* * *
The bar music had reached its crescendo. Kevin took a sip of soda and wondered if he was getting old or if it was the scene before him he’d grown tired of. One week of hanging out in the bar, watching Nikki do her thing, was getting to him. Each night her steps grew heavier, her pace slower, her smile dimmer. And each night he had to sit on his hands while she worked, anything to prevent him from picking her up and physically hauling her out of the bar.
He dug into his pocket and came up with the small black and white printout of the sonogram depicting the baby. His baby, his and Nikki’s. His heart beat faster in his chest and a lump formed in the back of his throat. Such a tiny little thing. Minute in size but so heavy a burden. He shook his head. Not a burden, a responsibility. A commitment. One he took both seriously and willingly. Whether he could live up to it was another story.
He’d do his damndest to see he didn’t fail again. Last week at Planned Parenthood, he’d voiced his misgivings regarding Nikki’s continued employment. The doctor had informed him Nikki wasn’t sick, she was pregnant. In fact the good doctor hadn’t objected to Nikki’s job unless she sacrificed her health in any way. At the time, Kevin swore to Nicole he’d back off the waitressing issue. To himself, he’d promised he’d maintain a steady vigil and step in at the first sign of problems or distress.
No way he’d let her end up like his mother— overworked, manhandled, and dead way too young.
He glanced up. Nikki leaned against the back wall behind the bar. For support or a second’s rest, Kevin couldn’t guess. But he knew, even if Nikki didn’t, that she’d just worked her last shift.
* * *
Nikki reached for her jacket just as she heard her name being called. She turned to find Jack, the owner and her boss standing in the door frame leading to his office. She sighed, grabbed her coat anyway and headed for the closet-sized room from which he ran his domain. Since her interview, where he’d grilled her on her nonexistent skills, she’d managed to steer clear of his mulish personality by not dropping the glasses onto the floor. Her crash-course courtesy of the other employees had saved her more than once.
“You wanted to see me?”
He nodded. “We have a problem.”
“I can’t imagine what that would be,” she said in her most compliant voice. “What’s wrong?”
He chewed on the end of the expensive cigar. “I can’t keep you on.”
She clutched her fingers around the material of her coat “Because?”
He shrugged. “I’m the boss. I need a reason?”
“Game on, Jack. I haven’t broken a glass or offended a customer.”
“No, but you’re not going to be cocktail waitress material for much longer. Dammit, I didn’t say that,” he muttered.
“But you did, so explain.”
He groaned. “Pregnant women don’t exactly project the right image around here,” he said grudgingly.
Nikki sucked in a gulp of stale air. She needed this job almost as much as she needed to breathe. At the very least, she needed as much money as she could make before announcing her condition and seeking employment elsewhere.
“What makes you think I’m pregnant, Jack?” She tossed her coat over an empty chair and paraded herself in front of him. Thanks to the constant bouts of nausea, she still fit into her jeans. And when the waist on this pair gave, she still had the next size up before she’d have to admit defeat.
“Sorry, but it won’t work. I like you, which is why I gave you a job when you had nothing to offer. I mean no experience. And you learned fast. But your...” He gnawed on the end of the cigar again, obviously uncomfortable. “Your condition makes this all wrong. Half these guys come here for the view and that won’t
be getting any better. Besides, if you can’t drink, you shouldn’t be serving drinks.” He folded his arms, obviously satisfied that he’d made his point.
He hadn’t “You still didn’t answer my question. What makes you think I’m pregnant?”
“The constant trips to the bathroom... uh, you’re tired...”
“Ever been married?” she asked.
“No way in hell.”
“Women pee a lot Jack. How are you feeling?”
“Been here every night this week. I’m goddamn tired. Don’t change the subject”
“I’ve been here every night this week too and I’m just as tired.” She braced her hands on his desk. “One more time. What makes you think I’m pregnant?”
“Look. I’m not getting involved in domestic disputes. You and your boyfriend have a problem, work it out on your own time.”