Tonight, he just wanted to wander.
It had been a long time since he'd done that, actually. Just strolled along Sixth Street and checked out the restaurants, the bars, the theaters. Things had changed since he'd first moved to Austin, but not so much he didn't recognize the place. Sixth Street was always humming, and it was easy to get lost in the light and the noise, the smell and the rhythm.
Right then, he wanted to get lost. Wanted the rhythm of the street to wash away the strange disappointment that was flowing through him. He shouldn't care so much that Eva had turned him down. He shouldn't want so much to sit with her across a table and watch her sip whiskey.
She liked it neat, he remembered. She'd only been nineteen, but she'd
drunk her whiskey neat. Her father, she'd told him, had insisted she learn how to drink real liquor. No froufrou cocktails for her. Not on her Daddy's watch.
He wondered what she'd think of his menu at The Fix. Of the fun cocktails like the Sparkling Pineapple and the Fizzy Watermelon. Hell, maybe he'd fix her and Elena a pitcher of his special sangria. Or some Candy Corn Jell-O Shots. Then they could see if Elena was more Eva's daughter or his.
Thoughts of Eva and Elena filled his head as he walked east on Sixth, not stopping until he'd almost reached the highway. He crossed the street, his stomach growling when he breathed in the scent of yeast as he passed the Easy Tiger Bake Shop.
As he got closer to The Fix, he realized that he'd had a destination in mind all along. Not his own place--his competition.
Bodacious.
There were other bars in the area, of course. And technically all of them competed. But Bodacious was particularly vile. A corporate bar with franchises all over the country, Bodacious was the kind of place that hired managers who made it their mission to suck the marrow from local establishments. And even in a town like Austin that thrived on the concept of local, a place like Bodacious with its deep pockets could reshape the face of a neighborhood.
He paused in front of the glass and chrome entrance with the faux car parts and the scantily clad mannequins. Inside, the real waitresses wore even less. Shorts so short they were practically bikini bottoms. And T-shirts cut off so that the red lace of the servers' matching bras was impossible to miss.
The hostess stand was unmanned, and he took a menu, then studied it, wrinkling his nose at the unimpressive array of drinks that he knew were more water than liquor.
And yet this was the place that was grabbing his customers.
Honestly, he wouldn't believe it. Except that he saw a few of his former regulars over in the corner, huddled over a bucket of fries, dollar beers in front of them, and ESPN blaring from the television mounted just a few feet away.
"We give them what they want all the time," Steven Kane said, seeming to materialize at Tyree's side. Then again, Tyree had always thought that Kane was a vampire, sucking the life out of the community. So maybe he had formed out of dust and smoke.
"You give them girls in next to nothing and lame drinks."
Steven grinned. "Like I said. Besides, you're doing the skimpy. Shirtless men on stage? Sounds like exploitation to me."
"Give it a rest, Kane."
"Hey, I'm not criticizing. Who knows? Maybe we'll start doing the same thing. Competition's the American way, right?"
Tyree turned away, really not wanting to look at Kane any more than he had to. As he did, he caught sight of a familiar face. "Is that your idea of competition?" he asked, nodding toward Aly. "Going into my place and poaching my employees."
"I pay a living wage. Most people find that hard to turn down."
"I can't keep you from talking to them, but if I hear that you're talking to them inside The Fix, you and I are going to have some private words in an alley. Are we understanding each other?"
Steven held up his hands. "Why so angry? Come on, Johnson. Let me buy you a drink. You need to relax."
"Just stay the fuck out of my way and out of my bar. Are we clear?"
"I need to go see about a guest. But feel free to stay. Have a drink. I recommend the Pinolicious Punch. Fabulous."
And then he scurried away like the little rat he was. Pinolicious his ass. A complete rip-off of Tyree's Pinot Punch, he was damn sure of it.
He was still seething when Aly came over. "Hi," she said, looking small and contrite and very awkward. "I'm really sorry. I just needed the extra money. And the tips. I should have told you first. I was gonna try to cover both jobs for a few weeks. But I don't think I can handle it."
"It's okay," he assured her. "I get it."
The truth was, it was his own damn fault. Tiffany had warned him that Steven was courting Aly, and Tyree hadn't wanted to lose the excellent waitress he'd trained as a bartender. But he hadn't done a thing to keep her. Not yet, anyway. And now he really had no one to blame but himself.
He started to go, then paused and turned back to the girl. "The Pinolicious Punch. Is it--"