Love's Illusions: A Novel (5 page)

“My name is Jackie Moretti,” I told him, using my maiden name for some unknown reason. “I just moved into the neighborhood. I’m a college student – I go to school during the days, and need to find a job that allows me to work at night, so I thought a cocktail waitress job would be perfect.”

He continued his pleasant smile and asked a few other basic questions. Where did I go to school, did I have any experience, could I work till 4 am, and did I have an ID, were as extensive as they went. I explained that I was finishing my second year at SAIC, The School of the Art Institute of Chicago; I had never served drinks before, but was sure I could do the job; and yes, I had identification – I lived only three blocks away so the hours would be perfect since most of my classes didn’t start until later in the day.

“You’re wearing a wedding ring – are you married?”

“Ahhh… yeah,” I replied looking down and fingering my ring. I had forgotten I was still wearing it.

“Is your husband alright with you working in a bar?” Charlie asked. “He’s not the jealous type is he? I don’t need anyone coming in here and causing trouble because some dude is flirting with you, ya know.” Lifting my head, but still playing with my platinum gold ring, I told him that we were separated, and my husband now lived in Boston.

That same grin he had less than ten minutes before in the doorway came back onto his face, and after pressing his lips tightly together… again… for a few seconds, said, “This is going to be interesting. Want to start tonight?”

Rather shocked by the suddenness of his decision, I took a deep breath and exclaimed, “Yes!”

“Good,” Charlie said, “Come back at eight o’clock – tell whoever’s at the door to bring you to see me, and I’ll introduce you. Rick and Levi, they’re the bar tenders, they’ll show ya the ropes and… Oh yeah… I do have two rules.” He paused as he stood up from the desk, and looked down at me squinting his eyes, his voice losing its light-hearted tone. “Break either of these and I’ll fire you on the spot.”

My inner excitement died some as I asked, “What are they?” Trying to imagine what kind of rules a place like this could have that would be a problem.

“First, no shooting up,” he said. “We’re trying to change, but we get a lot of dealers in here. I don’t expect you to stay straight while you’re working; as long as you can do your job, and it doesn’t cause problems, I don’t care, but I will not have a junkie working here – if I find out you’re putting needles in your arms or toes or any other part of your body, you’re gone.”

“That’s not going to be a problem, I don’t do that,” I said, meeting his eyes straight on. “What’s the second rule?”

Charlie continued his stern look but a smile also flickered across his face as he said, “Don’t fuck the bartenders.”

“That’s not going to be a problem either,” I said smiling back at him.

“Good,” he replied, “see you tonight.”

I stood up, thanked him and was starting out the door when he said, “A couple more things Jackie.” I turned to face him again. “You may want to take off that ring – the tips will be better if you’re not wearing it, and…” lifting his eyebrows revealing a slight glint, and with a hint of mischief in his voice he continued, “I’m not a bartender.”

Rather taken aback by this, I smiled again as best I could and answered, “I’ll keep that in mind.” I couldn’t get through the door fast enough – closing it carefully, but quickly, behind myself.

Once out on the sidewalk, I exhaled, and leaned against the building. This
was
going to be interesting - thoughts started whirling around in my head
– What just happened? Did I just get a new job? The Canteen looked like the armpit of the whole area – shit it was in the basement of a flop house – do I want to even go in there as a customer (if they’d let me in the door that is), let alone work there? What did Charlie mean by “I’m not a bartender?” Does he expect me to sleep with him? What do I do if he does? Shit, shit, shit – okay, go home, call Mary Beth, talk to her. I didn’t even ask what I would be paid. Well I don’t have to go back tonight after all, I mean I told him my maiden name, but he didn’t actually ask to see my identification – thank God – he’s going to throw me out anyhow when he figures out I’m 19 not 21.

That was over six months ago. I hadn’t broken either of Charlie’s rules – was never even tempted to put a needle anywhere near my body, although he was right, it was offered multiple times by customers, and both Levi and Rick had immediately come on to me, but both were easily deterred. And Charlie never did anything inappropriate. I later learned that the whole “I’m not a bartender” line was just part of a persona he liked to project as he turned out to be a happily married man with a couple kids at home. The story around the bar was that Charlie never cheated on his wife even when the situation guaranteed he wouldn’t be caught. I now thought of all three of them as friends, more like protective big brothers who watched out for me. I was the only female that worked at The Canteen – the other women Charlie had tried hiring had all succumb to Levi’s charms and were, as promised, fired immediately.

As time passed, I was told that Charlie hired me to help ‘class up the place
’
. The Canteen had previously been a biker bar. Charlie was trying to change it into a place frequented more by pseudo hippies, real hippies, and the young hip crowd that wanted nothing to do with hippies. Unfortunately, he and his partners didn’t have the financial backing to close, completely renovate and re-open under a new name like the other bars on the street, so they were making changes as they could, and I was one of them. I soon realized that Charlie was open to suggestions that would help towards his goal, so I talked him into hiring a decent cleaning service to scrub the place from floor to ceiling. It helped cut down on the smell, and although the stairs and floor were always nasty from freshly spilled drinks, at least it kept people’s feet from sticking too much as they walked. Charlie never did ask to see my ID – I was paid in cash each week which suited me just fine.

Much to everyone’s surprise, including my own, I got along well with most of the regulars, proving I could handle myself around stoned, mostly male patrons, despite my lack of experience. Or maybe it was my lack of experience that allowed me to find a home there, growing to like a good number of the regular druggies and pseudo-bikers. No one judged me; other than getting drinks, I had zero expectations to live up to with any of these people– and best of all, they didn’t ask personal questions. The people who patronized The Canteen came and went. They became friends for the night, the week or the month. They came from unknown places, and disappeared back into those places at closing time. As long as they respected my privacy, I could respect theirs. It became my own dysfunctional family of sorts – one that asked no more from me than I was willing to give to them. At the end of the night, we all disappeared back into nowhere.

The ordinary, sloppy ass drunks that stumbled in between the hours of 2 am and 4 am after the ‘respectable’ bars had closed tended to be a different story. As far as I was concerned, drunks were much more difficult to deal with than stoners – one in particular.

With Jimi Hendrix’s, “Purple Haze” and Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” blaring from the juke box in the background I approached one of these ‘late customers’. “Hey man, last call,” I said to this guy who had been nursing a bottle of Budweiser, leaning up against one of the small slate topped bars in the middle of the room. He didn’t answer; he just lifted the bottle and took another slow swig, leering at me as I wiped down tables while collecting empty glasses from around the room. He was out-of-place at The Canteen, even considering the eclectic bunch of misfits that frequented the place; he had a military look with a 50’s style, sort of flat top haircut and a scraggly beard. His clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in weeks and he smelled nasty, as if he’d been on the streets, without a shower for a while. The guy was loaded, but wasn’t shit-faced; he still seemed very much in control, standing motionless.

The bar was empty except for a few regulars lounging on the ratty couches in the stage area, this stranger, and a couple of Rick’s buddies at the bar. On my next round of the room I said, “We’re closing, so if you want another quick beer, it’s now or never.” Again, he didn’t answer, this time turning his back on me.
Asshole,
I thought
.
But something in his eyes was making me nervous; I did not like this guy – so when I approached him for the third time to let him know that the bar was now closed, and it was time to leave, I stood back further than I normally would have, well out of his reach. Without a word, his face blank, he lifted his now fire-filled eyes to meet mine, looking through me as if I was some kind of enemy to be destroyed… Then without warning, he smashed the bottle on the slate. Luckily for me he hesitated for a split-moment, glaring through me before lunging in my direction, holding the bottle by the neck – jagged edge pointing in my direction.

All hell broke loose in that second. Everything that happened in the wake of the smashing bottle happened in seconds, but to me, the world took on a sense of slow motion. I heard stools crashing over and caught a glimpse of Rick leaping over the bar from the corner of my eye. Someone yelled “Duck Jackie!” as Rick, his friends, and the regulars from the end of the room lunged at the stranger. I ducked and stumbled backwards over a stool falling onto my ass a few feet away, adrenaline coursing through my veins, heart hammering in my chest.

One of the men who rushed to my rescue caught the stranger from behind, and yanked the arm holding the broken bottle back while at the same time wrapping his other arm around the stranger’s neck. The stranger tried to reach back to free himself, but as he did, one of the guys from the stage landed a punch, hard, in his gut. Although he started to double over, emitting almost non-human grunts with the fire in his eyes getting brighter, he somehow managed to stay on his feet, almost breaking free, punching back, and catching one of Rick’s friends in the jaw. By this point, two more of the regulars were on the guy, wrenching the remaining piece of bottle from his hand, which went smashing to the floor. A series of blows to his body and face brought him down, blood dripping from his broken nose and the corners of his mouth.

Everyone was shouting – the words all a blur… I know the whole thing was over in a matter of minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to me. I heard Rick yelling to his friends, “get that motherfucker out of here, and make sure he never comes back,” as he knelt down beside me on the grimy floor. I watched four or five guys drag the still struggling stranger up the stairs and out the door. Then the world began to move at a normal speed again.

“Jackie, Jackie, are you okay!?! You’re not hurt are you!?!”

“No, I’m fine, I’m just…” My voice sounded strange to my own ears, and my heart was still pounding out of my chest. I looked up at him, tried taking a breath and spoke again “I’m okay… What the fuck just happened? Why would that guy do that? It was like he just freaked out all of a sudden. I don’t know him, I’ve never even seen him before - why the fuck would he do that? He gave me the creeps but…”

“I don’t know, did he say anything before he flipped out… Shit you’re shaking!”

“Of course, I’m shaking, I’ve never… I mean I’ve only been here a month, and there’s a fight that somehow I seem to have caused. Charlie’s gonna fire me!”

“You didn’t cause anything! Charlie’s not gonna fire you… Did that asshole say anything to you before he flipped out and…”

I cut him off, “No, I told him it was last call, and then I told him we were closing – he just glared at me but never said a word. I don’t understand. Where are they taking him?”

Rick helped me stand up, and led me over to the bar. “Have you seen him in here before? Where did they take him?” I asked again.

“No, I’ve never seen him before – I noticed him when he came in – I thought he was weird, but let it go when he just hung out drinking. I should have kept a better eye on him.”

“But where the fuck did they take him – answer me! They’re not going to hurt him are they?” I demanded.

Rick just looked at me, slid a shot glass full of something across the bar to me, and rather matter-of-factly, stated, “He was going to hurt
you
– they’re making sure he doesn’t come back.”

I swallowed – hard. That simple statement sent chills up my spine.

One of the other guys who had been walking around picking up stools, listening to us, but keeping generally quiet decided to jump into the conversation at this point. “They’re gonna kick the shit out of him and…”

“Shut the fuck up Jim! You don’t need to tell her that!” Rick snapped cutting him off. “Here, have a drink.”

“Don’t pour that, he can have this – whatever it is,” I said pushing the shot glass towards Jim as I tried to breathe and steady myself. “I don’t want it. I want to keep my wits about me walking home – I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Rick snorted, then raised his brow and informed me that I wouldn’t be walking home alone again for quite some time. The adrenaline filtering out of my system, I felt drained. I’d never witnessed violence like this before or even a fist fight among the boys in high school – I was battling with my hands to keep them still, and my mind was telling me I should not be working here, but I pushed that thought out of my head. I was unaccustomed to letting some guy make decisions for me or tell me what to do, but was in no condition to protest so I just said, “Good, can we go now then?”

So began my double life – serious art school student by day, waitress at a sleazy bar by night, getting stoned and sleeping with an endless string of men who wanted me, even if it was just for a one night stand. It all held a certain amount of fucked up romanticism when thought about in light of my disheveled marriage. Stephen and I met when I was a sophomore in high school, only 15 years old; I had led a sheltered life before that. He was my first real boyfriend, and the only man I had ever made love to; I thought we would be together forever.