Jamie's New Hire

eight


There was no way in hell Adam would stick around to work on the project. Jamie didn't need to be able to read minds to know that. He wandered off to another room in the shop, allowing Adam time to get his thoughts together and sneak out.

Adam waited until he heard a door on the other end of the building shut before he got to his feet. His hands still trembled as he quickly cinched his belt around his waist. What the fuck had just happened? Countless questions raced through his head as he rushed out to his locker to grab his hat and jacket before going outside. He'd completely forgotten to grab his tools, unable to think much farther than five minutes before. He fumbled with his keys, momentarily forgetting which one opened the door to his beaten sedan before throwing himself into the tattered driver's seat. He had to pick up the boys. That was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Pick up the boys and go home.

Go home and do what?

Adam quickly yanked his cell phone out of his belt and clumsily flipped through the internal phone book before resting the highlighted bar on an entry marked NATASHA. Inhaling deeply, he hit the send button and brought the small telephone up to his ear.

"Hey, Natasha," he said, putting on a fake smile. "Uhh, listen, something came up, and I'm not gonna be able to pick up the boys tonight."

He wondered why he'd said that as he listened to his sitter ask why he couldn't pick up his very rowdy children.

"I'm really sorry. My boss is sending me down to LA for some project," he lied. "I'm on my way out to the airport right now." Why wouldn't he shut up? Natasha understandably was not pleased, though Adam was relatively certain she didn't know that she was being lied to. "Yeah I--I just found out. It's just for tonight," he said. "I swear to god, this will never happen again. I'll quit if he asks me again."

Shut the fuck up, you stupid bastard. She wasn't pleased, and though she made a point to let Adam know, she ultimately believed she had no choice, and eventually told him to travel safely before she hung up on him.

Adam slumped back in his seat. He knew that he wasn't going to have a sitter any more when he picked up the boys, but this was extra time he needed. Shaking his head at himself, he started his car and left the parking lot, not knowing at all where he'd go. Mindlessly, he headed up Potrero, but he had no intention of jumping on any of the freeways. He wanted to stay close to home, in case he was able to find something to do on a Monday night.

He turned onto 16th, realizing at once that it was a dumb idea. The last piercing rays of the setting sun blinded anyone stupid enough to consider traveling westbound. He impatiently slapped the sun visor down from the barely-upholstered roof and decided to continue west. In a downtown area as large as San Francisco's, he knew he was sure to find some way to avoid going home, but as he kept on the straight strip of road, nothing jumped out at him. The last traces of the blazing summer sun dipped below the hills near the coast as he turned his car onto Mission street. He slowed down, checking for any place he could stop, but still, anything that was open didn't look like it would be worth stopping for. As he came to the split under the Central overpass, he reluctantly decided to head over to the Tornado. It wouldn't be very busy, but at least he could get a cheap drink. He kept left, eventually turning onto Haight, and took the last few blocks down to the bar. He stepped heavily out of his car and fed the meter half a roll of quarters before slowly walking up the sidewalk to the bar. No one else was hanging around anywhere in the building. Heaving a light sigh, Adam walked up to the bar, met at his seat by Chuck, the friendly bartender.

"You're Jamie's friend, aren't you?" Chuck asked as Adam sat down, nodding slightly. "I'm sorry, I never caught your name."

"Adam," he replied, putting on his fake smile. He and Chuck quickly shook hands.

"What can I get ya, Adam?" the bar tender asked. Adam wondered if he was this social to everybody who was pathetic enough to wander in early, or if this was just a special case.

"Just a Bud."

Chuck nodded and quickly stepped aside to grab a chilled bottle for his only patron.

As the sky grew darker outside, the small bar slowly began to fill up. With mostly men. Adam stayed at his seat, sulking as he scanned the patronage with his eyes. He noticed a tall blonde seated on the other end of the bar that he hadn't seen walk in. From the angle she was sitting, he couldn't tell if she was with anyone or not, but the small t-shirt that lifted high enough to show off a butterfly tattoo across her back was enough to pull him out of his seat. He picked up his nearly-empty bottle from the bar top and casually walked to the other end of the long counter. He didn't need to plan pick-up lines as he walked. He hadn't met a woman yet who actually bought them. Just as Adam sat his bottle on the counter to order a new one, the blonde next to him turned around and looked up. Adam turned his attention to the blonde, intending on returning a warm smile, but the full beard on what he had been fairly certain was a woman short circuited something in his brain. He blinked a few times, not sure if he should say anything, when Chuck came to the rescue and traded the three dollars Adam held between his fingers for a fresh bottle of beer. Adam quickly started walking in the path he had started, realizing happily that the men's room was that way. He pushed the door open and stepped over to the sink, setting his fedora and bottle on the counter. Leaning against the chipped-up faux marble, he stared at his reflection in the mirror for a few minutes. The day's events still sat heavily on his shoulders; he'd done things in the past that he hadn't been proud of, but what had happened earlier that day in the shop was simply...

What?

What had happened in the shop? He had ample opportunity to resist. He was a consenting adult, after all. He'd never told Jamie to stop. But had he actually consented to it?

He turned on the water and splashed his face lightly before looking back at the mirror.

"You will get laid tonight," he told his reflection.

Sighing lightly, he crammed his hat over his head and picked up his bottle from the counter before returning to the bar.

As he made his way back to his seat at the end of the counter, Adam noticed a young woman sitting in what was his seat. Judging by the empty seat next to her, she was probably alone.

"I think you took my spot," Adam said as he slid into the next seat.

The occupant looked up at Adam, startled slightly. She looked about the average age of the interns at the shop, and was on the heavy side. She wasn't exactly his type, but Adam didn't fucking care at this point. And female willing to stick her hands down his pants was fine by him. He had fully intended on getting completely sideways, so it wasn't as if it would make a difference by the time they got home anyway.

"Oh, I--I'm sorry," She stammered. For a brief moment, Adam thought she might start to cry.

"Oh, don't worry about it," he said, trying to force a friendly laugh. "This one's fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Well, we could switch if it would make you feel better," he answered. She didn't respond. "Well," Adam said, trying to think of how to get her to loosen up a bit. "I've accused you of stealing my seat, and I don't even know your name."

The probably college student looked back up at Adam. "Becca," she replied uncertainly.

At least her name was cute. Adam took a drink of his beer and looked down the long counter for Chuck. "It looks like your drink's almost gone, there," he said, pointing to the glass Becca held between her hands. "Can I get you a new one?"

Becca tried to smile as she nodded. "Sure," she said, still seeming to fight back tears.

Adam signaled for Chuck to come back to their end of the bar as he dug more cash out of his pocket.

"Can we get a refill on whatever she's having?" Adam asked as Chuck stopped to see what was needed this time. As the bartender nodded and stepped off to fix the drink, Adam picked up the glass and looked down into the last dregs of whatever red slush Becca had been drinking. "What do you have, here?" he asked.

"It's a margarita," she replied.

Adam frowned slightly. "Doesn't look like no margarita I've ever seen."

She snorted out a small laugh. At last! A tiny step in the right direction.

Chuck returned to the two of them, setting a fresh drink in front of Becca. As he took the ten from the bar top, he cast Adam a cynical glance. Adam knew what Chuck was thinking, but hell. He was thinking the exact same thing.

"I don't like citrus," Becca explained, taking a small sip of her drink. "I like 'em better with strawberry."

"Weird," Adam replied. As he started to drink from his already warming bottle, he heard Becca whimper lightly. "Oh, I'm not calling you weird," he covered when he noticed she was once again on the verge of tears. "I've just.... never heard of that before."

She seemed to calm down a little bit, but offered no explanation. Adam was beginning to figure that the one single chick in the entire place had very recently stopped seeing her shrink -- or desperately needed to start. As he contemplated running off to one of the near-by strip joints, he vaguely registered the juke box changing songs. In fact, it was almost hard to miss a change from Def Leppard to Journey. Before Steve Perry's vocals even started over the keyboard intro, Becca had been awkwardly reduced to a sobbing mess. No screw was worth this bullshit. Adam quickly finished off his drink and heavily sat the bottle on the bar top.

"Well," he said, not caring if Becca was even listening or not. "It's been nice chatting with you, but I need to go."

Without waiting for a response, he started for the door. The total lack of traffic on the street outside the bar was enough to make Adam wonder about the time. He quickly checked his watch, suspecting that someone had set it ahead a few hours. Midnight seemed far too late for the amount of time he'd spent inside. As he down the sidewalk to his car, he pulled his keys out of his pocket and searched for the one he needed. After making sure that he hadn't grabbed the wrong one, he tried to fit it into the lock on his door, but the tumblers resisted completely. He checked the key ring again, certain that he didn't grab the wrong one. He tried to unlock the door again, but for a second time, he couldn't get the key all the way in, let alone turn it. As he tried to force the key, he glanced into the window, noticing at once that someone had cleaned his car.

It took a few more seconds for him to realize that this car wasn't even the right colour. Humiliated, he crammed his keys back into his pocket, and walked across the parking lot to the sidewalk. Home wasn't that far away. Maybe twelve blocks. He walked up Haight, noticing the slight incline with every step. Bitterness gripped his chest as he realized that he'd be sober by the time he made it home. No worries. He had beer in the fridge that needed to be drank.

Ahead in the distance, Adam spotted something glinting in the yellow light of a street lamp. As he approached, he realized that it was actually a bunch of little somethings. Almost a dozen flat glass beads were scattered on the sidewalk. Without a clue as to what the small pieces of glass went to, Adam casually knelt down and gathered the beads, dropping them all in his jacket pocket. He didn't need to know what something was to know that he liked it.

When he came to Divisadero, he quickly jay walked through the intersection. No one was on the streets this late on a Monday night, so where was the point in crossing twice? As he walked down the steep hill, he began to miss the gradual incline of Haight. All he needed would be to trip over his own feet, and he'd easily tumble down at least two blocks. As he concentrated on making sure his feet behaved, he realized that getting his car in the morning would be a bitch. He'd have to leave a good hour early just to get to the bar.

Adam looked up to check the intersection, pissed that he was already to Hayes. He'd been so focused on not falling on his face that he'd walked right past his house. Sighing heavily, he turned around to walk the short distance up the hill to his place. It was only a few houses, but by this point, he was tired and hungry and in no mood for walking up big hills. He dug his keys out, again making sure that he had the right one. This time, the key fit in the lock, and turned easily. Unless some locksmith somewhere had screwed up horribly, this was his house. He stepped inside, glad to see bright green walls and already scuffed up wood floors. Just as he'd promised himself, he walked back to the kitchen and swung the refrigerator door open, quickly snatching up a cold glass bottle from the door. He took it out to the living room, wrestling his way out of his jacket as he walked. He tossed the leather and silk garment onto the large sectional and flipped on the television as he sat down against the arm of the sofa. It didn't take much channel surfing to realize that nothing interesting was going to be on. Without hesitation, he muted the television and picked up the cordless telephone from the coffee table, and punched in the first set of numbers that came to his mind.

As the phone on the other end continued to ring, Adam considered hanging up. He listened to the soft chirping on the other end, startled when someone finally did pick up.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice on the other end said. Adam checked his watch, realizing that he'd probably woken her up.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound sweet.

The voice on the other end sighed. "Adam. What do you want? It's one in the morning."

"Nothing," he said, before realizing that maybe he did want something. "I just -- I just want to know what happened between us."

There was a pause before she spoke again. "You're plastered, aren't you?"

Adam shook his head, forgetting for a moment that he was talking on the telephone. "No," he lied.

"Where are the kids?" She was beginning to sound impatient. Possibly a new record.

"The kids are fine," he said, realizing that it was likely the only honest thing he'd said all night. She didn't have to know where they were, after all. "I'm serious," he said after a moment. "Can't we... can't we work things out?"

"You're plastered," she repeated. "Don't call me again. I'm going back to sleep."

Before Adam had a chance to protest, she cut the connection, leaving him in a heavy silence. Slowly, he put the telephone back down on the table and turned the sound back on the television. Maybe there was some lame B-movie playing on one of the cable channels.