The next Tuesday, Danny was back. A grizzled middle-aged man with a bald spot. Certainly not a beautiful girl with beautiful hair.
"Yo Danny, who was your replacement last week?" Eddie tried to casually ask after the band's set.
"Hardly nobody replaces Danny," a drunk old guy interrupted. Danny and Eddie ignored him. "Dunno," Danny shrugged. The manager must have called someone in to cover his shift, because he certainly hadn't bothered to do it himself.
"Girl, long hair," Eddie pulled at his own hair, trying to trigger some sort of recognition in the bartender.
"Oh, probably Jackie," he answered, pouring a Jack and Coke now. "Was she blonde? Kinda curly?"
"Nah man, long and dark. Straight," Eddie corrected him. Was there seriously more than one woman working at this place? He'd only ever seen the one.
"Oh, that's Ashley!" A man from the end of the bar hollered. "Pours a mean boilermaker."
"Oh yeah, sounds like her," Danny confirmed, a smile playing at his chapped lips.
It would take weeks for Eddie to learn that her name wasn't actually Ashley. Her name tag certainly said it was, though. It was just a device she used to protect her anonymity from creepy bar goers. Danny of course knew this, but he wasn't about to spill any bar secrets, especially not to the barely 20 year old who always reeked of weed.
"She works weekends. Better tips," Danny added.
"Guess I'll have to start coming on the weekend," Eddie smirked. Danny rolled his eyes and left the kid in favor of actual paying customers.
Eddie didn't actually start coming on the weekends. Who would he hang out with? None of his friends were old enough, except maybe Steve Harrington, but they weren't really friends, not in the sense that they could hang out together in a shithole bar for a few hours and have more than 30 minutes worth of conversation. Also a guy like Harrington was competition when it concerned a girl like "Ashley." And if he came alone, it would be so totally obvious he only came to hit on her. Was that a bad thing? Maybe, and why risk it?
But as luck would have it, she was back on a Tuesday in late June. The weather was hotter than ever, and she was in the same shorts as last time, little cotton tendrils dangling from the torn hem, brushing against the skin of her legs every time she moved. Eddie could just imagine twirling one in his fingers. Her Vans were still crisp and clean. She definitely cleaned them. Or she bought new shoes a lot.
She was actually at the bar when the band arrived. Eddie almost immediately abandoned his friends in favor of talking to her at the bar. It was slow, even for a Tuesday. There were only three drunks in attendance.
"Fresh out of Yoo-hoo, champ," she said before Eddie could even lower himself onto a stool.
"I'm of age," he lied, using a matter-of-fact tone to help sell it.
"They're not," she nodded towards the stage where the still-in-high-school band members were setting up.
"They're on their own," Eddie replied. "Besides, I'm not here for a drink." She looked at him as if to say, then what do you want? Her eyes were stern, but she had to fight to keep a smile off her lips.
"Can I borrow your lighter?" He asked, failing to come up with anything else. Her Yoo-hoo line really threw him off his game. Maybe she actually was a bit older than him?
She seemed to think about lending out her lighter for a second, before sighing and fishing it out of her front pocket.
"If I don't get this back, I will hunt you down and put gum in your hair," she threatened, holding the lighter out to him but not releasing it into his hand until he agreed.
"Scout's honor," he smiled, holding up his hand in a salute. She reached out and grabbed his hand, forcing his pinky down into his palm and under his thumb.
"Three fingers," she corrected him. Fuck, that's hot.
"If you insist," he grinned wolfishly and winked. She returned his smile and chuckled. OK, she wasn't flirting back in response to the innuendo, but she wasn't totally disgusted. That's a good-ish sign.
"If you don't get back over there, I think that guy might beat you with the mic stand," she tilted her head back towards the stage, directing Eddie's attention back to his bandmates. Gareth looked pissed as hell.
"He's fine," Eddie shrugged, turning back to the bartender.
"So Ashley, right?" He asked, glancing down at her name tag just to confirm that he remembered Danny correctly.
"That's me," she smiled in affirmation.
"I'm Eddie," he supplied.
"It's been a pleasure, Eddie," she said, a light teasing tone. One of the guys down the bar called for another beer and she slid away to fetch one out of the cooler. She reached down to the wallet chain clipped onto her belt loop, and followed the chain to her back pocket where the bottle opener was nestled with a clean rag. She popped the top and handed it to the man.
"Return the lighter or its gum in the hair," she reminded Eddie, a finger pointed threateningly in his direction. She ducked into the back room before he could say or do anything else.
She was in and out of the back room for the rest of the night. She seemed to be restocking the bar, and it was super distracting. But Eddie did his damndest to not fumble any more notes this time. Mustn't be unprofessional.
After a while, a different bartender took up residence behind the bar, and Ashley went into what Eddie knew to be the office towards the end of their short set. She never came back out, and he had to load the van up with the guys without seeing her again.
But as Jeff shoved the last case into the back of the van, the backdoor swung open on its squeaky hinges, and there she was. He grinned at her stupidly, happy to get one last glimpse of her before leaving.
She stared at him expectantly, then blew a bubble with her gum. It popped and the sound reminded Eddie of her threat.
"Oh shit!" He swore, patting down his pockets in search of the borrowed lighter. He eventually found it in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.
He jogged over and held it out to her. She plucked it from his fingers, shoved it into the front pocket of her jeans, backed up through the doorway, and let the heavy backdoor slam shut in his face.
"That was cold," Jeff broken the silence, earning a swat and a "Just get in the damn van" from Eddie.
It was full on summer by the time Eddie finally persuaded the manager to let Corroded Coffin play on a better night than a Tuesday. He had scored a Friday night spot. At 1:30 AM, but Friday nonetheless. And Ashley was sure to be working that night. She hadn't worked any other Tuesdays since the one in late June, but some casual questioning of Danny confirmed that she definitely still worked there.
"Dude, this fucking blows. I'm so tired," Jeff complained.
"Yeah, but there's actually some people here," Gareth defended the time slot. There were maybe thirty people in the place, not including the three bartenders. There was usually only one bartender on Tuesdays. The crowd had certainly died down, the peak hours having ended not too long ago. But there she was, mixing drinks at the far end of the bar. She was busy. The sound of sudden metal music made her jump, pulling her gaze towards the stage. Eddie had been watching, waiting to see what her reaction would be. To his surprise, she smiled at the sight of him. Or the band. Maybe both? Her smile and gaze didn't last long, as she had work to do.
Even though they had played to more people than they had before, the ego boost didn't last long, as the bar was damn near empty by the time they ended. The house lights were flipped on while they were still packing up, and chairs were quickly put up on top of tables by the staff.
The guys filed out of the back door, startled by Ashley sneaking up behind them. "That was the best I've heard you guys sound," she said warmly, a black leather backpack slung over one shoulder, and car keys jingling in her hands. She was following the band out the back door to leave and presumably go home for the night,
"Yeah, so good everyone left," Gareth lamented.
"It was a shit time slot," Ashley defended. She wasn't wrong.
"So this is your kind of music?" Eddie asked, eager to change the subject.
"Not really," she said sweetly.
"More of a Pink Floyd kind of gal?" Eddie nodded down towards her shirt, featuring the iconic rainbow prism. It was also knotted at her navel, like every shirt he'd seen her wear.
"Oh, I just thought the rainbow was pretty," she shrugged, her sweet smile still plastered to her face. Oh god, was she actually totally lame?
"Wow," Gareth breathed in disbelief.
"Later!" She said, leaving the band aghast as she walked quickly towards her car. Eddie wasn't a prog rock kind of guy, but he at least had some respect for Dark Side of the Moon, as did the rest of the guys who all shared in "Can you believe that?"s And "she's such a girl".
But as Ashley climbed into her car and turned it on, the guys could hear the stereo of her car playing the opening guitar to Black Sabbath's "Paranoid."
"OK, so her taste isn't totally shit," Gareth muttered after they all stared after her car as it left the parking lot.
"But who doesn't like Dark Side of the Moon?" Jeff asked, as if Pink Floyd needed him to defend them.
"She was fucking with us," Eddie realized, almost wistfully.
As luck would have it, or at least the random date on his fake ID, Eddie was 20 before he knew it. And at this point in his life, it felt weird to continue selling drugs to high school kids. He could defend it for a while, as they were his actual peers. Now he was the weird older guy hanging around children, like something out of a DARE campaign. To be fair, he had been a weird older guy for a while, but he was at least actually enrolled, and not just loitering on a random campus. But back to the lucky part. He was finally able to convince the Hideout manager to let him earn some cash slinging drinks a couple of nights a week. He got the shit shifts, the ones nobody wanted, including Ashley. But if he kept picking up people's dropped shifts, his odds of seeing her would increase.
"Always put this back in your pocket, and you won't keep losing it," Danny scolded, holding up Eddie's lost bottle opener.
"Shit, where was it this time?" Eddie asked, fumbling through his pockets, trying to confirm if the found bottle opener was actually his or not. It was.
"The bathroom. Wash it off," Danny grumbled, rolling his eyes and turning away. He hated training. Eddie swore he heard him mutter something about being too old for this. Thank god he still had a few loyal clients in need of a weed guy that weren't minors, because he barely earned enough tip money to even cover the gas he used to get to the Hideout.
Eddie was reminded of Ashley's wallet chain, and how she used it for the bottle opener. He always thought it was just a badass fashion choice, but now it made so much sense. He'd have to totally copy her.
As if thinking about the hot bartender summoned her, Ashley breezed through the front door, walking quickly and determinedly to the back room. She didn't even so much as glance at the bar on her way.
"Casey looks pissed," Danny whistled lowly.
"Who?" Eddie scrunched his face in confusion. Danny only could have been talking about Ashley, right?
"Casey," Danny repeated, gesturing towards the back room where Ashley just stormed into.
"You told me her name was Ashley," Eddie said, also remembering that she wore a name tag that also identified her as Ashley. Eddie didn't have one yet; they were probably waiting to see if he would stick around long enough before getting one made.
"Most of the gals go by fake names," Danny explained. "Makes 'em feel safer."
So Ashley was just a stage name, basically. Like a stripper.
Suddenly the door to the back room was ripped open, Casey and the manager appearing, arguing heatedly with each other.
"I schedule for the needs of the business, and the business needs you to work Saturday," the manager, Craig, said condescendingly.
"I told you two weeks ago that I couldn't work this Saturday and you said 'fine, I won't schedule you,' and you fucking did it anyway!" Casey retorted, fire in her eyes.
"Find someone to cover, then. Or I won't schedule you for any nights" Craig said, a finality to his tone. He turned to Danny and Eddie who were staring, prompting them both to pretend to look busy polishing glasses and wiping down the bar top.
"Fine! That's bullshit, but fine!" Casey threw her hands up in defeat, voice still raised, brave for basically yelling at the boss. "Fuckin' Ivan the Terrible," she muttered under her breath as Craig went back into the back room.
"Don's ask me," Danny said, breaking the silence, protecting himself from the inevitable attempt at a shift barter.
"What the fuck is this, Bring Your Son to Work Day?" Casey asked, ignoring Danny and staring pointedly in Eddie's direction.
"Fucker's taking the shit shifts," Danny explained as if Eddie wasn't even there. "Ask him to cover your shift," he chuckled, as if the thought of Eddie working on a Saturday night was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.
"I could," Eddie shrugged, ignoring the insulting way Danny laughed at him.
"Pour me an ounce," Casey demanded, coming up to the bar and sitting down, sliding her leather backpack off and setting it on the bar.
"Of what?" Eddie asked dumbly.
"Doesn't matter," she said, standing up on the foot rests of the bar stool to lean over the counter and pluck a clean pint glass from the stack. "Pour an ounce in here. No jigger."
Eddie gulped and fumbled to grab a bottle of something, his hands landing on the well vodka. Was he just supposed to know by sight? He tilted the open bottle over the glass, and after a few seconds of slowly pouring, Casey's hand shot out and grabbed the neck of the bottle, effectively stopping him.
"Too much," she told him. "What the hell have you been teaching him, Danny?"
"Cleaning, mostly," the older man said. "He's all yours to train up, though." Before anyone could protest, Danny decided it was time for his break.
"I literally just started," Eddie said, coming to his own defense. Casey sighed, and her face softened.
"Craig is a piece of shit," she muttered, sliding off the bar stool and coming around to the business side of the bar to join Eddie.
"All the hicks that come here only order drinks named after their ingredients," she started her lecture, Eddie snapping to attention and eager to not further piss her off. "Jack and Cokes, vodka sodas, whiskey sours. Nine times out of ten they're ordering a beer or something straight, anyway."
"I'm great at opening bottles," Eddie told her proudly. She smiled at that, in a way that almost seemed genuinely amused.
"You can count, right?" She teased.
"Have been for a few years now," he joked. It may have taken him three tries to finally finish his senior year, but nobody needed to know that. And he could certainly count.
"Singles get a two count, doubles a four count. You're a musician, you can do that," She got a fresh glass for Eddie to attempt another pour. She took a large sip out of the first failed attempt, and handed the rest to him. "Perks of the job," she said, encouraging him to finish what was left of the too-large pour. He tossed it back quickly and set the now empty glass aside, eager to show Casey that he could count to four, of all things.
Eddie poured the shot out, careful of his timing. If Danny had explained it like that sooner, this lesson wouldn't be happening. Which, maybe, was actually a good thing?
"Better," she chirped, turning her smile from the glass to Eddie. His chest swelled with pride, but he tried to not appear so affected. "Do you really think you can handle an actual crowd?" She asked him, turning to face him directly while crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the bar.
"I don't know, Ashley, guess it'll be trial by fire," Eddie said, grinning like he uncovered a secret. She laughed at the thought, not realizing he now knew about her fake name. "If I survive, do I get a fake name, too?" He quipped. Casey snapped her gaze to his, her face breaking into a grin. He couldn't help but return the smile.
"Only if I get to pick it," she giggled.
"Fine, but nothing lame like Ashley," he teased. "You're so not an Ashley."
"It took me a few shifts to start answering to it," she confided. She didn't seem keen on the name, either, but it served a purpose.
"Maybe I'll stick to Eddie. I think I can handle the aggressive flirting I'm sure will come my way," Eddie continued the joke. He wasn't trying to make light of the probably very real abuse an attractive female bartender suffered, but all he could do was make a joke.
"With hair like that, I don't know," she mockingly warned.
"You're right. The ladies love the hair," he said proudly.
"Just don't turn around or someone will think I got a perm," Casey laughed. As if anyone would ever believe that Casey would do something to the most perfect hair in the world. It looked even softer and shinier, and perfect-er up close. But they were damn near the same height, her hair just a few inches longer than his.
"This is all natural, baby," he said, shaking his head back and forth so that his hair swayed against his chest.
"Good, perms are so bad for your hair," she warned, not that Eddie was in danger of getting one, with naturally curly hair.
"Besides counting, got any more tips?" Eddie asked, taking the conversation back to getting him up speed. He didn't want to crash and burn on his first busy shift. He could potentially be out of a job if he did, but more importantly Casey would be screwed too.
"If someone complains about a weak drink, put a couple of drops of alcohol in the straw," Casey started. "Craig hates over-pouring, so try not to waste anything. Focus on one thing at a time and you won't get overwhelmed," she said, mentally ticking things off a list.
"Oh, and put your bottle opener on this," she said, reaching out and tugging at his wallet chain. The sensation of the tug on his jeans was unexpected and almost too much to bear. It felt way too much like she actually reached out and tugged on his actual jeans. Man, a guy could dream.
"Excellent notes," Eddie hummed.
"You'll be fine. Make nice with whoever else is working and they'll help you out," she added, moving away from Eddie suddenly, leaving the back of the bar and retrieving her bag.
"Sink or swim, right?" He said, shoving his hands into his back pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels, fidgeting to try and quell the sudden nerves.
"Do or die," she replied. Or was she correcting him?
"He's all yours, Danny," Casey called out to the man, returning from his break.
"Break a leg," she said encouragingly, turning back to Eddie with a wink and a smile. She was gone before he could think of anything to say in response.
Eddie begged Danny to actually help prepare him for an actual night of service, and not just polishing water spots off of glasses. He didn't want to disappoint Casey, make a fool of himself, or get fired. By the time his Saturday shift rolled around, Eddie felt cautiously optimistic, but still nervous as hell. He just knew he was going to spill something or fuck up someone's change. He felt confident enough in actually making a drink, but the math and the coordination were potential issues.
The shift started well enough. Definitely busier than a regular weekday night that he was used to, but Eddie got into a rhythm pretty quickly. He smoked a little before coming to take the edge off, but not enough that he'd be useless.
But by ten he was, what the industry would call, in the weeds. He had no idea this many people came to the Hideout at one time, ever. Certainly not when his band was playing. There was a Johnny Cash cover band playing, and a lot of middle-aged to older men out drinking. Not a ton of chicks, though.
"Where the fuck is my Coors?" An old guy barked. Honestly, Eddie could've sworn he'd never seen the man in his life. Did he ever order anything or was he just yelling for the fuck of it? The other bartenders were focused on their own drinks and customers.
"It's coming," Eddie snapped back, but before he could turn to grab it, an open, ice cold Coors was shoved into his hand. Startled, Eddie turned to see Casey. She had already turned away to start making another drink. Eddie wordlessly handed it to the cranky old man, attention fully on Casey. She looked nicer than usual. Same kind of outfit she always wore, the jeans with the little rip in the knee, a knotted-at-the-navel band tee; this one was some psychedelic looking album cover for a band called Kaleidoscope. Her usually pin-straight hair had a slight wave. Her long bangs, which were usually tucked behind her ears, were curled and framing her face. She also seemed to be wearing a bit more makeup than usual; eyeliner that flicked out past her eyes, glossy lips, rosy cheek bones.
"I thought you weren't working tonight?" He asked, coming up behind Casey to grab another beer from the fridge.
"I had visions of you being burned at the stake by these assholes and just had to come rescue you," she said, only glancing up at him with a smirk.
"I'm not doing that bad," he defended.
"You're not," she agreed. She moved away to grab something, ending their conversation. Eddie was flagged down by another customer, anyway.
Casey stuck close, listening to Eddie's interactions to make sure he was OK. She stepped in silently any time she sensed any sign of trouble. Someone ordered a gimlet and he was stumped, but she had one ready for him by the time the patron could explain the ingredients.
"You're an angel," he breathed gratefully, taking the drink from her and passing it to the customer.
"What kind of asshole orders a gimlet; this isn't the country club" she huffed.
The night was over in what felt like the blink of an eye. There wasn't ever even a chance to take a smoke break, muss less a break for a piss. During closing procedures, Eddie could't help but fantasize about crawling into bed. He was a normally energized dude, but the long, busy shift took it out of him and he was tired.
Everyone was getting ready to leave, and Eddie slipped his jacket on, eager to follow everyone out to the now empty parking lot. Before making it to his van, though, he was stopped by Casey. She had run up beside him, holding out a small bundle of cash.
"These are yours," she offered.
"What? No way," he refused to take the cash. She had saved his ass, no way was he taking her money too.
"You did most of the work for these," she said, trying to slide it into his jacket pocket when he wouldn't take it from her. He jerked away before the money could land, adamant about not taking it.
"You weren't even supposed to be here and you saved my ass, I'm not taking it," he explained.
"I only came because my plans fell through," she defended. He didn't need to know that she was also worried about him. After all, if he fucked up, it was ultimately on her. But she didn't want to see him fail in general, too.
"Sure you didn't cancel so you could come see me crash and burn?" Eddie asked, grinning despite the accusatory tone.
"My date canceled last minute, so sue me," she shrugged. Oh shit, a date? Explains the hair and makeup.
"What idiot would bail on you last minute. Is he in the hospital?" Eddie questioned. No really, what good reason could there possibly be? Besides being critically injured.
"I wish," she answered. Oh good, she seemed to hate the guy almost as much as he did, just for existing. "Should have seen it sooner and I wouldn't be on Craig's shit list for it."
Eddie wondered just how long some guy had been an asshole towards Casey. And what was the final straw? Was this a serious thing? Was he going to get his ass kicked by a jealous ex-boyfriend if he made a move on her?
"Well I'm glad he sucks. He really did me a favor tonight," Eddie quipped. In more ways than one. Now he knew Casey was single, on top of her rescuing him.
"You weren't doing that bad," she encouraged.
"I wasn't doing that great," he corrected.
Casey reached for his hand suddenly, startling Eddie. She pulled it up between them, then slid her hand down to his wrist. Before he could do anything, her other hand forced the bundle of cash into his hand. She let go of his wrist quickly and took off running before he could protest.
"Hey!" He yelled after her, but she didn't stop until she reached her car. She grinned at him before climbing in and slamming the door behind her.
Eddie took his time getting into his van, lighting a cigarette before climbing in. He wasn't exactly excited about picking up shifts as a bartender, of all things. And busy nights made it hard to manage his attention span, or lack of. It was also kinda weird to come into a crew that all knew each other well enough, and had been working together for a while. But Casey appearing out of nowhere, like a goddamn angel from above, lit him up like a Christmas tree. And they seemed to work well together. She anticipated everything he was about to do, everything he would need. A good partner in crime. Or bartending, rather.