It was Saturday night. Fifteen minutes before Salem was meant to leave for work, he was fucking a twink he’d met the weekend before. With River gone, he could go back to doing whatever (or whomever) at any given time. Once, River asked Salem why he slept around so much, and Salem had had no answer except that he could.
It was easy to pick out a twink in a crowd. Salem had been doing it for years.
“Gotta go,” he said, after leaving the man sweaty and exhausted, “I don’t want to be late for work.” Tonight, as it had many nights before, Sleeping Tulip was hosting a bachelor party. This meant, despite being scheduled for a full staff, they’d likely have too much work to keep up with, and Salem would be needed behind the bar. He rarely had time for this.
“What’s going on over there?” Delilah had asked, during yesterday’s phone call. “We haven’t talked in a while. What have I missed?”
They were never free at the same time. With work schedules and time zones, it was getting harder and harder to keep in touch.
“Actually, you’ve missed a lot.” Salem was on lunch when Delilah called, and she’d just gotten up for work. Too much news at once would overwhelm her. Too little would leave her unsatisfied. “Mara’s dead and Samantha’s been missing for months.” A lot of people enjoyed gossip. Delilah wasn’t partial to gore and details, but she appreciated a good story. “Asher’s fingerprints were found all around the place where Dad was killed, so everyone thought it was him.”
It was easier to have a conversation face to face. Salem preferred the intimacy that came with in person conversations: he enjoyed observing the reactions of other people, and seeing expression on their faces. He’d met people who seemed to have no expression at all, and they always left him feeling uneasy.
“Sometimes I miss being so far away.”
Delilah could talk for hours. She didn’t plan this, but in pleasant conversation with loved ones, time often got away from her. When she and Salem were kids, she’d sit for hours and listen to him tell stories, and he never ran out of things to say.
“But Asher was framed,” he said, feeling rushed by the noise in the bar, and the mess of the lunch room. “Sebastian would sneak into the house when Dad was asleep, and he never got caught.”
He often walked to work. It was a short distance from his house, and it gave him time to relax and enjoy life before arriving at work. He hadn’t always walked, and certainly didn’t do it every day - but sometimes it was nice to get some fresh air and exercise.
The bar was busy and loud, and in need of inventory. On the way to work, Salem had been texted by an employee he’d hired not too long ago, who’d been apologetic over falling ill. This meant, in addition to every other necessary duty, he’d need to be responsible for finding someone to replace her.
“Hey, Katie. How’s your night?”
She was on break in the lunchroom when he arrived, and already seemed to be exhausted. It was an exhausting environment for most people. “I’m glad you’re here! Everybody is so uptight tonight.”
He hung his jacket. “How so?”
“Oh.” Katie was seldom shy, even if it meant offending a customer. Sometimes, the customer wasn’t right, but you still had to pretend they were. “All the other bartenders just seem so intense. A customer just yelled at me because I accidentally gave her the wrong drink. And Damon’s being so mean. He said I was bad at my job.” She sighed, checking the clock at the back of the staff room. “But you’re actually friendly, and don’t yell at us over every little mistake.”
“Interesting.” The world needed honesty - but it seemed so hard to find most days. Some things were better left unsaid, sure. It was important to make employees feel heard. “Well, I’ll be here all night. You know where to find me.” There would be interviews tonight. In the summertime, Sleeping Tulip was always busiest.
He had a missed call from Kioni. She only called when she was horny.
Several months ago, a long-time employee of Sleeping Tulip was caught stealing from inventory. If you were observant, it was easy to figure out when suspicious activity was occurring among employees. Most people, when witnessing theft by somebody else, would turn a blind eye, or confess to a manager in secret. This was far less helpful than confrontation - and one couldn’t be afraid of confrontation to work in an environment like this.
There was a lot to do. Creating checklists, budgeting, overseeing: it seemed there was never a shortage of things to do. When an employee clocked in, they checked in with Salem, who created schedules and assigned employees to stations. When the tables began to fill up, and the customers got unruly, he’d often go out and greet regulars. The most important duty of any business was, of course, to keep their customers happy and coming back. At work, he was never in one place for long. Tonight, two new hires were starting, and this meant training and education. Though Salem was in charge of hiring and staffing, he wasn’t a trainer, and certainly didn’t have time to take on the task.
“Kaley, I need you for training.” At the front of the bar, a large group of men laughed and chatted. Kaley had been working there for several years, and had recently been given the responsibility of training inexperienced hires. The two new employees were fresh out of the restaurant business, and followed Salem around awkwardly while waiting to be given a task. “This is Charlie and Izzy,” he said, greeting Kaley behind the bar. “Can you run through the manual with them?”
She was quick and friendly. Each week, Salem liked to leave a small gift for every employee. The ones who were well-seasoned with Sleeping Tulip had grown to expect this.
It was important, when it came to training, to ensure each bartender knew the drink recipes exactly as they were written. Sure, people were individualistic, and each had their own way of making drinks: but customers noticed discrepancies, and they weren’t shy about pointing them out.
Max, one of the bar’s regulars, was a man in his fifties who’d been married and divorced twice. He frequented the place three times a night, and often brought friends. Weaving his way through the crowd, Salem greeted the man.
“Hey, Max. Good to see you! How’ve you been?”
It was loud. At the end of the night, Salem’s ears were always ringing.
Max clapped him on the back. “Same old, my friend!” Tonight, he was accompanied by a younger man, whose similar facial features gave him away. “This is my son, Collin. He’s visiting from out of town.” Salem always loved to see a new face. Max always ordered the same drink: whiskey and ginger, and he always tipped well.
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“Hey, Collin. Great to meet you. Welcome to Sleeping Tulip! First drink’s on the house.”
At least once a night, a belligerent customer came forward with a complaint. More often than not, the bartenders could diffuse this. Sometimes, arguments grew so out of hand that people needed to be removed. The first angry customer of the night came in the form of a middle-aged man, who shouted at Katie across the counter. Katie wasn’t easily flustered. She looked as though she could cry.
“Hey, Katie. What’s going on?”
She frowned. The man, who was wildly drunk and loud, whirled around. “Are you a manager?” Katie, who had no nametag, wiped out a shot glass, her eyes downturned to the counter. “I need a manager! This bitch ruined my drink!”
There was a line between customer dissatisfaction and plain disrespect. It was a two-way street, respect. You didn’t earn it if you didn’t give it. “Okay.” Salem looked the man in the face. He’d been here before, but hadn’t caused a problem. Everybody had bad days. This didn’t make it fair to make it other people’s problems. “Please don’t disrespect my employees. Tell me what happened.”
A bartender had to know when to stop serving a customer. If a person was unruly, or troublesome, or visibly drunk, they needed to be cut off at the counter. This, as one could imagine, had enraged many customers - but the safety of other patrons and employees was important. The man scowled, slamming his glass down on the counter. “She put too much rye in my sazerac! When I asked for a free drink as an apology, she snapped at me and refused to take accountability!” This could have been true. The hard part was figuring out which side of the story was the truth. “She needs to be fired for her disrespect. incompetent, inconsiderate, stupid…”
Alcohol made people unruly. It was almost guaranteed that when bar fights broke out, a lot of alcohol was involved. “Katie,” said Salem, taking the rag from her hand, “go take a break. Have some water, take a bit to cool down, okay?” He wasn’t angry. The man stared at them, nearly falling over in his haste to get closer. “Sir, I’ll get you a new drink. Just give me one moment, okay?”
The situation could have been salvageable. But again, there was always a line. Taking a seat on the last bar stool, the man shouted at Katie’s retreating figure. “Maybe you should learn how to do your job, stupid bitch!”
“Okay.” He wasn’t a tall man. “Don’t talk to people like that. You’re going to have to leave.” At work, Salem survived on coffee and weed. After running over things behind the bar and adjusting the dance music, he went to find Katie.
There was a weekly schedule on the wall behind the door of the break room. It was updated every weekend, and always hung in the same place. “Katie.”
She sat at a table, sipping water and talking to herself. In the ten months since being hired, she hadn’t been shouted at once. Everybody had a first time. After a while, being shouted at didn’t have an effect at all. “I’m sorry.” Katie sighed, staring at the table. “I made a mistake. I was distracted by another customer when I was pouring the drink, and I put in an extra ounce of rye by mistake. Please don’t yell at me.”
What did yelling do, besides put everybody on edge? Salem’s father had been a man who yelled, and he’d seen the way it had forced his siblings into themselves. “I’m not going to yell at you.” Something it had taken years to learn was that you couldn’t please everyone. “I’m just here to tell you you’re doing a great job.”
There was a homeless man named Francis, who most of the bartenders knew by name. Once in a while, he’d stop by for a drink, or an appetizer to get him through until the morning. The world was run by corporate greed and corrupt men. Without the help of strangers, it was all but impossible to survive.
Katie smiled. “Thanks.”
“Hey,” said a man earlier that night, watching Salem help serve up drinks behind the bar. He’d been flirty, but not inappropriately so. “You look like you’re great in bed.”
Technically, it was unprofessional to hit on customers. But the man did it first. “Yeah? Why don’t you take me home and find out?”
In late summer, Salem always got off work right when the sun was beginning to come up. That night, Kioni was parked outside of the house when he arrived, sitting in her car, talking on the phone. She’d had a key to the place, once, but returned it after the breakup. These days, she only stopped by if she wanted a fuck.
He tapped on the window, which was unrolled slightly. “Come inside. You can wait in my room while I take a shower.”
It was barely half past six. For Kioni to show up this early was very unusual. She sighed, unrolling the window the rest of the way down. “I’m not here for that.” It was strange how things changed. They’d dated for four years, and broken up right at the moment everyone began to assume they’d get married. In the end, it was always one stupid argument after the other. It was stupid to wait around. She’d always assumed he’d change his mind about marriage and children. He always assumed the same.
“What if I got pregnant?” she’d ask, “Would you marry me then?” She’d ask and ask, as though wearing him down would change the outcome, and it never did. It was never because of her. Love and marriage didn’t go together.
“Oh?” Glancing at Kioni through the open window, Salem lit a pipe. “Why are you here, then?”
It was quiet. Giving him a long glance, Kioni unlocked the doors. “Sit down.” She’d always hated it when he got high. She still did. Her eyes were loud and upturned; he used to get lost in them for hours. “Remember four years ago, when you made me drive you to get a vasectomy?” It was an unexpected conversation starter. Salem couldn’t tell where she was heading with it.
“Yeah?”
“And remember how they said it was almost completely effective, but had a possibility of reversing itself over time?”
She was staring at him. She hadn’t looked at him like that in years. The sky was pink, and Salem was very tired. “Yeah.”
“Come on.” Kioni’s dark eyes were tired. The sun had come up, and washed her face with light. “You’ve got to know where I’m going with this by now. I don’t come over just to visit.”
Women were hard to read. They left subtle hints at important subjects rather than being straightforward, and became frustrated when they weren’t understood. “Where are you going with this, Kioni?” At one point, he might have understood her hints. At one point she was more straight-forward.
Salem blew smoke out the window. Kioni would never forgive him if he made the car smell like weed. “Jesus,” she said, and sighed, crossing her arms over her stomach. “I’m pregnant, Salem. I took a test at home this afternoon.” She’d always wanted kids. During their relationship, this had been another common topic of argument. She sat with her hands over her lap, watching him, as if waiting for a specific reaction. “Say something.”
He was far too stoned for this. “What are you going to do?” He could give an opinion. In the end, it didn’t matter. Years ago, he would have believed it did. “Don’t you want kids?”
She was quiet, her gaze wavering. When Kioni was deep in thought, she always bit her lip. In the year since they’d broken up, she hadn’t dated, or expressed interest in doing so. Though the end of their relationship had been inevitable, Kioni had taken it particularly hard. She looked at him, a crinkle in her eyebrows. “I thought about getting rid of it…. But I’m thirty years old, and you and I both know I’m running out of time to have kids.” Watching him take another hit, Kioni exhaled. “What do you think I should do?”
It didn’t make a difference. “It’s not up to me.” Ten years ago, he would have believed it was.
“Anyway.” Kioni reached for the keys, rubbing her hands together the way she’d always done when she was tired. “I needed you to know. I’ll sleep on it and text you later.” It was hard to stay awake. “Goodnight, Salem.”
She used to ask if he was in love with her. There was no point lying, but sometimes, it hurt less than telling the truth. He could have said it. She always loved him more than he loved her. “Night, Kioni.” It was a chilly morning. Shutting the door of Kioni’s car, Salem slipped inside the house.