Page 10 of Old-Fashioned

I smiled and nodded.

Not even five minutes later a woman stepped up to me from the other side of the bar top. She didn’t appear to be any older than thirty, and I desperately wanted to know the product she used to get her red hair that deep in color and that shiny.

It looked awesome on her.

Just as I was thinking that she tilted her head to the side, and asked “How old are you?”

Normally, that was a common question you asked someone in a bar where alcohol was served, but in this instance, I was sure that wasn’t why she was asking.

I knew I didn’t look twenty-three.

No, I looked like I was fifteen with the body of a well-rounded woman.

Good genes were the only thing I could use to answer that.

See I was tiny. Like so tiny that I had to shop in the kid's section at Target. Thankfully, I didn’t have to buy my underwear there. With my big bootie for my size, I got to have all the good lacy things.

“Twenty-three.” I looked at her confused expression and smiled as I opened my purse and pulled out my driver’s license that showed my birthdate.

Handing it to her, she looked at it, inspected it, and then handed it back to me while nodding.

“Fill this out, and someone will call you.” Nodding at the woman I grabbed the paper application, opened my purse, and pulled out a pen.

I was one of those women. I learned from an early age that crap happened on a regular basis.

I had all kinds of things in my bag, that I had to use on a day-to-day base.

I learned to be like that.

Once I filled it out, handed it to her, ate my burger, and moaned at the mouth-watering taste, and then as I looked up, I saw the woman had her eyes on me as well as the older man.

She had this look on her face that I didn’t want to dive into, but the man simply said, “Shit. She’s going to cause a ruckus.”

The woman giggled then, “I think you’re right, Frank.”

Just as I finished my burger, I smiled, pulled a twenty from my bag, handed it to the man, and then looked at the woman, “I’m Birdie, you are?”

She looked at me, confusion marring her features, and then I saw her eyes widened, “Fuck me. I didn’t even introduce myself. I swear, I’m losing my mind, sorry. I’m Isla. The manager when the owner isn’t here.”

I smiled at her, showing that I definitely got it, “It’s nice to meet you. I look forward to that phone call.”

And then as I recalled something as I walked in, I leaned in and lowered my tone, “That boy and the girl at the table near the jukebox, they’re skipping class. I don’t believe they teach world history in college.”

Her eyes widened, then looked behind me, the man came off his forearms and meandered over to them.

Within five minutes the cops were called, their fake IDs were confiscated, and before I left, Isla tossed out, “You’re hired for me. I’ll talk to the boss in the morning.”

And that was how I got a job at Virgin Mary’s.

***

One week later I tried not to hyperventilate at that gorgeous specimen of man as I let the cool air of the night calm my cheeks.

That man was sex on a freaking stick.

But I wondered how in the world I was going to be saving my neck from having to bend it back to look up at him. Compared to me, he was a giant. And I knew he was pushing six foot three.

He had strands of silver in his beard, and just at the tip of his ears in his black hair.