through that black folder once more, just like I had done about twenty times in the past weeks. The Devils were up two games to one in the series finals, having just lost their latest match. Of course I wanted to see them win, but I was rooting for them to take the whole enchilada for more reasons than just my personal team pride. A high-profile victory party held at my bar would mean a certain boost in business for this place.
Ironically enough, it looked as though my livelihood would once again depend on hockey.
I peeked into the open door of my apartment and checked the score on the TV. It was still a scoreless game and we were already in the second period. Way too painful to watch alone.
I slammed down the rest of my water and decided to head back downstairs to the floor. The bar was busy enough tonight at least—most of our regulars had come to hang out as they usually did. But considering it was Game 4 of the finals, I would have expected to see this place a bit more crowded. With twelve televisions, great bar fare, and an endless supply of booze, The Westlake was the best place within a ten-mile radius to come and watch the games. As the suffocating heat radiated around me, I snickered in frustration, realizing how many more people must have come and gone before their asses even hit a stool. Most people didn’t want to spend their evening in an oven, and God only knew how many potential customers had pulled a one-eighty once the heat smacked them in the face.
Speaking of ovens… I popped my head into the kitchen to see how the guys were faring. It was normally hot as hell back here as it was, but when the air wasn’t working, it was unbearable.
The bar was separated from the restaurant by the large kitchen. Both halves of my establishment were designed to face the lake, but the view wasn’t the only draw for my restaurant patrons. I might be biased, but I’ve gotta say, the food was fucking phenomenal.
Thankfully, I wasn’t forced to spend much time dealing with the foodservice end of things. My skills were better utilized schmoozing with my bar patrons and dealing with the paperwork necessary to keep the entire establishment in business. That’s why I let Felix run the show in regards to the restaurant and just stayed the hell out of his way. He was old as dirt, but he knew his stuff. I don’t even know that my father actually hired him all those years ago. Rather, Felix appeared out of thin air to land on The Westlake’s doorstep. Tuesday through Sunday, the guy started work at the crack and didn’t leave until the last customer left the premises. Six to eleven, every day, without fail, without complaint.
A saint, I tell you.
I gave him an inquisitive nod which was returned with his customary, “Yes, yes. Everythin’s fine, Zac. Now get out my kitchen.” I smiled as usual, then gladly took him up on his offer to remove myself from the inferno.
Thankfully, Barry showed up just then. I gave him a wave (which he barely acknowledged) as he headed down into the boiler room. He didn’t need me to escort him; he knew quite well where it was. But he didn’t need to be so damn smug about it.
Despite the heat, I was happy to see that the stools weren’t completely empty. Denny gave me an exhausted salute, and I figured it was best that I didn’t bother to make eye contact with Alice. Her personality was pretty rough-around-the-edges to begin with, but add in the uncomfortable temperature and the inevitable loss of tips she’d incur because of it, and oh Jesus. This night would go easier for the both of us if I just stayed out of her way.
I noticed a cute little redhead sitting at the near end of the long bar, and took a moment to look her over in appreciation. We didn’t normally get too many girls in this dive, much less cute ones, and almost never on a weeknight. I practically owed it to myself to go and chat her up.
“Don’t bother,
Ironically enough, it looked as though my livelihood would once again depend on hockey.
I peeked into the open door of my apartment and checked the score on the TV. It was still a scoreless game and we were already in the second period. Way too painful to watch alone.
I slammed down the rest of my water and decided to head back downstairs to the floor. The bar was busy enough tonight at least—most of our regulars had come to hang out as they usually did. But considering it was Game 4 of the finals, I would have expected to see this place a bit more crowded. With twelve televisions, great bar fare, and an endless supply of booze, The Westlake was the best place within a ten-mile radius to come and watch the games. As the suffocating heat radiated around me, I snickered in frustration, realizing how many more people must have come and gone before their asses even hit a stool. Most people didn’t want to spend their evening in an oven, and God only knew how many potential customers had pulled a one-eighty once the heat smacked them in the face.
Speaking of ovens… I popped my head into the kitchen to see how the guys were faring. It was normally hot as hell back here as it was, but when the air wasn’t working, it was unbearable.
The bar was separated from the restaurant by the large kitchen. Both halves of my establishment were designed to face the lake, but the view wasn’t the only draw for my restaurant patrons. I might be biased, but I’ve gotta say, the food was fucking phenomenal.
Thankfully, I wasn’t forced to spend much time dealing with the foodservice end of things. My skills were better utilized schmoozing with my bar patrons and dealing with the paperwork necessary to keep the entire establishment in business. That’s why I let Felix run the show in regards to the restaurant and just stayed the hell out of his way. He was old as dirt, but he knew his stuff. I don’t even know that my father actually hired him all those years ago. Rather, Felix appeared out of thin air to land on The Westlake’s doorstep. Tuesday through Sunday, the guy started work at the crack and didn’t leave until the last customer left the premises. Six to eleven, every day, without fail, without complaint.
A saint, I tell you.
I gave him an inquisitive nod which was returned with his customary, “Yes, yes. Everythin’s fine, Zac. Now get out my kitchen.” I smiled as usual, then gladly took him up on his offer to remove myself from the inferno.
Thankfully, Barry showed up just then. I gave him a wave (which he barely acknowledged) as he headed down into the boiler room. He didn’t need me to escort him; he knew quite well where it was. But he didn’t need to be so damn smug about it.
Despite the heat, I was happy to see that the stools weren’t completely empty. Denny gave me an exhausted salute, and I figured it was best that I didn’t bother to make eye contact with Alice. Her personality was pretty rough-around-the-edges to begin with, but add in the uncomfortable temperature and the inevitable loss of tips she’d incur because of it, and oh Jesus. This night would go easier for the both of us if I just stayed out of her way.
I noticed a cute little redhead sitting at the near end of the long bar, and took a moment to look her over in appreciation. We didn’t normally get too many girls in this dive, much less cute ones, and almost never on a weeknight. I practically owed it to myself to go and chat her up.
“Don’t bother,
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