work anymore, but.... can I just stay here and wait
to hear from Brian? He and his companions might be already be in,
but I don't know, I'm a little worried about him being out there,"
she said, looking out into the approaching darkness.
"Sure sweetie, whatever you want. Do you have
any open tables?"
"No, the last one was about half an hour ago.
The weather seems to be scaring them off."
"So do your report and have a drink. I'm sure
he's okay."
"Yup, I know he's okay, and so am I, okay?"
"Yup, I'm here if you need anything."
It was so like Eric to be worried about everyone
else. Here he was, responsible for the whole place with a storm
coming and he was worried about her. "If only he wasn't gay" she thought.
As she descended down the old wooden steps, the
bar's smell hit her nostrils and she instinctively curled up her
nose and lips. The usual smoke-and-beer stench was accentuated by
the pungent aroma of someone's recent vomit.
Joy noticed as she came down to the main floor
that Frank was still at his magician's section, practicing his
tricks. His card tricks had earned him a national reputation and a
permanent spot at Schooner's Wharf. At six foot five, and handsome,
in part to his magnetic and engaging personality, his reputation
exceeded his skills as a magician and illusionist, securing his
place as a ladies' man extraordinaire.
One trick of his, she had finally figured out.
He was able to display a person's mobile number through a card
trick.
Earlier in the evening, he would have his mother
Lee, the manager of the souvenir shop, sit at the bar after her
shift to get her talking to one of the customers. Then, at some
point during the conversation, she would ask to have her picture
taken with the guy and of course her son would volunteer to take
the picture. While he had the camera and his mom was "posing" with
the customer, Frank accessed the cell's number and committed it to
memory for use later on, in the "trick". It worked every time and
ensured a big tip when the cards turn up the guy's phone number. A
couple of drinks helped the dupe forget that his picture had been
taken.
Joy thought that Frank was a really good guy.
She had heard all the rumors about his personal exploits and that
he was a quite "the dog" when it came to women, but instead she saw
him to be a kind, talented, smart man who enjoyed life, women
including. It mattered little to her what he does in his personal
life, she realizes. What mattered was that he bring in customers,
and therefore added to the bottom line. What he did after hours was
purely his business.
Joy ran through her customers' bill and cashed
out to Eric. She tipped out the bartenders a paltry ten dollars on
the hundred she had made. Ten per cent was the rule. She was used
to making and tipping out much more in a typical night; she felt a
little guilty at the small monetary "thank you" she gave to the
barkeeps. She gratefully accepted her shift drink, a triple shot of
fireball in red bull, and went back up to the upper deck to sit
alone, look out on the now stormy sea and think.
"Hey girl, whatcha doin?"
"Oh hey Stormy, just hanging. I'd rather be here
worrying with friends than worrying alone at home."
"It's just a storm right? The weather station
said barely a category one."
"Yeah, but Brian's out in it and the damn cell
phone has no service. I'd just feel better knowing he's okay, you
know?"
Stormy got up and came around and put her arm
around her shoulders. "Yeah, I got it."
Joy had never really noticed how attractive
Stormy was, but up this close, she could see her beautiful face.
Even in the dim light, her eyes were milk chocolate brown with
yellow flecks. In her early twenties and new to the tropical sun,
her complexion was flawless. Even without makeup, her skin was
creamy, smooth and looked so soft. Even the small cubic zirconium
pierced through her lower left lip didn't detract from the sensual
Angelina Jolie lips that were unpainted, ripe and full. The
to hear from Brian? He and his companions might be already be in,
but I don't know, I'm a little worried about him being out there,"
she said, looking out into the approaching darkness.
"Sure sweetie, whatever you want. Do you have
any open tables?"
"No, the last one was about half an hour ago.
The weather seems to be scaring them off."
"So do your report and have a drink. I'm sure
he's okay."
"Yup, I know he's okay, and so am I, okay?"
"Yup, I'm here if you need anything."
It was so like Eric to be worried about everyone
else. Here he was, responsible for the whole place with a storm
coming and he was worried about her. "If only he wasn't gay" she thought.
As she descended down the old wooden steps, the
bar's smell hit her nostrils and she instinctively curled up her
nose and lips. The usual smoke-and-beer stench was accentuated by
the pungent aroma of someone's recent vomit.
Joy noticed as she came down to the main floor
that Frank was still at his magician's section, practicing his
tricks. His card tricks had earned him a national reputation and a
permanent spot at Schooner's Wharf. At six foot five, and handsome,
in part to his magnetic and engaging personality, his reputation
exceeded his skills as a magician and illusionist, securing his
place as a ladies' man extraordinaire.
One trick of his, she had finally figured out.
He was able to display a person's mobile number through a card
trick.
Earlier in the evening, he would have his mother
Lee, the manager of the souvenir shop, sit at the bar after her
shift to get her talking to one of the customers. Then, at some
point during the conversation, she would ask to have her picture
taken with the guy and of course her son would volunteer to take
the picture. While he had the camera and his mom was "posing" with
the customer, Frank accessed the cell's number and committed it to
memory for use later on, in the "trick". It worked every time and
ensured a big tip when the cards turn up the guy's phone number. A
couple of drinks helped the dupe forget that his picture had been
taken.
Joy thought that Frank was a really good guy.
She had heard all the rumors about his personal exploits and that
he was a quite "the dog" when it came to women, but instead she saw
him to be a kind, talented, smart man who enjoyed life, women
including. It mattered little to her what he does in his personal
life, she realizes. What mattered was that he bring in customers,
and therefore added to the bottom line. What he did after hours was
purely his business.
Joy ran through her customers' bill and cashed
out to Eric. She tipped out the bartenders a paltry ten dollars on
the hundred she had made. Ten per cent was the rule. She was used
to making and tipping out much more in a typical night; she felt a
little guilty at the small monetary "thank you" she gave to the
barkeeps. She gratefully accepted her shift drink, a triple shot of
fireball in red bull, and went back up to the upper deck to sit
alone, look out on the now stormy sea and think.
"Hey girl, whatcha doin?"
"Oh hey Stormy, just hanging. I'd rather be here
worrying with friends than worrying alone at home."
"It's just a storm right? The weather station
said barely a category one."
"Yeah, but Brian's out in it and the damn cell
phone has no service. I'd just feel better knowing he's okay, you
know?"
Stormy got up and came around and put her arm
around her shoulders. "Yeah, I got it."
Joy had never really noticed how attractive
Stormy was, but up this close, she could see her beautiful face.
Even in the dim light, her eyes were milk chocolate brown with
yellow flecks. In her early twenties and new to the tropical sun,
her complexion was flawless. Even without makeup, her skin was
creamy, smooth and looked so soft. Even the small cubic zirconium
pierced through her lower left lip didn't detract from the sensual
Angelina Jolie lips that were unpainted, ripe and full. The
Similar Books
