The Edge of Always

have so tightly wrapped around my finger that if I told him to lick the floor he would ask Fer how long?

Andrew

That Southern belle accent that came out of nowhere really turned me on. She and I are gonna have to talk about that later.

I pin on my name tag, tie my apron at the back, and grab the plastic tublike thing German points to when I look over. Hell, I don’t mind this kind of work, but German is a redneck dickhead who I hope stays out of my way for the next two hours. And he could use a stick of deodorant. I mean the whole fucking stick. He really doesn’t go with the place. He’s like a rebel flag hanging in the window of a $400,000 house. The bar-slash-restaurant is actually decked out pretty nice. On the inside, at least.

I head out onto the floor with my tub fixed underneath my arm and go to the first empty table I see. I clear away all of the trash and dirty dishes covered with uneaten fries and hush puppies, and toss everything into the tub. Then I wipe the table down with the rag in my apron pocket, and straighten the ketchup and steak sauce bottles. It’s all pretty straightforward, unlike waitressing, which I guess is why only Camryn had to get an hour’s worth of training yesterday before she could start today. She may have the tip job where she can work that sexy charm of hers, but she has to put up with the creepy perverted boss. And I’m lovin’ the shit out of it. It’s what she gets for making fun of me getting the busing job. She joked around by calling me the bar’s “bottom feeder.” Well, I hope she doesn’t expect me to save her skinny butt from German’s advances. She’s on her own with that one.

I bus a couple more tables, leaving the five-dollar tip on one table and the twenty on another. When I start to head into the back to drop off the load, I’m stopped by four girls at a booth near the bar wall.

“Hey baby doll,” one of the older women says, gesturing me with the curl of her finger. “Can you take our drink order?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I just bus the tables.”

I try to walk away, but a prettier one stops me.

“I bet if we requested that you be our waiter, you’d get promoted.” Her eyes are glassy and her head sways a little. I notice—because it’s hard not to—her huge boobs busting out of her tight tank top. She pushes them further into view.

“Well, you could ask,” I say, putting on my own charm, lifting one side of my mouth into a grin. “And if the boss man says so, then I’m all yours for the evening.”

All four of them look at one another, having some kind of inside conversation. I’ve got them eating out of the palm of my hand.

Camryn comes up behind me bearing a drink tray lined with shots of whiskey and a glass already stuffed full of bills. I wonder if that’s the tip jar or the money she collects from the alcohol. It’s making me anxious.

She smirks at me, looks down at the table of women, and then back at me again briefly. “Is he bothering you ladies?” she asks.

I know she’s not jealous; it’s all about competition tonight, between her and me. And she’s going to do whatever she can to keep me from winning the little bet we made in the car on the ride over here:

“You don’t think I can rake in tips as a busboy?”

“No,” she said. “Busboys don’t collect tips.”

“Think about it,” I said, looking at her from the driver’s seat. “It’s a bar full of women and alcohol. I bet you I can get tips.”

“Oh really?” she asked, pursing her lips.

“Yeah,” I said and then took it up a notch because I was feeling bold: “Actually, I bet I can rake in more tips than you.”

Camryn laughed. “Seriously? You want to bet on that?” She crossed her arms and shook her head at me like I was being ridiculous.

“Yes,” I said when I knew I should’ve said, No, I’m just kidding.

But I didn’t say no, and now I’m stuck in this bet where if Camryn wins, I have to give her an hour-long massage for three straight nights. An hour is a long time for a massage. I can already feel my arms going limp just thinking about it.

The older woman answers Camryn, “No, he’s not bothering us at all, sweetie.” She looks me up and down like she wants to strip me naked and lick me, propping her chin on her enclosed, upright hands. “He can stay here for as long as he likes. Where is your boss?”

“He’s somewhere around here,” Camryn says. “Just look for the big guy in the company shirt. His name is German.”

“Thank you, doll,” the woman says and looks back at me.

That one, I admit, kind of scares me. And since she seems to be the leader of their pack, I decide I need to move on before she really thinks I’m that into her and I’m the one needing Camryn’s help to get me out of the mess I started.

“Have a great night, ladies,” I say with an inviting smile and then I turn to walk away.

I feel a hand slide into my apron pocket. I stop and look down as the woman’s hand moves away. She’s gazing up at me with that famous horny look.

“You too, sugar,” she says.

I wink at her and smile at the other three as I casually walk away. When I make it into the kitchen, I empty my tub and then reach into my pocket and pull out three twenty-dollar bills.

Hell yeah, maybe that bet wasn’t so ridiculous, after all.

Two hours later…

Yeah, the bet was ridiculous.

“Two forty, forty-one, forty-six, fifty-six.” Camryn keeps counting her tips now that our short shift is over. She smirks and adds, “And how much did you get?”

I’m trying to keep a straight face to make my disappointment seem somewhat genuine, but she’s not making it easy. So I pull out my money, count it again, and answer, “Eighty-two dollars.”

“Well, that’s not bad for a busboy, I have to give it to you,” she says, pocketing her cash.

“Give it to me how?” I ask as I untie the apron and take it off. “You’re letting me out of the bet?”

“Pfft! No way,” she says.

German comes up behind us.

“You two betta be good,” he says. “An’ none o’that rap stuff or dem fancy new-age songs.” He snaps his fingers rapidly as if he’s trying to name an example, but then he just gives up. “This ain’t no ’Merican Idol.”

“Understood,” Camryn says with that sweet smile of hers.

German, with a big dopey grin on his face, snaps out of her spell, and as he walks away he snarls at me as he passes. It’s better than him looking at me the way he looks at Camryn, so I’m not complaining.

I turn to Camryn. “Don’t be nervous.” I take her hands into mine. “Like I said, you’re going to kick ass out there.”

She nods nervously. Then she lets a quick burst of air move through her little rounded lips and inhales a deep breath.

“I’ll run out and get the guitar while you get ready,” I say.

“All right,” she says.

I kiss her on the lips and head outside to the car where the electric guitar she bought me for my birthday is hiding in the trunk. “Edge of Seventeen” may be her solo, but the guitar riff itself is so well-known that I’m almost as nervous as she is about performing it. OK, maybe not so much as nervous—it’s a fairly easy song to play. What has me a little on edge is screwing it up for her. She’s the only reason I feel any kind of pressure about tonight’s performance.

I walk up onto the stage to find the drummer, Leif, who we met yesterday, getting set up. “Thanks for doing this, man,” I say to him.

“Hey, no problem,” Leif says. “I’ve played this song a number of times at a bar in Georgia I used to work at a few years ago.”