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Mariah Carey, "Bye Bye" |
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Thursday, June 26 It's awfully warm and muggy out, and the air conditioning in the Bar is having serious trouble tonight. Pat is tinkering with the controls at the same time she's on the phone about it. Apparently nobody can send a guy until tomorrow. "If only the AC would have the decency to break on a day we don't desperately need it," she says, right after she tells us we're just going to have to suck it up and deal. She sets up an oscillating fan at each end of the bar, but they don't make much of a difference.
It's still crowded, though, and we're still working hard, so we're all sweating. My Rusted Root t-shirt is damp and clinging to me, and Vince is constantly mopping his forehead with an extra bar rag. Maya has given up all pretense to propriety; after the first hour, she went to the back room, where she took off her sweat-soaked shirt, leaving a bikini top that she still had on from a brief sunbathing trip earlier in the day. It really only just barely hides any of her breasts - and as a result, she's rolling in tips. It's a little distracting watching her work this way, but that may be partly because I've seen the rest of her breasts.
"I don't know why I didn't try this a long time ago," Maya shouts as she passes behind me.
"Don't you feel exposed or anything?" I shout back.
She laughs and nods as she grabs a few bottles of Coors from the cooler. "Yeah, I do! But you get used to it!" She heads back the other way, and I watch a good three-quarters of the heads at the bar turn to follow. I'm a little surprised Pat hasn't said anything, but no more than a little surprised. It's something I came to understand very soon after I started working here nearly five years ago; sexy is good for business, and the fruits of good business are impossible to ignore no matter how much of a feminist you are before you walk in the door. Even Diane Chambers learned that one the hard way in the "Miss Boston Barmaid" competition on "Cheers," I remember with a smile.
Things slow down a little after midnight, and Vince introduces Maya and me to his friend Steve. "This is the guy who got me to stop smoking," he says.
"How'd you do that?" asks Maya.
"Mostly through hypnosis," he says.
"Really?" I try not to smirk.
"Sure," says Steve, "but it still wouldn't have worked if Vince hadn't really wanted to rid himself of his addiction."
Vince nods. "Problem is, now I'm addicted to hypnosis." We all laugh.
Maya tops off Steve's bourbon. "Can you make him do anything you want? Like, bark like a dog?"
"Well, that's not really what clinical hypnosis is about - you're talking about a party trick, this is post-hypnotic suggestion to help modify behavior after the hypnosis is over."
"So can you make him bark like a dog later?" Maya asks. I roll my eyes, and go to take orders from a loud bachelorette party group that's just come in. I glance back over, though, and I see Steve and Maya talking closely, maybe even conspiratorially.
About forty-five minutes later, Vince taps me on the shoulder. "You have to come see this." He leads me over to where Maya is pulling a pint of Sam Adams, and after she makes change for the customer, he says, "Maya, I think you're starting to burn."
She turns to him and looks at him funny. "What?"
"I said, Maya, I think you're starting to burn."
"Oh, thanks!" And while I watch, she grabs the bottle of Malibu off the shelf behind us, hands it to me, says, "Debra, would you put some on my back?" and turns around. I look at Vince, then at his friend Steve, who just smiles a little. "Seriously, Debra, I don't want to burn, get my back and shoulders, okay?" She moves her hair off her neck and around to the front, so that the only thing on her back is the string holding up her bikini top.
I'm too dumbstruck to laugh, so I shrug, pour a little of the coconut rum into one hand, and start rubbing it into my colleague's shoulders while the guys snicker.
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