“We make any money today, Alan?”
“Hold on.”
I went downstairs and turned out the basement lights. I’d left them on earlier by mistake.
“Well, it doesn’t look like made much. Almost nothing off albums.”
“Great.”
“No big thing. It’s only the 15th. We’ve got a couple of weeks to get up rent. We’ll be alright.”
He closed up the log book and shut off the office light.
“You wanna grab a drink?” he asked, tossing my jacket to me.
“Who are you talking to?”
We both put on our jackets and hats. The bar was just across the street, but still. You don’t fuck with the winter up here. You’re ears’ll freeze fast.
Alan opened up the door to let me through, then turned and locked it. We caught the light change and sprinted across Lyndale. Alan kicked up a couple of cigarettes as we stood waiting to cross 26th.
“You back again tomorrow, Steve?”
“Of course I am. You make the schedules, you really ought to know. Besides, I’m in here everyday, whether I’m working or not. Where else am I gonna go?”
“The bar?”
“Exactly. That’s my only other choice and honestly, I feel terrible if I start drinking before about 8:00.”
“You kids.”
The light changed as we struggled to light our smokes. We ducked across 26th and into the bar.
“I.D.s”
“James, we’re here every night. Do you really need to card us?”
"…"
“Fine, here.”
He checked both of our I.D.’s and we made our way to the bar. Rather than disrobing again we figured we’d grab a drink at the bar and head out to the smoking deck for another go at these cigarettes.
“What can I get for ya, guys?”
I ordered first. For some reason Alan would never order first. “Shot of Jameson and a Premium.”
“Whiskey and water.”
Alan threw down a ten and we walked outside. The smoking deck is pretty unpleasant in the winter, but they do have an overhead heater near the back. Everybody on the deck huddles together in back, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, leaving about 15 feet between the entrance to the patio and mass of smokers. Only Minnesota…
“How’d we do otherwise today?”
“Otherwise? We did alright. Couple of guys came in and picked up $50 worth apiece. How do you think I’m paying for these drinks?”
We quickly sucked down our cigarettes and went back inside. Closing the store at 9:00 means we’re usually locking up by 10. On weeknights this left ample time to catch a booth, as the bar was unlikely to hit capacity.
As we sat down and began the subtly satisfying process of removing our gloves, hats, and jackets, I noticed Alan looking over my shoulder. I turned to look and caught a woman waving at him. She looked to be pushing 30, same age as me. She had short, dark hair and pale skin that had taken a reddish tone thanks to that cigarette-discouraging wind.
“Do you know her?”
He waved back. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Oh, it’s like that is it?”
“She used to come into the store a lot. Looking for that Bobby Stinson album. She’d come in on Fridays trying to get set up for the weekend, but she never had enough cash. She’d bring in 30 or 40 bucks and ask if she could make up the rest on Thursday when she got paid.”
“Check me if I’m wrong, but I’ve always known us to have a strict ‘Cash Upfront” policy.”
“Well, when you own your own store, you can bend the rules however you see fit.”
“Fair play. So you’d let her bring the rest around later, eh?”
“Well, I did at first, but one week she didn’t turn up on Thursday with the rest of the money. She was living up on Nicollet and 28th, so I went by after work to chat with her. Y’know, make sure she was alright.”
“You‘re a real good Samaritan”
“Well, she was alright. She was more than alright, actually. She was still rolling off the last weekend and thought maybe she could pay me back, um, a different way.”
“This doesn’t sound like you either. You’re always on about making sure we get paid.”
“Yeah, well, take another look at her.”
I turned and had another look. I’ll admit, Alan was onto something here. She must have caught me looking at her, though, because she stood up, grabbed her drink, and made her way over the table.
“Um, you guys are on good terms right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
As she walked over I noticed she had that sexy Midwestern thickness about her. She was wearing a black cardigan that hung over a sexy, low-cut yellow shirt, and some black jeans that hugged her thighs.
“Hey, Dezi. How ya doin’?”
“Oh Alan, you know me. I’m getting by.”
“Dezi, this is my friend Steve. He works at the store with me.”
“Hey.”
“Steve? Hi.”
Her eyes were hypnotic, a deep brown that looked black against her exceedingly bright red lips. It was easy to see how she seduced Alan. When you look like that you probably don’t have to try too hard.
“It’s been a minute, Dezi. You still in the neighborhood?”
“No, I’m only here hanging out with my friend Demon.” She gestured back to her original table, populated by another cute girl and, for all intents and purposes, the back of a stocking cap.
“Where are you at then? Still in the Twin Cities?”
“Yeah, over on the Midway. My little sister started classes at Macalaster and didn’t want to live on campus, so we found a place off Snelling.”
“Really? You don’t strike me as a St. Paul kind of girl.”
“It’s not so bad. It’s more laid back than this neighborhood, but I needed that. I had to slow down a little bit, y’know?”
“Fair enough.”
As if disproving her previous point, she finished her drink.
“I’m going to grab another one. You guys gonna have another one?”
I perked up immediately. “Yeah, I’ll have one. Grab another shot of Jameson for me?”
She nodded and looked at Alan.
“Nah, I shouldn’t stick around.”
She gave an understanding nod and made her way to the bar.
“Alright, Stevie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You sure you don’t want another?”
“Ha! No. I’m good. Tomorrow. Later, homey.”
He stood up and slung his jacket on, completely ignoring his hat and gloves as he rushed over to the bar. I saw him lean over Dezi’s shoulder and say something. She didn’t even turn to look at him as he quickly bounded out the door.
She brought back a couple shots of Jameson and another Premium. As she leaned over to set down the drinks that low-cut shirt exposed two Chinese lion tattoos, each one snaking up over a breast, as if it were going to perch on her clavicle. She sat down and held up her shot glass.
“A toast?”
“To what?”
“Minneapolis. I haven’t been over here for a while.”
“To Minneapolis.”
Clink, swallow, burning, Premium…
“So, Dezi, what do you do?”
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