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Gold teeth flashing, glaring, grinning, mouth getting closer, Racetrack Dottie leans over the bar and gets right in my face, waving that precious piece of paper.
"Cash my welfare check girl? You know it's good. I gotta tip today, 'sa sure thing baby, gonna make me rich! You wanna give ol' Dottie a few bucks to put on it for ya?"
Dottie couldn't remember the horse's name, but when she got to the track, she'd see her man and he'd tell her.
Bullshit smile. Really sweet, do anything in the world for you, "I likes you a lot Honey," she bares those shining teeth.
"You is a nice girl. Dottie knows good people when she sees 'em. You is good people Honey."
She means it, but she's gonna pocket my money anyway. Racetrack Dottie'd hustle her own mother and never bat an eyelash. It's part of her - charisma!
I don't see much of Dottie; she's a day person. I work nights. A few days a week, I come in early, open the bar, deal with mail, and liquor salesman, and get acquainted with the day people.
Racetrack Dottie shows up every day at noon, just before she heads out to the track. She smooth talks folks into giving her putting a few bucks on some horse's nose. They could easily wager at the OTB parlour, but they send the money to the track with Dottie. Me, I'm pretty sure the money ends up in Dottie's pocket!
I manage the place when Victor, the owner, needs time off. Manager's a nice title but the real money is in tips. That's why I work the bar - at night when the place is buzzing. I gotta tell ya, tending bar is a great job and it pays the bills.
Anyway I meet some of the day customers, like Dottie and her nephew Rocky. They live in what was once a first rate hotel, with doormen and bellboys, and now it's a welfare hotel, the scourge of the neighborhood. Thing is, the town's people hire the welfare people, cheap and "off the books," to clean their houses and do their gardening. Scourge or not, everything equals out.
Rocky's got this incredible smile that tilts up on one side and kinda angles into a deep dimple. He tells me how he's collecting welfare from three counties, and how to get change of a twenty for a ten. And him telling me, he learned to pull the Murphy from his old man, then flashing that smile and jiving me out of a ten-spot, just smooth as you please. Me, I sit there hanging on every word, knowing he's bad, and falling into his trap. Talk about dumb! I'll never see the money again, but I shrug it off. It's worth the entertainment.
Dottie and Rocky are bar people. They come visit, have a drink, share friendly conversation, tell their life stories, share their heartaches and happiness; divulge things they wouldn't tell another living being.
Gregory thinks he might be gay. Jimmy the high school teacher is. Gregory used to make fun of Jimmy - things change. Jenny thinks she's in love with Alphie. How do I tell her Alphie's a pimp? Aw, she's gotta know, I mean he drives that big gun-metal-blue caddie with the obnoxious red velvet seats and the gold eagle hood ornament. The guy wears Dracula like capes and wide brimmed Texas oilman hats. Geez the kid's gotta know. Anyway she'll be working for him soon, you'll see.
Alphie's sister Happy, and his main girl friend, Eileen, both work for him. There are a few others too, like Barbara Big Tits, the hat check girl and Windy the model.
My friend Lorraine said Happy invited her to "go on a date" once. She said, all she had to do was to have dinner with a guy, and if she liked him she could "do it", but she didn't "hafta" do anything. She'd be wined and dined at the best Manhattan night spots, have limousine transportation, and get a couple a hundred no matter what, and a lot more if she, -- well you know.
I meet so many people in this business, each one interesting an different. I kind of want to tell you about all of them, because we all touch each other's lives - like a chain. Since I introduce them to each other, I guess I'm the main link.
There are a lot of people, especially guys, who pour their hearts out to me. I'm a really good listener, and I'm empathetic. I guess people can sense that, 'cause I've got quite a following. Victor says business has tripled since I started working here. I think it's because I genuinely like everyone. Of course that makes people like me back - sometimes too much. Bobby thinks he is in love with me, and Barry and Curt and maybe one or two more. I read about that; it's called transference.
I've got some sex appeal, but I'm not much of a looker. I tell the guys they're not really in love; it's just because they tell me their problems. They think not - all of them. Oh well, maybe someday I'll find use for a harem of hims.
There are plenty of others who come in here - just for a drink. That's what they tell themselves. They all have stories, and they're all looking for something.
Some of the ladies who come by after their women's club meetings, start out just sitting there talking. Sooner or later they get turned on by the ambiance, and then they're dancing and pouring their hearts out to some Don Juan. Next thing you know they leave with the guy! Wonder what stories they tell their husbands when they get home?
Sometimes, trouble comes in here, nostrils flaring, horns charging at imagined red flags. It's not the regulars, not my people, usually just a transient drunk. We get through it without a problem.
We. I say "we" a lot. Nevertheless, we are supposed to be what they call connected. Some "godfather" types kind of "watch out for us." I'm not so sure this is true, but it makes Victor, feel good. The connected stuff has something to do with envelopes. I think there's money in them. It's an easy deal. One guy maybe asks me to hold an envelope for another, then each of them leaves me a fifty-dollar tip and tells his people to take care of my bar. Works for me!
Me, they say I'm naive, 'cause I don't drink and I don't know half what's happening. One time I found this plastic bag full of pipe tobacco. I put it under the bar, and when no one claimed it, I threw it away. Later I discovered it was an expensive bag of marijuana!
I stumbled onto this job by accident, but I'm a natural, and - I like it! The money's fantastic, and the hours let me spend my days with my kids. I tuck them in at night and go off to work.
Work is fun, like being a kid and going out to play, or like entertaining at home. It is also like being on stage, inclusive of a minor amount of fame and/or notoriety.
On the downside, I had trouble getting life insurance because so many New York bartenders get murdered. Otherwise, it's the best job in the world. It's pretty safe here - nice neighborhood, good clientele. I really clean up on tips, but then everyone knows I'm supporting five kids.
On one of my nights off, I filled in for a friend at another bar. This off-duty cop comes in and pulls a gun, he actually takes a shot at me before a customer wrestles him to the ground.
You better believe I didn't work there again.
That incident really shook me up. I was in a trance for weeks. One night these two strangers came and sat right near the wall where I keep my top shelf liquor. I hear arguing and when I turn around one guy has a knife in his hand, and the other reaches over and grabs a bottle of Black. At first I remember being scared, then my mind went blank!
These two guys are describing what they are intending to do with their respective weapons. I grab the bottle and knife at the same time. I'm holding these objects in the air and I say, "What bottle? What knife?"
After the knife incident I begin feeling more like myself again. The only problem is when a stranger in a suit reaches for his wallet - my heart skips a beat. I am thinking, maybe he's reaching for a gun!
My regulars are a diverse bunch. We have a large horseshoe shaped bar, where everyone can see each other and be involved in collective conversation.
My best friend Al comes in almost every night and kind of looks out for me. We've known each other for years. Al is one of the Don Juan's I told you about.
People have trouble understanding our relationship - especially people we're dating! We just click. We take our kids and go places - like roller skating or bowling. We help each other, but I wouldn't want to date a guy who has so many women chasing him. Al will never be a one woman man. We manage to be great friends.
Anyway, I found a special guy, the cutest, sweetest person in the whole world - and he doesn't mind Al always hanging around. He's a city fireman, tall, big broad shoulders, the kind of guy nobody's gonna mess with. He makes me feel protected, I like that. He wants me to quit my job, says it isn't safe. He thinks he can support me and the kids. I don't think he realizes I make more than twice his salary. But hey, I'm game if he wants to live on love.
I'd miss the bar but life is an adventure story, and I'm always anxious to turn the page. He's got this great plan about marriage and retiring and moving South. He's a dreamer, always wanting to do something daringly different.
Things were looking pretty good for me, then the other night, just before closing, a stranger comes in and orders a rum and coke. He looked fine, perfectly sober and all, so I served him. He sat there playing with the glass, not really drinking, just turning the glass with his hands, like you do when you're trying to warm them on a cup of hot chocolate.
I was busy cleaning up the bar and getting ready to close. Al and this girl Sandy were talking about some problem she was having with her boyfriend. I didn't feel creepy or anything, not the way I usually do when something is wrong. I was just busy wanting to finish up and get home.
All of a sudden it's really quiet, and I turn around and this guy is pointing a gun at Al. Boom, he pulls the trigger and there's blood gushing out of Al's temple and his eyes roll back in his head and he just sits there for a minute, then keels over.
He's dead. There's no doubt, Al is dead and this guy is just staring at him. I figure for sure he's gonna kill me and Sandy too. Without thinking, I rush over and grab his hand trying to get at the gun.
The gun falls and I see Sandy going after it, while this guy is hitting me with something. I'm hurting bad, but I manage push him away, and then I see he's holding this knife - full of blood! Sandy turns and runs out of there and the guy chases after her.
I'm feeling woozy. I've just gotta lay down, so I hold a chair and kind of ease on to the floor. I don't feel anything, and I want to go to sleep, but my eyes won't close. First I'm thinking about my kids, and then I'm a kid, scared and alone. I hear my mother calling me to come home, it's dinner time. I try to call back to her, but I have no voice. I'm tired and need to close my eyes.
My mind gets up out of my body, and I can see me and Al laying there on the floor. My eyes are open. I think maybe I'm dreaming. Then I see two cops come in. One of them takes a quick look and says, "call the coroner and get homicide over here right away." I start yelling at me to wake up. You gotta wake up. Please wake up.
After the bodies are gone, I get used to being dead. I try to go home, but my spirit just can't go more than a few feet. At first the bar is closed for awhile but after awhile things get pretty much back to normal. People even stop talking about the murders.
They say the guy was a psycho. Sandy got away, but she never comes in here. I heard my folks have my kids. I sure miss them. Butch came by once. He started getting tears in his eyes. He stayed by the door for a minute, then he turned around and left.
Hey. Look over there. Racetrack Dottie's sitting in her usual seat. Hear that? She's trying to hustle a few bucks to feed the horses. Same old line, she doesn't know the horse's name, but her man will tell her when she gets to the track - it's a sure thing.