Chapter 3: Cigarette

Summary: Arthur helps Harley solve a problem at work.

HARLEY

Harley wasn't supposed to work that night. It was a rare day where she had a day off. It gave her time to rest after working two additional shifts in another job; however, it also meant that Harley wouldn't have 40 hours of work to get paid. This usually meant she would live off one paycheck and had to tap into her savings to make ends meet. So when she received a call from Marco late that night at 9:00 PM begging her to stop by work because somehow one of her colleagues decided not to show up, she jumped at the opportunity to get additional hours. More hours meant more money, and more money got her closer to her goals.

Harley arrived at the bar closer to 10 PM due to the buses running for a limited time. Still, it didn't bother Marco as he greeted her at the bar's entrance and showered her with thank yous.

"It must be a tough night," Harley thought, as it was rare she saw Marco look so frazzled.

It was likely because he was the temporary staff and had to ensure things ran smoothly. Folks didn't get disgruntled at the fact that their drinks and food took a little bit longer than usual to get to them.

Harley was excited that night, thinking she would finally be allowed to be a server, which meant she'd get tips. It was a role she hoped to transition to, and it would be a lot more pay than her current salary as a busgirl and janitor. She followed Marco as he ushered her into the back, and Harley followed him. Marco handed her a black apron and a pad to take orders, then pointed at the back of the bar. Seven high-city men, dressed in their flashy business suites, sat, talking loudly, cackling amongst themselves as they chugged their beer.

"Just my lucky night," Harley thought sarcastically.

"I need you to take good care of that table there, you hear me, Harls?" Marco told her as she put on her apron. "They're Wayne Enterprise boys, and you know what that means."

Harley let out a sigh.

She knew what that meant, all right. It meant they could be rowdy, but they'd have to let them be that way because they'd order more, spend more time drinking and buying food, and probably stay until closing. It meant that it was important that she kept them happy, getting them their orders and whatever they wanted as soon as possible. It also meant a decent tip, hopefully, if they liked her, and to Marco, it meant he'd be making a good margin. Top this all off with the added fact that they were loud enough to be heard over the performers in the open mic.

"They ordered already?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah. They're all set on food. I got that to them an hour ago." Marco waved at one of the gentlemen at the table that called out to him, indicating he needed a refill on his beer. "Just keep filling 'em drinks, doll. The kitchen's already close."

"Thank goodness," Harley thought. It made it much simpler that she didn't have to deal with handing them food. She could do drinks; hopefully, that wouldn't be too complicated.

"Hey! We need more beer here!" One of the gentlemen on the table said, this time louder. Marco gave Harley a pat on the shoulder and ushered her towards the gentlemen until they stood at the head of the table side by side.

"Gentlemen, this is Harley, and she'll be taking it over from here," Marco said and bid them farewell. Harley waved at them, then took out her pad and pen.

"Hello, boys."

"Well, hello there, dollface!" Some cheered, along with some wold whistles. Harley felt the urge to frown but did her best to smile and relax her shoulders, so she looked much more inviting than someone ready for a fight. She needed the tips.

Harley could feel the men's gazes on her, studying her. It was uncomfortable how blatant they were at admiring her. She knew she wasn't the most beautiful of women. Still, she knew that her curvy figure, short stature of 5 foot 3 inches, pale smooth skin and heart-shaped face, and angular nose was something that some men found attractive. She wore tight black jeans that fit her like a glove and accented the curves of her hips. She wore a tight gray long-sleeve V-neck shirt, which provided ample but respectable cleavage, which she caught some of the men not hesitating to stare at.

"Gross," she thought as she watched them balk at her chest and not even make eye contact as she stood in front of them.

Harley plastered her best smile, hoping her eyes didn't betray her. She had a distaste for the upper-class men or "high-city" folks that came into the bar. They seemed to always act like they owned the place, getting too drunk and causing a ruckus. She hated that even when they did, Marco didn't do much to kick them out. Somehow, Harley anticipated that this group of men would eventually cause some kind of scene. Their eyes were so glassy, and their speech slurred and got louder as they all tried to get their orders in simultaneously.

Luckily their order was a simple "Five pitchers of beer and tequila shots all around!" which made her interaction with them that much easier, aside from one of them blatantly attempting to flirt with her and get her number. Without hesitation, she simply smiled and nicely declined by lying and using the usual "I have a boyfriend" line.

The night went by quickly after she dropped off the table's initial order. She was grateful that she didn't have to worry about other tables since the one she was assigned was apparently the VIP of the night, as Marco kept reminding her every time he had a chance.

"They okay over there?" He asked Harley as she filled up three pitchers with beer, their tenth–or eleventh?

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, boss. They're right as rain as you can see." She pointed her head in the table's direction.

The table of Wayne Enterprise employees had a few standing up, howling as they cheered on a young 20-year-old accordion, dressed in a green suit with a feathered hat, playing polka music. The howling and cheering, along with some of the men jokingly dancing to the song as they stood at their chairs waving and splashing their beer around, didn't do anything to boost the poor performer, who clearly was nervous out of his mind.

Marco and Harley took a moment to watch the accordion stumble over some notes but trudged along, beads of sweat dripping down his pale face. Marco chuckled and shook his head, "Poor kid," he said between chuckles, "But hey, at least he got to show his talent, right?"

Harley didn't respond to that. She knew damn well that while Marco had a weird sense of support for the arts, deep down, he really did have more love for the money. He did charge performers to pay just to have time in their open mic, and somehow people paid it since he was the only well-known bar of some sort of repute to have it with actual paying customers.

Harley returned her gaze back to her table as she finished filling the pitchers and placed them on top of a tray to carry. The men were getting louder now to the point where the open mic host had asked them to quiet down, only to be ignored.

She turned to Marco and called out to him before he was about to head to the kitchen. "Marco, I think those guys are getting too rowdy. I think it might be good to cut them off at some point, don't you think?"

"Good thing I don't pay you to think, doll." He looked at her and clicked his tongue. "Let 'em keep at it. They look good to me!" And with that, he left to check on the kitchen, probably to grab himself a drink or something to eat or hide away from all of it.

No sooner than Harley and he had their exchange, Harley found herself at the very same table trying to break up a fight that was starting between two of the high-city men. They caused a commotion that caused the open mic host to stop the event and urge the DJ to start playing music.

"We'll have a quick break, folks! Don't leave, though; we got more talent for ya!" The host said sheepishly as he fixed his tie and headed off the stage to the green room.

Somehow Harley managed to break the fight, luckily with the help of Marco, who heard the commotion and came running to help. Harley shot him an annoyed "I told you so" look, which he clearly pretended she didn't.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Marco said as he managed to get the men to calm down." Maybe a breath of fresh air might help?"

"Fuck it! I think we're done here," one of them, at least one that looked the soberest of them all, said as he almost carried most of the weight of his drunken friend who leaned on his shoulder.

"Are you ready to close your tab?" Harley asked, trying her best to plaster on a courteous smile. Hopefully, besides the fight that almost happened, they would acknowledge that she did serve them and did the best she could, even though she would have instead served anyone else.

"Yeah, dollface," another one of the men said to her, "Close the tab. It's on me."

In a few minutes, the group of eight men, all in their drunken stupor, stumble out of the bar. And it didn't take long afterward that Harley was left with a messy table of food and multiple glasses and pitchers to clean up.

While cleaning, she saw 4 dollar bills on the table. It wasn't the tip she expected for a couple hundred dollars worth of drinks. She was hopeful, though, that perhaps the receipt that one of the men, whose card was on the tab and who signed for it, probably added an additional tip.

"Assholes," she mumbled as she looked at the receipt and read it out loud. "Total: $265.54. Tip: $4.00"

She tried to channel her inner "Alexa" and try her best to look at the positive. A tip was a tip, and it at least meant she got some extra money for it when otherwise she wouldn't have any other day as a busgirl or cleaner. Unfortunately, that positive outlook didn't last long when Marco approached her as she brought the dirty glasses to the back of the kitchen to be washed.

"Harley, while you're at it, go ahead and empty the trash bins in the kitchen, will you? Do the bathrooms too, since the trash there is overflowing."

Harley let out a long sigh and simply nodded her head. She was bone tired and needed a break. She was feeling an annoyance build up within her and exhaustion at trying to keep her stress and emotions settled. A job was a job, and it meant money to pay her way and to save for her dream. That was what he had to focus…. But why did it seem that day was just out to get her?

Harley gathered all her energy and did what she was told. She cleared out the trash bins after she cleaned up the large tables. She could hear the open mic start up again and knew she had still another two hours to go before she could go home and sleep. She pushed that thought out of her mind; as she huffed, she carried two heavy bags of trash in bought hands, walked down the side of the bar, and pushed open the back door where the huge garbage bins would be.

She found herself cursing as she finally got the door open with a loud "thud" and, with weary arms, decided to drag the heavy trash bags on the ground until she stood in front of the tall bins.

The bins were the heavy-duty ones, the size of almost ½ of the apartment she shared with her friend. It stood several inches above her short frame, and just her luck, it required she somehow had the upper strength to toss the heavy bags over and into the bin's opening.

Could it get any worst? She thought. She glanced down at the trash bags and the bin's opening. She let out an annoyed growl and then paused to take a slow deep breath.

"Here goes nothing," she said as she bent down to lift one of the bags with both hands. Before she could lift it out of the ground, a voice came from behind her, and she let out a shriek and dropped the bag in front of her. She turned around sharply.

"I, uh, can help with that."

His voice was barely audible as he stood on the other end of the alleyway. It was the comedian she remembered seeing, sitting on one of the steps in front of another door that led to an entrance to an attached storage space to the bar.

"You scared me!" she blurted out as she watched him slowly get up from his seat, cigarette in hand. So he had been out there smoking his cigarette.

She watched him drop it to the floor and extinguish it with the bottom of his brown dress shoes.

As he walked toward her, she noted he wore his red suit once more. This time though, he wore a long sleep light yellow shirt underneath. His long shoulder-length hair slick back, his eyes piercing blue as he studied her. He smiled at her as he got closer until he stood not too far from her.

He was pretty tall, Harley noted as she looked up at him.

"Help would be appreciated," she found her voice and smiled as she watched him bend down and grab one of the trash bags. In one fell swoop, he got it into the bin. Shortly after, he extended his hand for Harley to pass her the other bag, and their hands brushed as she gave it to him. Another swoop sounded, both trash bags were in the bin, and Harley was thankful for the help.

She turned to him, this time realizing how close they were. He wasn't bad looking but had his own unique attractiveness. He was different, she thought— immediately shoved those pesky thoughts away.

"Thank you for helping," she told him,

"It's been a long day, and I swear if you weren't here, I probably wouldn't have been a pretty sight." She laughed, imagining her short frame jumping up and down to throw in large garbage bags, only to find it futile.

"I'm glad I could help."

Her laughter seemed to brighten him as he chuckled with her, his eyes studying her face as he shoved his hands in his pocket.

"My Prince Charming," she said exaggeratedly as she batted at his shoulder, "thank you for coming to my rescue." Only to find his cheeks turning flush. Was she trying to flirt with him? Oh god, was she that tired and exhausted?

There was a pause between them as Harley stepped back and stretched in front of him, raising her hands to stretch her back to release the stress. She felt worn down and didn't want to return to the bar anytime soon.

She flopped down on the step outside the door she came from initially, let out a large breath, and peered up at him.

The man raised an eyebrow at her questioning, and Harley pointed at his pocket on his vest, noticing the square shape of a pack of cigarettes.

"You don't happen to have any to share, do you?"

She watched him grab the packet, pull out one cigarette, hand it to her, and then another, which he placed between his lips. They were thin lips but then looked soft. She noticed a scar above his upper lip, but somehow it only made him look more unique, even rugged.

He took a lighter out of his pocket, and with the cigarette between his lips, he lit it. Afterward, he stood before Harley, leaning over with his lighter.

Harley held his gaze as she licked her lips, placed the cigarette between her lips, and leaned forward to light it. She took a short puff and inhaled the smoke, the burning sensation, and felt his eyes on her lips. She took another drag, and so did he as he leaned his back on the wall opposite her.

"I'm Harley."

"Arthur."

"I know."

He seemed taken aback by that.

"I remember you a few months back," she explained, "You're a comedian." It was stated as fact.

She watched him chuckle, then take a drag from his cigarette.

"I'm trying to be at least," he said, and Harley wondered if he wondered if she had watched him getting hacked and booed.

"It takes a lot of guts to do what you do."

"You think so?"

She nods. "You come back and keep trying. Not all comedians start off with laughs, you know? It takes time."

He chuckled again, though he tried to hide it by taking another drag of his cigarette. Harley watched as he licked his lips and flicked off the ash from the cigarette.

"You probably saw me get heckled…booed. I don't think my jokes landed like I wanted, though today was better."

Harley almost wished she had been paying much attention to the show to have watched him. Still, she had been dealing with an unruly table all night, so she took her time before returning to the bar.

She recalled the two occasions she witnessed him get booed or heckled. She shook her head and looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

"Yeah, It wasn't pretty," She stated so matter of fact, and she noticed his shoulders slouch ever so slightly, or was she reading too much into it? She continued, "Rome wasn't built in a day, and all the people in there," she points at the door behind her, "can be real... jerks."

She hoped that could give him some hope, and she meant it.

"Not all of them."

Harley realized he was talking about her and felt her cheeks grow warm.

His blue eyes met hers, and he studied her for her reaction. The thought of how handsome he was fluttered through her mind, and somehow she felt her face warm, and she couldn't help but give him a magnificent smile.

"Are we flirting?" she asked herself.

They were in a private setting, in the back alleyway at Gotham behind Marco's bar, as the sound of the city roared around them, along with the noise coming from the crowded bar.

Then Harley mentally shook her head. Arthur sure didn't talk much, and perhaps the long night and her growing fatigue didn't help her perceive things as she should. However, she continued to converse, finding herself drawn to him and still trying to understand why.

"So, what made you want to be a comedian?"

"I want to make people laugh." It sounded so matter of fact, and there was determination there. However, she wanted to tell him to try something else and save himself from disappointment. But performers were stubborn creatures, so she wouldn't be surprised if he was too.

"That simple, huh?" She took another drag of her cigarette and watched the smoke rise as she blew it in front of her.

He nodded. "I'm also trying out jokes to see what works. Most times, it may not land, but at least…I uh…tried, and then try again."

"Persistence. I love that."

Now it was his turn to blush, and she liked getting such a reaction.

He shifted against the wall as he was about to ask her a question, which she was ready to hear, when the door behind Harley opened, prompting Arthur to straighten up and Harley to turn around with wide eyes.

Harley's colleague Alexa looked at her and then at Arthur.

"Harley, there you are!" her colleague and friend said. "Marco wants you. He's been looking all over the place!"

Harley got up and turned to Alexa. "I'll be right in," she said, taking her cigarette, extinguishing it against the wall, and placing it on the small makeshift ashtray–or empty coffee cup–that someone had decided to keep there.

When Alexa left, Harley turned around and said goodbye to Arthur. She felt his movement as he started walking down the alleyway.

"Wait," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, causing him to meet her eyes once more. They stood close to one another, the space between them shortening when he fully turned his body to face her, a raised eyebrow in question.

"Uhm…Thanks for the company, Arthur." As she withdrew her hand, she relished the broad smile he gave her, noticing how he glanced at her lips again and then met her eyes again.

"It was nice meeting you, Harley. I enjoyed the company."

"Good," she said, only receiving another quirk eyebrow from him and an upward curve of his lips. He was trying to hide his smile. She continued, "I'll see you around, Mr. Comedian." She gave him a final wave before turning to open the door and head it.

She could feel his gaze still on her as she walked away, and the door slowly closed hind her. Harley couldn't help but feel a little energized as she sauntered into the bar, ready to finish the rest of her shift.

She didn't notice Arthur admiring the movement and sway of her hips as she walked, wondering why he was drawn to her and surprised he finally got a chance to talk to her.

TBC

Next Chapter: Harley and Arthur find out they have a lot in common.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading and kudos! Please follow to get notified on updates on Sundays. Let me know what you think. What could they possibly have in common? ;)