SOBS: Fiction: The Green Dress

The Green Dress by Paul Barile

"Que paso, Amigo?" the wiry little bartender asked him.

"Do you have work?" he asked.

"Si! Mucho trabajo," came the reply.

He smiled to himself because he knew that this was a sign. It was going to be a good day.

"You can start with the ladies. Clean it and mop it and use too much bleach. The bucket is there." The bartender pointed a crooked little finger at the green door between the two bathroom doors.

He walked to the door and pulled it open. The rotting stench of the old cleaning supplies rushed up to his face. He grabbed the thick plastic mop bucket and the dingy gray mop. Next came the bottle of NU-Brite bleach, which he poured into the bucket.

Once the water as added, he pulled it into the room marked mujeres. As the door closed behind him, he pulled the mop out of the water. His eyes burned from the fumes, but he wanted to do the best job possible. The better the job, he knew, the better the money.

He thought about his angel back at the flat. Was she washing his other shirt in the sink? Was she sweeping the shiny wooden floor? There was no chance of him knowing where she really was and what she was doing, or who she was doing it with. He had no idea at all how she spent her days.

He finished the first room and went into the next. He pulled the mop out again and sloshed the gray water around the floor. Once the mopping was finished, the bartender had him stock the bar with case after case of beer brought up from the cellar. He carried nine cases of beer bottles up two flights of stairs and shuffled them into the coolers.

From here he swept the entire bar, moving tables and chairs so that he wouldn't miss one cigarette butt or one chewed up toothpick. When he was finally done, he walked up to the bar and pulled himself onto one of the cracked leather barstools. The bartender came out of the office and put a beer in front of him.

"Drink, my friend," the bartender said.

"Thank you," he answered. He put the bottle to his lips and turned it up. Half of the bottle was gone before he stopped for a breath. He repeated the motion one more time and the beer was gone.

"Mas?" the bartender asked.

He repeated the motion one more time and the beer was gone. He just nodded, and the empty bottle was quickly replaced with a full one. He took his time with the second bottle. He also took his time with the third and the fourth and the fifth. Soon his head began to feel light, and the barstool began to wobble.

"Mas?" the bartender asked again.

"No thank you," he said. "I'll just take my pay and be on my way."

"Your pay?" the bartender snorted. "You owe me five dollars!"

He scratched his head as if he hadn't heard or didn't understand.

"You owe me five dollars," the bartender repeated.

"What about my pay?" he asked.

"Your pay was five dollars. You drink five cervezas at two dollars each. You owe me five dollars."

"I don't have any money," he said putting his head down.

"Why you come to a bar with no money Amigo?"

"I came to make money," he answered.

"You make a little and spend a lot. That's no good. You go now or I'll kick your ass."

He got up slowly and walked out of the bar. He was more embarrassed than he was angry. That bartender must have been right. Why would he have walked into a bar without money to buy himself a proper beer? He was even more embarrassed because he could not leave a dollar on the bar to tip the man.

Walking back toward Kostner Avenue, he continued to look into all of the clean storefront windows, but somehow he forgot just what he was looking for.

The End