Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain 2)

I hadn’t been wrong, it wasn’t hard to pick up but then again the traffic in the bar was light. During the day it was mostly Jim-Billy and a few drifters. It started to get busier around five and by the time I left at seven thirty (the first day because Tonia had been late coming in) and seven twenty (the second day because Jonelle had been late) it was going on really busy. The hardest part was remembering what everything cost and making change on the fly. I’d screwed up my float the first day and because of that went home with fifteen dollars worth of tips. I’d learned quickly the next day and told my customers I was new and took my time and luckily they didn’t seem to mind. I still went home with only twenty-three dollars worth of tips. The day shift seriously wouldn’t cut it if I actually had to make a living at this.

Luckily, I had my share of what Brad and I made off the house plus me selling everything I owned in an “everything must go” yard sale before I got the heck out of The Horizon Summit housing development where Brad and I had lived for five years (the five years he was screwing Hayley). We had a huge house with four bedrooms and three and a half baths and a yard that a man named Juan-Carlos, who had seven thousand Mexican men working for him, tended. We had Juan-Carlos because all our friends used Juan-Carlos and we did what all our friends did. I also had a girl named Griselle who cleaned my house because everyone used Griselle and her sister Alicia. This wasn’t my choice, it was Brad’s. He said people like us had cleaning ladies. But I kind of liked cleaning. It was one thing I could do where I could see the results and I used to put on music and not even think about what I was doing, just fade into the music and move around my house and clean. Cleaning my house, weirdly, was the only time I liked to be in it. Then Griselle came and, well, that was that.

I wasn’t loaded but I had a significant nest egg. Then again, I might want to buy a house in Carnal eventually and would need money to set that up with furniture and the like and the money I had wouldn’t last forever. I couldn’t make it on twenty-three dollars a day plus the terrible hourly rate I got. I was going to have to step things up somehow.

I walked to Betty and smiled.

“Thanks, I like your sundress too,” I told her.

“Momma always put me in a skirt. Said, she had a girl, no girl of hers would wear pants and, as you can see, she had a girl.” She grinned at the spray shooting at her flowers and kept talking. “I can count on one hand the times I been in pants. Don’t know why. What Momma did just took and I never think about puttin’ on pants.” Betty finished sharing a random piece of her life, looked my way then nodded to my top. “You’re good with color. I notice you always pick the right ones. Perfect for you.”

I looked down at myself.

I was wearing my last pair of the three pairs of jeans I owned, these slightly more faded and beat up than the others I’d worn the previous two days to Bubba’s. I’d had them awhile and I actually hadn’t worn them for some time because they were getting too tight. They fit now, for some reason, were even a bit loose so I went with them. I also had on a pale pink camisole over which I wore a nearly see-through kelly green blouse. It had a little ruffle around the rounded collar and the cuffs of the short sleeves. It also had tiny ruffles and pin tucks down the front of it and teeny pearl buttons, a lot of them. I paired this with silver stud earrings in the shapes of little daisies, a bunch of silver bangles on my wrist with dangly daisies or roses on them and a pair of kelly green, suede flats with a big flower on the rounded toe.

“Thanks,” I said to Betty.

“Uppin’ the class at Bubba’s, you are,” Betty smiled at me.

I’d told her yesterday when I chatted with her before walking to the bar that I was working at Bubba’s.

Thinking on it, her comment wasn’t exactly welcome albeit kind.

Thankfully, Tate had left before I got back from the storeroom on day one and hadn’t been around day two. But Krystal, who had been my bartender both days, hadn’t thawed (not even a little). Having briefly met both Tonia and Jonelle, I noted they were worse than Krystal on the Frosty Front.

The only people I figured liked me were Jim-Billy, Nadine (another regular who showed around four each day so far) and Dalton who showed at five thirty both days.

Dalton was very good-looking too, longish, dirty blonde hair that nearly hit his shoulders; lean body but without the bulk and power of Tate’s; just a couple of inches taller than me unlike Tate who had to be four or five inches taller than me and I was five foot nine; and Dalton wore jeans like they were invented solely for him and thus he needed to be consulted by all and sundry for his approval before they could don a pair. Last, Dalton had an easy smile that he flashed a lot and I could tell straight away it was genuine.

Even with the half and half mix of those who might like Lauren and those who didn’t, I didn’t think me wearing a blouse that cost more than two pairs of Levi’s was going to be jotted in the good column during my job evaluation. Then again, I didn’t have many t-shirts and I figured Krystal’s Harley tanks, being authentic Harley Davidson gear, weren’t exactly cheap.

“I should probably go to the mall. Get some stuff to fit in with everyone else,” I suggested to Betty.

She stopped the spray on the hose and yanked it down to the pot in front of room fourteen with me following all while advising, “Hon, you look sweet. Be yourself. Only thing you can be.”

I filed that away but still figured I should up my t-shirt inventory even though Tonia and Jonelle didn’t wear t-shirts. When I met Tonia, she was wearing a tan piece of soft, triangular suede covering her br**sts held in place with nothing but a thin strap around her back and another one wrapped around her neck. Jonelle was in a sparkly, purple tube top. No way was I going to ever be able to wear a backless, suede halter top or a tube top. Never.

If I wanted to fit in, t-shirts were my only way to go.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said to Betty while she sprayed her barrel. “Gotta go get coffee and breakfast.”

Betty nodded and looked at me. “You ever wanna come over for breakfast, you just come on over and ring. Ned’s usually still asleep when I open at seven but I always get me a good breakfast in, the whole shebang. Eggs, bacon, toast or pancakes and sausage. Gotta set yourself up for the day right. Even if you ain’t a big eater in the mornin’, we always got a good pot o’ joe on and you’re always welcome to a mug.”