—So Hilarious—

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JENNIE

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My customer poll shows me that poetry slams are not quite as popular as I thought. So my plan to open our events with one is vetoed by Rosé and Yoshi in favor of Comedy Night.

It took all of two days, a few social media posts and two hours of auditions to secure our night of entertainment—I will say that there are a lot of people out there who think they're funny but are not. We're paying our entertainment in free cupcakes and booze, and even with the entry fee, which I was originally on the fence about, the café is packed. We have a fabulous selection of drinks, cakes, and savory treats. And Rosé has offered to make a few video clips of the entertainment to post on YouTube, which is amazing since I'll be too busy mixing cocktails to handle something like that.

I fully believe nothing can ruin this night. That belief is naïve and likely shortsighted.

However, since the EAT ME cupcake incident, there's been a shift with Lisa. One I'm not sure how to take. Yes, I still think she's an asshole. Yes, I'm still wary. Yes, we still stand outside on Friday afternoons and toss coupons at customers, trying to get them to spend their money on our wares. But she's addicted to my cupcakes. She comes in here every single night to get a hit of my special treats, and she can't even hide her excitement or her enjoyment.

Normally I charge her, but that night I was feeling extra generous because she's inadvertently sparked my cupcake creativity. I knew I had a winner on my hands, and that her reaction would inspire customers to buy what she was getting off on.

Every time she puts on a performance, I usually sell out of whatever's left in specialty cupcakes, so the initial out of pocket was totally worth it. Is it annoying that she constantly leaves me coupons for wings and asks me if I'm ready for a "big girl drink"? Sure, but toying with her is as much fun as watching her scarf down my cupcakes while grudgingly moaning her delight.

She hasn't made her daily stop yet, although generally she comes in later, within a couple hours of closing and after her dinner rush. I give my head a shake, because fixating on when Lisa stops in for cupcakes is unhelpful when I should be focused on my event.

Twenty minutes later, the opening act hits our small makeshift stage. Chairs and tables have been rearranged so everyone has a great view. At first I'm worried, because the guy is clearly nervous, but as the jokes start flowing and the crowd begins to chuckle and then laugh boisterously, he gains confidence. He finishes to a huge round of applause, and the bar is flooded with orders between the acts. Three comedians are scheduled tonight, which is perfect. It means rounds of drinks, appetizers, snacks, and desserts come in waves, which we're prepared for.

Everything is going as smooth as buttercream frosting until the final comedian sets up. It's almost nine and the sound of bass and feedback filters through the wall I share with Lisa's bar, making the floors vibrate.

As the final act begins, she's rudely interrupted by the sudden, very loud banging of…drums? It's followed by equally loud guitar riffs, and a growly voice belting out lyrics, which eclipse the comedian entirely for a few seconds.

It stops as abruptly as it begins and the performer makes a joke, setting off a round of nervous chuckling. Unfortunately, not thirty seconds later it happens again. "Dammit." I drop a stack of plates into the bus bin. The clatter would be loud if the noise coming from next door didn't drown it out, along with Karen the Comedian. She tries speaking louder, but it doesn't help. "I'm going over there."

Rosé, who's been filming and taking photos, makes a face. "Maybe I should go."

I give her the hairy eyeball. "So you can drool all over Lisa and forget to ask her to tone it the hell down?"

She arches a brow. Whatever. It's the truth, even if me calling her out on it in a less than pleasant manner is probably unwarranted. But this is my first event, and Lisa's ruining it with whatever she has going on over there. People always remember what happened at the beginning or the end of an event the best. So my customers are going to remember the fun start to their evening and how it was ruined because a loud band drowned out the last damn act.

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I rush over to Lisa's bar in time for the really loud music to start. Pounding bass, drums, and excessively aggressive guitar riffs blare through the sound system. The place is packed, bodies crowding the small stage positioned to the right. No wonder it's so loud in my café—the band is pretty much playing right against our adjoining wall. I notice that it's the young bartender up onstage. I think his name is Carl or something. He starts scream-singing. It's pretty unpleasant, not that I think scream-singing is ever really all that appealing.

I scan the dimly lit bar, searching for Lisa in a sea of black rim glasses-wearing twentysomethings. I finally spot her, in all her plaid glory, behind the bar, pouring pints. It takes me forever to squeeze my way through the crowd, but when I get to the bar the lineup is three deep. I try to edge my way between waiting customers, but it proves impossible.

Annoyed and frustrated, and frankly, grossed out by the number of sweaty bodies pressing up on me, I do another cursory scan of the bar and notice an opening a ways down. I settle my hands on some guy's hips, trying to skirt around him. Unfortunately he takes it as a sign that I want to dance—or make out.

He spins around, eyes flaring as he takes me in. I'm glad I'm wearing heels because I'm not particularly tall and he certainly is. A slow smile spreads across his face. His cheeks are baby smooth, indicating he's probably just old enough to be here legally.

"Sorry, excuse me. I'm just trying to get to the bar. I need to talk to the bartender."

"You can talk to me while you wait if you want," he shouts over the noise.

I'm not sure how that would even be possible because it's too loud to hear myself think, let alone have any kind of meaningful conversation. I tap my ear to indicate that I can't hear him.

"We don't have to talk." He winds an arm around my waist, catching me off guard as he pulls me closer. "I'm totally into cougars."

"Cougar?" I slap my palms on his chest—which is ridiculously bony—and turn my head as he leans in.

"Yeah, you're like, close to thirty, right? That's hot."

I am seriously going to throttle Lisa. It might not be her fault that this clueless git is suddenly mauling me, but I'm blaming her since she's the reason I had to come here in the first place. I purposely step on his foot with my pointy heel.

He lets me go with a yelp. Such a baby. I elbow my way through the crowd, done with the excuse mes and sorrys. I decide the only way to get to Lisa is by going behind the bar, which means shoving my way all the way down the line of thrashing and waiting customers. I finally free myself from the wave of bodies—I might go out the back door and brave the stench of garbage to get back to the café in lieu of having to fight the throng a second time—and try to wave Lisa down at the end of the bar.

She glances in my direction, tips her chin up and goes back to pouring pints. Bastard. There's no way I'm going to let Lisa ignore me. I unlatch the waist-high door and slip in behind the bar. I tread carefully across the honeycomb mat, waiting while Lisa slides two pints over the bar and rings the money through the till before I tug on her sleeve.

I feel very much like a kid seeking the attention of someone who definitely doesn't want to give it to me.

Lisa startles at the contact and frowns when she realizes it's me and not one of her employees. "What the hell, Jennie? You can't be back here."

"I need to talk to you!" I say, just as another particularly loud aggressive drum solo starts up.

She motions to her ear, signaling she can't hear me.

I pin her with an unimpressed glare and she rolls her eyes. I grab her arm, digging my nails in and try to pull her down so I can shout directly in her ear.

She gives me a look like I'm insane. "I'm kinda busy here." She points to the sea of bodies.

"You're ruining my Comedy Night with this!" I gesture in the direction of the band.

She huffs and shakes her head while she tries to pry my hand free from her arm. I stumble back a step, heel caught in the honeycomb mat meant to keep the bartenders from slipping on spilled beer. "You're gonna get hurt back here. You gotta go." She points to the end of the bar.

"Not until we talk."

"For fuck's sake, Jennie. I don't have time for this shit tonight." She circles my waist with one arm and hauls me up against her.

I gasp and flail, forced to hug her neck as she stalks the length of the bar. I don't want to notice how firm all of her is, or how good she smells when she's this close. "What the hell are you doing? Put me down! You can't manhandle me like this!"

"I can when you're behind my bar, wearing fucking heels, and at risk of spraining your damn ankle," she shouts, her minty breath washing over my cheek, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"You're ruining my night."

"Maybe your comedians suck. Ever think of that?"

Instead of opening the waist-high door, she swings me up, catching me fireman style under the knees, her cold palm wrapping around my thigh briefly as she lifts me over it and then unceremoniously dumps me back on my feet on the other side.

"My comedians don't suck! Your scream-o band is the problem." I keep flailing, which is frustrating because it makes me look like more of a lunatic.

"I need to work." She turns and starts to walk away.

"I'm not done with you!" I call after her.

She motions to her ear again.

Ugh. I hate her. I flip her the double bird. "How's that? Can you hear that?" I shout.

She has the audacity to salute me, gives me her back and leans on the bar, turning her head so some scantily dressed college girl can yell her beer order in Lisa's ear. She really is a jerk.

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By the time I get back to BB the last comedian has given up on account of the noise and the crowd is starting to clear out. Probably heading next door to enjoy the stupid band. I apologize to Karen, and while she's understanding I don't think there's much of a chance that she'll come back anytime soon, if ever.

I start to clean up with the help of Rosé, who hasn't asked what happened yet, likely because I'm so angry it's a wonder there isn't steam coming out of my ears. Only a few diehard customers are left in the place and I'm pretty sure the only reason they're hanging around is the possibility of half-price cupcakes.

I offer them the deal and they polish off what's left of their martinis, pick a half-dozen each and take off, muttering about stopping at their car before they head over to The Manoban Cap to check out the band, leaving my place totally empty. I'd planned to stay open until ten tonight, but it looks like I don't have to anymore.

I flip the bird at the wall between our two bars as yet another bass-pounding song starts, and then box up the few remaining cupcakes.

Rosé dumps what's left in the coffee carafe down the drain. "Guess the talk with Lisa didn't go all that well, huh?"

"She's a dick."

"She has one. What'd she say?"

"She pretended she couldn't hear me and then manhandled me."

Rosé sets the carafe down. "She did what?"

"She was behind the bar, ignoring me, so I went back there to confront her and she picked me up and carried me back out!" My cheeks heat as I recall exactly how forceful she was, and how strong, and also how easy it was for her to carry me. I'm not particularly petite.

Rosé's eyebrows rise. "Can't say I'd be all that upset if it was me she was manhandling."

"She ruined the night!"

"Well, to be fair, she only ruined the last act and I'll be honest: Karen was the weakest of the three, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Plus you do usually close at nine, so maybe Lisa didn't realize you were still open?"

"Karen was distracted, and do not defend Lisa. It's thoughtless of her to schedule a live band on the same night as our first event. She couldn't have not known about it. We had signs and flyers out all week. She should've consulted me!"

Rosé crosses her arms. "Because you two are clearly besties."

"It's common courtesy!"

"Which would hold some water if you two were actually on some kind of friendly terms, but all you do is push each other's buttons. I'll honestly be surprised if you don't either kill each other or end up boning each other's brains out."

I scoff. "Not in a million years."

Rosé grins. "Want to put some money on that?"

"You know I don't gamble."

"Uh huh. However you want to play it, Jennie. But I see the cupcakes you set aside for her every single day, and there's an awful lot of effort going into something for someone you supposedly hate."

I glance at the box still sitting on the counter with the cupcakes I decorated and specifically set aside for Lisa. "I do it because it's satisfying to watch her helplessly devour them."

"Okay."

"It's true."

"Uh huh."

I dump the box in the trash to prove my point, but it feels a lot like I've proven hers instead.

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The next morning, once the brunch rush is over I steel my resolve and head to The Manoban Cap to talk to Lisa about last night before she opens. I can see her through the window, leaning on the bar, wearing one of her plaid shirts, thick forearms exposed.

I bet it's purposeful so she can show off her tattoos. I take a deep breath, determined to keep my cool and try to open the door, but it's still locked. I knock on the window and she glances my way, pushing her black-rimmed glasses up her nose.

Stupid sexy hipster glasses.

I rattle the doorknob to demonstrate that I can't get in.

She lifts her left arm and taps her watch. It's very old school, something I would like to not find endearing and generally don't, especially since she doesn't make a move to come out from behind the bar and let me in.

So I keep knocking. And knocking. And knocking some more. In fact I start knocking out the rhythm of a song. She shakes her head, tosses her pen down on the bar top, and shambles slowly to the end of the bar. She stops three times on the way to the door to adjust stools and once more to fix a picture that's hanging askew on the wall. Her back is to me, and she strokes her chin, tipping her head to the right before she readjusts the picture in the opposite direction. I take the opportunity to stare at her butt, which I would like to smack and also kick with my pointy heel. I'm not sure what would be more satisfying, although I do know what would be most embarrassing. For me.

She finally saunters over to the door and taps the sign with the opening times posted on it. "We don't open for another fifteen minutes."

I bite back a bitchy retort because as she's pointed out before, you don't attract flies with vinegar. "Can we please talk?"

She jams a thumb in her pocket and rolls back on her heels. "You seemed to communicate just fine with hand signals last night."

I clasp my hands behind my back and fire the middle finger at her from there, while I plaster a smile on my face. Immature? Yes. Does it make me feel better? Marginally. "You manhandled me."

"You shouldn't have been behind my bar with heels on. You were a distraction and a liability." Her gaze moves over me in a slow sweep. It's not unappreciative.

"Can we please do this without a door between us?" It's demeaning to be kept out here on the street, speaking loudly to be heard through the pane of glass.

"Are you gonna try to maim me with your talons again?"

"Maim you?" What in the world is she talking about?

She flicks the lock and steps back, not bothering with chivalry. I open the door and slip in out of the cold as she unbuttons her plaid shirt and pulls the collar aside.

"What are you doing?"

"Showing you the evidence."

"Of what?"

She bends, bringing her shoulder down to my level. There are crescent-shaped nail marks in her skin defined by bruises.

"I did not do that."

"You sure did."

"I'm sure that was from whatever college girl you had a quickie with in your office when you took a five-minute break last night, not from me."

She blinks a few times, inked forearms flexing when she crosses them. The right one is covered in beautiful flowers, and the left is some kind of landscape. I can't see enough of it to figure out what exactly it is. One of those arms was against my bare thigh last night when she picked me up. "First of all, I have no interest in college girls."

I scoff and mirror her pose. "Could've fooled me with the way you were eyeing them last night."

"I was tending bar. My job is to be friendly when I'm serving booze. Secondly, I don't fuck where I work, and third, the word quickie isn't in my vocabulary. I'm an all-or-nothing kind of girl."

I fight to hold my smile. "So you're saying you like to savor instead of devour."

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

I have to tip my head up to meet her gaze. Her caramel-colored eyes are hot, burning like a shot of whiskey. "You treat sex the opposite of how you treat my cupcakes."

She licks her lips and swallows thickly, like she's tasting the memory of one right now. "I devour the first one and savor the rest when I'm alone."

"Hey, Lisa, sorry I'm a bit la—" Lisa's usual bartender—and the screamer from last night—is at the end of the bar, hands in the air as he takes deliberate steps backward and thumbs over his shoulder. "Oh, sorry, man, I didn't, uh…I'll go grab a couple cases of beer or something." He disappears around the corner.

I don't understand what that was all about until Lisa's attention returns to me. We're literally inches apart, and her arms are no longer crossed. She takes a step back and so do I, bumping into the door.

I clear my throat. "We need to set a schedule for our events. You ruined the last act of my comedy night with your live band."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"It was." On many levels. "Look, you're open until two and I'm only open until nine most nights, ten when I have entertainment on the weekends. You can hold your band until nine thirty, can't you? How much could that possibly hurt your business?"

"Why should I have to be the one to make concessions?"

"I already moved all my glasses and had to adjust my entire interior wall that adjoins your bar. The least you can do is give me an extra half hour."

"What're you gonna do for me?"

"I can start my comedy nights at seven instead of seven thirty. It's only half an hour and then we can both benefit. My customers can move over to your place and I can close when you have live bands." I don't want to bend, but I realize compromise is the only way to win this. I need her to be willing to work with me so I don't keep losing out. "Unless one of us switches days?"

"Live bands are best on Saturday nights." And she's back to crossing her arms.

"And comedians usually have nine-to-five jobs." Or they're booked somewhere better than a café in downtown Seattle.

"Unless they're actually good." It's like she's living in my damn head.

"They were good." I'm extra defensive, which is frustrating, especially since it makes her smile. "And the last one would have been a whole lot better if not for the noise over here."

We stare each other down for several long seconds that slowly turn heavy and uncomfortable. She finally sighs and runs a palm down her face. "You're not going to leave unless I agree to this, are you?"

"That's correct."

"Okay. I can push back live bands until nine thirty, but make sure you wrap up the yukkity-yuks by nine so you're not back here next Sunday griping at me for something else."

"Do you have anything else planned for this week?"

"Do you?" she shoots back.

I roll my eyes. "I'm trying to be proactive."

"If that's what you want to call it. Maybe you're trying to steal my ideas."

"So far you've been the one piggybacking me, not the other way around."

She leans in and lowers her voice. "Except last night when you were clinging to me like I was carrying you on a tightrope, not across a bar, one you weren't supposed to be behind in the first place."

I open my mouth and snap it shut. She's goading me. On purpose. I brush a wayward curl from my forehead with my middle finger and spin around, yanking the door open.

Her laughter follows me all the way back to my café.

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