‘Give me a soldering iron, please,’ I said to the barman, behind the erm, bar...
 
Working Girl ~ Life Goes On! 9
 
By Susan Brown
 

 
 

Previously on Working Girl ~ Life Goes On!

I knocked on the cabin door and went, ‘ouch.’ as it was made of steel.

After a few seconds, a door opened and a pretty girl stood there. She was wearing a robe of some sort that left little to the imagination; in some countries it would be banned. I hated her on sight.

‘Yes?’ she said, her plucked eyebrows going up about an inch.

‘Is Tim here?’

‘And who wants to know?’

‘Me.’

‘And you are?’

‘Toni.’

‘’Oh, you’re Toni, are you?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said.’

‘Well, Toni, he doesn’t want to speak to you.’

She slammed the door in my face.

After a few moments, I wandered off. I didn’t really care where I was going.

The tale continues...

I wasn’t sure where I walked. I do know that I was wandering around for quite some time. I got a bit chilly walking the decks wearing just a silvery boob tube, stockings, high heels and not much else, so eventually I found myself at one of the bars; the place was fairly empty, just a few couples snogging themselves silly in the dark corners where they thought no one could see them, I suppose.

‘Give me a soldering iron, please,’ I said to the barman, behind the erm, bar.

‘Sorry?’

‘What are you sorry about?’

‘Nothing Miss; it’s just that I haven’t heard of that drink.’

The cogs in my brain tried to mesh, without much success.

‘Hmm, is it a spanner?’

‘Don’t think so, Miss.’

‘Call me Toni, please…Miss sounds like I’m a school teacher or something…now…erm, I know, it’s a socket set…no. claw hammer, chain saw…’

‘Do you mean a screwdriver?’

‘YES!! I knew it was some sort of tool, hand tool, I mean, oh God that sounds rude! Look, a screwdriver please and go easy on the soft stuff, forget the ice and don’t bother with the fruit and veg…in short, make it so strong that it would make a bishop dance on the table tops.’

‘One strong, bishop strength screwdriver, coming up.’

In moments, my throat felt as if sulphuric acid was being poured down it. My eyes popped and I sort of started smoking around the ears. My tummy went all sort of warm and I saw two versions of the friendly barman; suddenly he, or it may have been they, were my best pal or pals.

‘Hey, barman,’ I smiled, ‘what’s your name?’

‘Patrick.’

‘Well, Patrice, you make a hell of a drink.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘I won’t.’

He was wiping a few glasses and looking at me with a strange look.

‘What?’

‘Well Miss…’

‘Toni, it’s Toni.’

‘Well Toni. Some barmen and women have what is called the gift.’

‘What do you mean, the gift?’

‘Well, it’s a thing that is passed down through the generations to selected bar people. We can see when a customer is having worries or troubles and we, in our small way, try to help wherever we can to help and counsel their troubled souls.’

‘Am I a troubled soul?’

‘I’m thinking that you are. I observe that you have been crying. It’s late and yet you are here at the bar drinking a strong and potent drink. I surmise that you have problems in the love department and you wish to drown your sorrows, am I right?’

I looked at both of him, trying to decide which one was real; eventual I chose the right-hand one as he seemed a little less wobbly and I liked his smile.

‘You hit the nail on the head Patrice; I had a row with my boyfriend, just because there was a naked man in my room holding a rose between his teeth.’

‘Did you ask the man to go to your room?’

‘No.’

‘Then why are you at fault?’

‘Because, Tim thought that he was my boyfriend, but he wasn’t.’

‘No?’

‘No, he was my ex-landlord who thought that I lusted after him.’

‘And do you?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Lust after him?’

I snorted as I drank the remainder of my drink.

‘Lust after him!’ I said as I bashed the glass on the bar. ‘I would prefer to lust after, after, after, erm…a jellyfish, rather than that toad.’

‘Then why do you feel bad?’

‘Because when I went after Tim to explain… I went to his room and when I knocked on the door, I chipped a nail doing that by the way…some bimbo answered it and was snooty to me.’

‘Bimbo?’

‘Yes, she was pretty in an obvious sort of way, had a robe on that would have been obscene on a prostectu…prethet…pro…hooker. Her lips had been collagenated, they were so big and rubbery and her eyebrows were halfway up her forehead…the cow!’

‘I take it that you don’t like her?’

‘Is it that obvious? Anyway, she as good as said that Tim didn’t want me and seeing as she was there dressed like that, it’s clear that Tim was two-timing me.’

‘How do you know?’

How do I know what?’

‘That he’s two-timing you.’

‘Because she said.’

‘He didn’t say it.’

‘So?’

‘Well, call me a simple barman, but I prefer to get my information from the horses’ mouth.’

He’s not a horse, he’s lovely; she’s a horse, though, all buck teeth and big bum.’

I thought about that for a bit.

‘Can I have another Budweiser?’

‘You mean screwdriver?’

‘That’s it.’

He poured me a drink and I took a big swig. I waited for the after-thrusters to kick in, but nothing happened. Looking at the glass suspiciously, I saw that it was a slightly different colour to the last one.

‘It doesn’t taste the same.’

‘It wouldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because there’s no alcohol in it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because, if you are going to go back to see Tim, you don’t want to be drunk.’

‘I never want to see him again, the louse.’

‘Yes you do; I can tell you have feelings for him; otherwise, why drown yourself in the bottom of a glass.’

I started to tear up a bit. The barman was ready with a tissue.

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?’

‘Naa, the bar is empty and I like looking at pretty girls.’

I blushed.

‘I think though that you have a few things on your mind apart from a wandering boyfriend.’

I looked at him and saw a kind face; not one that would laugh at me or anything. If he was 15 years younger, I would probably fancy him, but getting away from that disturbing thought…

‘Can you keep a secret, Patrice… Patrick?’

‘Me! I’m a fully paid-up member of the Bar person Guild and one of the rules states that the customers’ secrets are our secrets. We act as a sort of confessional service. It’s free, but we appreciate tips.’

I looked at him again, he seemed kind. It may have been the drink, who knows, but sitting there I felt the need to talk…

So I told him about my life. How I lost my Dad and my Mum. My stepfather’s betrayal; my job and how I was persuaded to pretend to be a girl. Then I told him how much I liked being a girl and then the horrible trial, all the rest of the messy stuff and now all this with Tim.

By the time I was finished, I had several wet tissues in front of me and I was in a bit of a state.

‘So, let me get this straight, you are a man?’

‘Officially, yes.’

‘May I say you don’t look like any man I know; also you are worried that your boyfriend is cheating on you?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And your boyfriend thinks that you are a girl?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t you think that you are cheating on him too?’

‘Why?’

‘By lying to him about your gender?’

I thought for a moment and then shook my head to clear it. Suddenly I was very tired and I just wanted to go to bed. All this thinking was hurting my brain.

‘I…I’m going to bed.’

‘That’s a good idea, Toni. Things will seem better tomorrow, especially if you need to speak to Tim; there’s just one thing…’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I don’t want to run your life or anything, but it seems to me that you have allowed yourself to be told or heavily influenced regarding what you should or shouldn’t do by other people. It’s about time you stood up for yourself and do what you want and be what you want to be without others putting their spoke in.’

‘Thanks,’ I said yawning and not really taking it in, ‘goodnight and thanks for listening.’

‘All part of the service, Miss.’

‘It’s Toni; night, night Patrick.’

‘Night, Toni.’

I left the bar a bit unsteady but by no means drunk. I was on autopilot as I made my way to my cabin.

As I walked along, a little unsteadily I must admit, I heard a ‘Psst.’

I looked around and saw two people in the shadows.

‘Psst!’

I looked over again, rather annoyed now.

‘I am not pissed, just a bit drunk.’

The couple came out a bit from their hidey-hole. It was Mick and Dave, Britain’s answer to Starsky and Hutch. They were both wearing sunglasses; strange that, as it was the middle of the night.

‘Sorry, Miss, said Mick. ‘We’re on surveillance for the purps.’

‘Purps?’

‘Yes,’ said Dave, ‘we have a lead that a certain person or persons unknown, are following you and causing you mental bodily harm.’

‘You mean the strange man in the dark suit?’

‘Erm…no it was someone naked with a rose between his teeth. We had a report.’

‘Oh, that was just my ex-landlord.’

‘Ex-landlord?’

‘Yes, he thought I had the hots for him, but I would more likely have the hots for you and Mick and that’s ridiculous too.’

‘Oh…right…well Miss we had better continue our undercover work…it means we are on overtime.’

‘Fair enough; mind you, if you do see a strange man in a suit, looking furtive, he’s probably up to no good.’

‘We’ll bear that in mind Miss.’

With that, they both faded into the shadows again.

Shaking my head, I carried on walking. A little while later, I arrived at my door. I fumbled with my pass key and eventually got the door open. It was dark, so I switched on the light. Luckily, there was no one home. I was half, no make that fully dreading the sight of Davis and that bloody red rose, but he had gone. Sheila was obviously spending the night elsewhere, swinging off a chandelier or something and I was glad of that as I needed some peace, quiet and above all, sleep.

Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I cringed a bit as I saw that my makeup had run all over my face, making me look a pale imitation of Alice Cooper. I scrubbed off the detritus on my face and vaguely wondered where from my murky past I had dragged up that word. I was too knackered to care and soon I was in my silky nightie and tucked up in bed.

I woke up early, expecting to be depressed and everything, but for some reason, I wasn’t. During the night I had had a metamorf..metermur…erm, a complete change in the way I felt about things. It must have been my talk with Patrick or something. I saw clearly that I had not been in charge of my destiny. I was like a ping pong ball, being pinged when I wanted to be ponged…I thought about that for a moment, thinking that it didn’t sound quite right, but I knew what I meant, I wasn’t going to be pushed around anymore, The worm had turned!

To be continued…

Will Toni get her man?

Can Sheila keep her skirt on?

Has Davis got greenfly?

Who is the strange stalker?

All these and many more questions will, hopefully soon be answered…

So, tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion of Working Girl ~ Life Goes On!...if you dare!

All comments will be gratefully received and passed on to the less fortunate.