A Day in the Life of a Manhattan Bartender

I first wrote this as a short story. I then attempted making it a novel. I have six more chapters. However, I decided it wasn't very good. If you'd like to read more, feel free to make a request, and I will add the others. For now though, this is all that

    Scarlett woke abruptly as she felt the bed shake.  She rolled over in time to catch a glimpse of Chris pulling his boxers out of his rear end.
    “Don’t you have work tonight?” His voice cracked with fatigue.  Scarlett looked at the clock. 7:32.
    “Yeah, like an hour ago!” She jumped out of bed, “Why didn’t the alarm ring?”
    “Oh, it did. You kept hitting snooze. So I just turned it off.”  Scarlett glared at him.  She parted her lips, ready to shout at him, but decided it wasn’t worth the fight.  She rolled her eyes and walked into the bathroom.
    “Don’t take forever. I need to go to work too,” Chris yelled.
    “Well if you had woken me up two hours ago, we wouldn’t have that problem!”
    “WELL YOU OBVIOUSLY WANTED TO SLEEP. STOP BEING SUCH A—“  his words were drowned out by the shower.

    Wrapping herself in her ratty old pink robe, Scarlett stepped out of the bathroom, grunting “all yours.”
    Chris walked past without looking at her, and turned just before closing the door, “By the way, don’t expect me home tonight. I have plans after work.”
    Minutes later, Scarlett realized she was still staring at the door, ears stinging with rage.  She stormed through her closet and found the sexiest little red dress she owned.  She tried to recall the last time she’d worn it.  It had been ages since she’d even put thought into her outfit.  She grinned.
    The best part about being a bartender was the undoubted presence of horny men.  Scarlett was lucky enough to be a pro at getting men to do what she wanted.  With her makeup finished and her hair dried, she covered herself with a long jacket.  It was a hot summer night, but a girl can’t go marching through the East Village of Manhattan looking as kick-a*s as she did.  She slipped into her black boots, grabbed some leftover Chinese food from the fridge and left without saying goodbye to her boyfriend.

    “Girl, I’m gonna f*****g kill you.”
    “I know. I’m so sorry. I overslept,” Scarlett said calmly, avoiding her co-worker’s angry eyes.
    “They’re all asking for you.  I’m outta here. You owe me an extra hour and half pay, unless you want Tom to find out about this.”
    “Sure, whatever.  I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”  She hung up her coat and walked out into the bar.  The crimson lights and ceiling welcomed her warmly, and the jukebox sang out to her: It’s only teenage wasteland.
    “SCARLETT! BABY! WHERE YA BEEN?” she smiled at the familiar face.
    “Sorry Bill! You want the usual?”
    “I’m on my third, babe!  But you do it best.”
    “Hey Scarlett, you’ve been sober way too long,” said another usual customer, sliding a five dollar bill across the counter, “You got some catching up to do.”
    Scarlett laughed and pocketed the money.  Who would notice?  She helped herself to three shots, free of charge.

    Several more shots and a few mixed drinks later, Scarlett had danced with every male in the bar already, and she still hadn’t chosen her target for the night.  But it was only 11:00.  The night was young.  She stepped outside for a cigarette.
    Was she being too picky?  Maybe she’d lost her touch?  Out of the question.  She could get any guy in that bar to bring her home tonight.  Right?
    She was nearing thirty. Was she getting too old?  Her mother was constantly telling her she had to grow up.  “You’re not nineteen anymore! Get your act together!”  Maybe that was the problem.  Maybe guys thought she was immature.  Or maybe she was getting too mature for a bunch of drunk losers.
    No, no.  If that were the case, would she still be with Chris?  She sighed, tossed her cigarette on the sidewalk, and squished it with the heel of her boot.  Then she walked back around the corner to the back entrance, staring at the sidewalk.  One thing she loved about New York: the sidewalks sparkled.  Regardless of the unpleasant reason for it, she thought it was nice.  She felt glamorous, striding confidently down a glittering walkway.  Feeling sexy, she tossed her ebony hair as she looked in the window of the bar, pleased with the way it rippled in velvety waves down her back.

    Entering the bar again, she noticed a new customer: an unfamiliar one.  The man was handsome.  He was well put-together, at least compared to the other bar-goers.  The other guys were laughing and buzzing, some with quaking guts.  Others looked unshaven or overworked.  The better-looking ones were hitting on women and had an arrogant gleam in their eyes.  She noticed she could count a few that she’d slept with before.  She caught the eye of one… S**t, what was his name? Joe—or John—or…”  He winked at her, and she smiled silently.  She could remember his apartment well.  He lived in a Studio apartment in Union Square, with white walls and white furniture.  She recalled a dismal asylum-like quality that made her rather blue for a while.  After a few drinks though, the room had brightened up.
    She offered the newcomer a drink, and he ordered beer.  Ugh, boring, she thought, disappointed.
    After bringing him his drink, she leaned over and put her face in her palms, hoping to emphasize her cleavage, “So, I haven’t seen you before.  Where are you from?”
    He gulped down some beer, evidently not a frequent drinker, “Massachussetts.  I’m here visiting family.  My uncle is dying.”  Well that puts a slight damper on the mood.
    “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,”  Scarlett stood back up, slumping her shoulders.
    He shrugged, “The last time I saw the guy, I was eight years old.”  Scarlett nodded and smiled weakly.  Why was she struggling so much?  1 A.M. was approaching; she should have found a guy by now.
    “Hey, let’s do some shots together.  You need to loosen up,” she winked at the man.  He chuckled.
    “Um, sure.”  She poured a few and raised one, “This one is for your uncle!”  He laughed.  He had a great smile.  His teeth were white and straight, and when he laughed, his eyes crinkled a little and sparkled.  She threw her head back and swallowed.  Then they did another… and another… and another…

    2 A.M.  Scarlett was up against the wall.  He was pushing her into it so hard she could smell the wood finish, and she thought she might melt into it and become another nook or cranny among the millions in the warm brown walls under the romantic glow of the red lights and ceiling.  His breath tasted like vodka and his hair smelled like soap.  She thought he might use the same shampoo as Chris.  Or maybe it was the same cologne?  Whatever it was, he smelled like Chris.  As he moved from her lips to her neck, she wondered what Chris was doing.  Then she shook the thought from her mind.
    She felt his hands slipping lower on her waist, and squeezing tighter.  Then he broke away from her and looked into her eyes.  Finally.
    “It’s getting late,” he murmured.  Scarlett nodded.  “I’d better get going.”  Wait, what?  “Can I have your number?”
    “Wh-wha’? Oh, sure.”  He handed her his cell phone and she programmed her number in.
    “I’ll call you if I’m ever in New York,”  and with that, he twirled around and walked out, leaving Scarlett dumbstruck.
    She adjusted her strap, walked back behind the bar, and poured herself another shot.  Raising it with a toast, she whispered “Let it burn.”
    She tossed back her head and took it like a woman.

Author's Note

Okay, it's a little...PG-13. We're all grownups here, right?