When Terrance, the broad shouldered, wide-egoed Boulevard Bistro GM whispered in Tina’s ear “you don’t have to give that loser dishwasher a ride home, he lives in the ghet-toe,” Tina decided she’d give Zeke a ride home every night she worked.
She decided that before she heard the bodywash reeking fool say ghetto, but that locked it in.
She could easily be GM of the joint, if she wanted, but she still had some life left in her chosen field. She’d stick to bartending, get most of the days off she needed.
Zeke told stories about college soccer and lost loves and losing his pinkie finger in a non-union fabricating shop, tugging on a black cherry vape that Tina loved the smell of, while Tina drove into a neighborhood she had never seen before. Wondered if the neighborhood had a name, but didn’t want to ask.
Three nights of driving Zeke home and she felt like they were really friends, not just coworkers.
Phil would be wary of a setup like this, not jealous of Zeke, certainly, but cautiously suspicious.
Zeke thanked her for the ride and hopped out.
His screen door that didn’t have a screen was loose at the top hinge. The porch light was blue.
Phil would have some dumb joke about the house.
She punched the dash twice.
Fuck Phil, she told herself. You’re done. It’s over. Move on.
Tina changed her music to shuffle.
The first song was The Paybacks hit Just You Wait.
Of course the song reminded her of Phil, but ninety percent of the songs on this mix were going to.
Zeke’s black cherry vape aroma lingered in the car.
I want some.
The thought was so strong Tina wondered if she had said it out loud.
There was a party store on the left, just off the corner of Davison.
The classic orange Detroit party store sign sign, yellow bulbs. Liquor Lotto WIC
Tina turned left.
Faded, very faded, on top of the party store, was her gin billboard.
Black dress, mauve eyeshadow, and two things that had been added to the shot that weren’t at the original shoot: An albino ball python and her cleavage.
She never had any, a lifelong A cup, though her early agents had begged her to get an augmentation. One agency dropped her and she always believed it was because she wouldn’t get a boob job.
Tina hadn’t seen the billboard in years.
She hadn’t seen that Sunrise Smile kids show she has done an episode of in years either, but she was still getting $4.15 every three months for it.
Tina got out, thinking seriously about bypassing the vape and just getting cigarettes, hearing Phil’s voice begging her to quit, his too-big nipple ring dangling in her face in bed when she was hungover.
“You the Drizzly Wizzly girl?”
Tina looked to her right.
A man in an army coat with gloves was smiling at her, but his head was cocked, in puppy style inquisitiveness.
“Am I what?”
The Channel 2 weathergirl that says “Drizzly Wizzly.”
Tina shook her head. “No, we’re just both blonde.”
“Didn’t mean no offense, shit. She’s the prettiest girl on TV.”
Tina didn’t think Amber Conner was very pretty, and she was closer to retirement than she was to being considered a girl, but Tina regretted snapping at the man.
“You got a dollar I can borrow, get sumthin’ to eat?”
Tina shook her head.
“No, no cash on me, sorry.”
That’s a lie Tina Jayne, and you know it. You’re a bartender.
Between the mental Phil relapse and being mean to the old street guy, she was starting to dislike herself very much.
She looked up at the billboard. The snake was beautiful, but the way it was draped on her shoulders gave her a strong goose-on-the-grave shiver.
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