(An Unwelcomed Face At The Bar).
Okani entered Grayson's office with furrowed brows.
"Hey, man, isn't she the red-haired girl from last night?" He questioned.
"She is," Grayson replied.
"And...she's leaving?" He asked, sitting in front of Grayson's table.
"She is," Grayson replied again, rolling his pen around his fingers.
Okani sighed and shook his head, "Guy, I no dey understand you," (I don't understand you, man.) He frowned.
Grayson remained quiet, watching his screen as if there was something important he couldn't afford to miss.
Okani sat there, confused.
The Grayson he knew would have let the young woman know that she had messed with the wrong person, seeing her walking away so freely made him question if she was the one who rejected Grayson last night.
"I have more important things to do than worry about her," Grayson finally spoke, looking over at Okani.
Okani shrugged, "Alright, you're the boss. So, tell me, why are we heading to Brooklyn tonight? You know I've cancelled my family dinner for you, it better be good." He crossed his legs, staring at Grayson's face.
He knew the look in Grayson's eyes, he'd seen it many times. It was the adventurous look he always had each time he had made up his mind on something, and Okani couldn't wait to see what had gotten Grayson so pumped up.
***
"Welcome, you're back early, failed?" Roxy was blow-drying her hair as Callie walked into the living room with a fallen face.
"Don't make it worse, Roxy. It's the worst day ever," Callie replied sadly.
With a tsk, Roxy said, "At least, you still got the bar, it never fails." She made a miserable attempt at consoling Callie.
Callie paused, stared at Roxy, and walked into her room without saying anything.
Roxy knew nothing of her predicament and could offer no help even if she knew about it.
Callie lowered herself onto the bed and threw her file on the floor. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling.
"Why do I feel like I've wronged the wrong person?" She murmured.
She sensed something, but she couldn't name what it was. Grayson seemed powerful, and he looked like a person who would go to great lengths to make sure whoever offended him got it doubly.
She sighed loudly. Melinda would return tomorrow, and she could already imagine the look of disappointment that would mark her features when they'd meet up.
She was startled when her phone suddenly started to ring beside her; she frowned as she picked it up. There were only two people who called her: her father and Melinda.
But as she stared at the unknown number, she couldn't think of who it could be, but she answered it anyway, putting the phone on speaker and throwing it on the bed.
"Hello, Callie, it's Dad," The familiar voice said from the phone.
She frowned, "Dad? What happened to your phone?" She asked.
"Ah, nothing. I just realized that your husband didn't have your number, so I decided to call you with his phone. And I also wanted to let you know that he has given me half of your mother's monthly medical bill, so you can thank him when you speak with him," Her Dad said.
Callie went silent.
A deep frown marked her face; everything her father had said worsened her already bad day.
"Callie? Hello? Callie, can you hear me?" Her father's voice asked.
Callie stared at the phone with rage, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath, she ended the call.
"Stupid old men," Callie muttered, got up from the bed, and started to remove her clothes.
She was fuming, felt like breaking something, even, but she couldn't; everything she owned was valuable to her.
She had sent her father the monthly medical bill last week, so why was he taking money from Richard? Does it mean the money she sends home to her father was put into something else?
That wasn't even her anger. What got her mood completely sour was her father calling old Richard her husband. He knew it would piss her off, yet he did it.
They were testing her skills on insulting elders, and one day, just one day, she would show them just how good she was at that.
They have it coming.
She picked a checkered shirt and blue jeans, walking out to the living room with them.
"Ah, I see you're preparing to go to the bar." Roxy was packing makeup inside her backpack.
"And I see you're going to the club," Callie huffed, pushing her legs through the jeans.
Roxy rolled her eyes, "You know, I told you, school is a scam and so is the dumb certificate they gave you." She pushed a bubble gum into her mouth, "You can only get a well-paying job if you have connections... corruption is the game, baby. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer. That said..." She walked over to Callie, who was buttoning her shirt.
"Come work with me at the strip club, you'd make double of what you make in a night. You're just the perfect body and face for the job," Roxy wanted to place her hand on Callie's shoulder, but she missed it.
Callie stepped back, frowning, "I'm disappointed, Roxy. It means you still don't know who I am. I respect what you do, but you've proven many times that you don't respect mine." She frowned.
"You make comments about my low income, you discriminate against my taste in dressing, and you mock my background on the premise of joking. I don't like it, Roxy. For what it's worth, we pay equal rents; if you were that better off, you wouldn't be living in this dump with me, so... to each, his own." Callie gave Roxy one last look, turned, and left.
Her mood wasn't the best, she might have overreacted, but she didn't regret saying what she said.
And throughout the day, she was going to face everyone with her frustration from home and her embarrassment/disappointment from her supposed workplace.
She stepped out into the bustling street and headed in the direction of her workplace: the bar.
She didn't need a ride to get there, it was just a few blocks away. Callie couldn't stop thanking Melinda for such a smart choice she made in choosing the location for her; now she gets to save some money that would have been spent on transport.
She reached the bar and pushed the wooden door open, stepping in, the smell of cheap alcohol welcomed her as usual.
It was late afternoon, but some people were already getting wasted on cheap highs. Days like this, she knew the night would be hectic.
"Callie! Over here, please," A man called over from the table at the corner.
It was her boss, Joey, the owner of the bar.
Callie frowned as she saw him holding a rag in his hand and standing beside a table that had drinks spilled and glasses broken on top of it.
"Good afternoon, boss," She greeted.
Joey nodded, throwing the towel at her, "Good thing you're here; Jane skipped work again. Help me clean this mess," He patted her shoulder and walked away.
Callie was pissed.
It wasn't her job to clean the damn tables, her job was to serve drinks. But she couldn't complain; she wouldn't want to lose the only job she had at the moment.
After cleaning up the table, she went into the not-so-clean toilet to wash her hands in the sink, after which, she went behind the counter to start her work.
She was glad that Joey always let her drop in, even when she wasn't on duty; he made sure to pay her for the extra hours.
Callie worked, and worked, and worked; and when the night came, she knew that it was time for the real work to begin.
She was at a table serving a group of men their drinks when she heard the door open and, out of habit, turned to glance at who it was, but who she saw shocked and annoyed her at the same time.
It was old Richard, dressed in a brown suit and his signature cigarette.
She immediately looked away when she saw him looking around the bar, for her, probably.
"Oh, God, this can't be happening, this can't be happening," She muttered as she swiftly left the table.
Weaving through the tables, Callie managed to dodge Richard. But she couldn't hide for long; her spot was behind the counter, where everyone saw her. And it wasn't long before Richard's old, mucus-covered eyes found her.
"Fuck..." She muttered as Richard gave her a greasy grin, his wrinkled face wrinkling more from the ugly grin.
Callie could already imagine the stinky, rotten crop odour she would smell from his nostrils, not to mention his decayed mouth that put a pig's swill to shame.
Richard was tall and could pass as 'fit' for his age, but Callie knew that beneath that brown suit and cigarette in his mouth was a rotten man...literally.
She looked away from him as he neared the bar, pretending to wipe the glass in her hand; she wished a customer would come up at that moment, but wishes weren't horses.
Slam
A clothed hand slammed on the space beside her, followed by the most annoying, controlling, old voice.
"A glass of dry Martini, Sweet wife," Richard spoke, giving Callie a creepy smile.