice and find myself in an office. It’s a small room, carpeted in the same cheap stuff as the corridor outside. The furniture is shabby. There’s an overweight man with a pasty complexion sitting with his booted feet up on a desk. A lit cigarette smolders in an ashtray on the messy desk. He is wearing a suit, but even that looks cheap and ill-fitting.
He looks me up and down. “Looking for a job, huh?”
5
AMELIA
I’m kinda speechless by the situation I find myself in, so I just nod.
He gestures to the chair in front of his desk. I don’t really want to sit on it. It looks grubby and sticky, but I park myself on it. I need a job. I can always wash my jeans.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Amelia Madison,” I reply.
“I’m Larry Hall, the owner of this fine establishment.”
I don’t know if he’s joking or not when he says that. He doesn’t laugh and I’m glad I didn’t.
“How old are you?” He gives me a look. It’s the same look Dan used to give me when my mom wasn’t home.
I don’t think Larry is the sort of man who is worried about following the law, but this is my last hope and I’m not going to blow it with honesty. I swallow hard. “Eighteen,” I lie.
Larry’s smiling at me now, a smile that makes me want to shrink away from him. The look on his face takes away any guilt I might have felt about lying to him.