—I GRABBED THE RAILS WHILE CHOKING UP

 

 

 

Bartender

 

 

It began with her posting pics. At first, she only got a few “Likes.” But if she took one without wearing a bra, her count soared.

A friend said, “I’m not gay or anything, but you have beautiful breasts. You should be a Cam girl.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

A year in, she was making $200,000, money rolling in like cheap regrets. All she had to do was disrobe, pose, and sometimes insert where it didn’t feel comfortable.

Each boyfriend asked what she did.

“I work in service,” she said, hopeless for a better answer.

“Waitress?” “Hostess?” “Flight Attendant?” “Bartender?” 

They always had so many questions. 

When she told one the truth, he ghosted her like a bird shot straight out of the sky.

 So, from then on, she always said, “Bartender.” The claim seemed both true and not true. 

The man who tipped the most was nobody she could actually see, because he pixeled his image out, which was fine, which was rare, but not entirely uncommon.

When he showed up at her door, she was in a bathrobe, about ready to get to work. 

She recognized his Syracuse t-shirt, the bottom stain still there. He looked like a cherub, a Mormon without the black tie and white shirt. But then he raised a knife and slid inside.

She served him drinks the rest of the day, until her gin and vodka went dry. 

Afterward, while he snored on her couch, she borrowed his knife. The handle was large and stiff. It throbbed inside her palm as she lofted it, right before she plunged, and plunged, again and again.