Page 6 of Unhinged

“In a thousand ways.”

We stare each other down, me more so than him. Amos grins like a great white, which he barely passes as a roadie for that useless band.

“Don’t say it.”

His grin is genial but taunts me. “Your aunt is a fine woman, and by chance, we met on a recent visit here. This bar has a lot of potential…”

“What in the actual hell, Vaughn? No! Goddamn it!” I stomp my foot and throw the literal towel in, hitting Milt’s face, which is a favor to humanity.

Candi leans on the bar. “Enough. Mr. Vaughn is here to help.”

I laugh. “Mr. Vaughn.” I then glare at Amos as he observes my meltdown. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you telling me you’ve invaded my life again?”

“Well, if you put it that way…”

“I hate my life. And yours.” I cross my arms, but noticing I’m mirroring him, my hands go into my hair as I ponder life’s mysteries and fuck you moments.

“You’re throwing a tantrum. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet. Unfuckingreal. I’m not bending to your every whim.” I shake my head, feeling like an M. Night Shyamalan movie has sucked me in, and not even a good one. “You’d like that, though.”

“That’s enough, Rod.”

“Why in the hell are you even in here, Amos?”

He shrugs his boneless hams. “It’s the home of Duke University. The Civil Rights Movement. They filmed Bull Durham here. Why not?”

“I meant this bar.”

“I was in the neighborhood.” He shrugs again, and I’d strangle him if I could get my hands around his throat.

“This ain’t Applebee’s,” I snap. This day and I have gone straight to hell.

“I really was in town. I’m also working out of our sister firm here. I wanted to visit you, so I called your mother. She told me you’re working here.”

“So, you make a jump to investing time and money into this dump?”

“Amy needs help.”

“From a qualified professional, but my parents won’t even touch that mess.” Still in shock and no awe, I argue, “You’re in my face, at my job, and in my life again. I moved here to get away from you.”

“Yeah. I don’t believe that.”

“Believe what you want. I’m grabbing a restraining order.”

Having nothing else civil to contribute, I back away and continue to serve the best and brightest of this fair city. Still, Amos refuses to stop staring at me with his beady eyes. I try to focus on everyone else but him, which does the opposite. His focus bores into me harder, and I reach for the whiskey more than I ever have. Thus, an hour later, I barely remember my own name. Whichever one.

Eventually, Candi and Milt finish their shifts, leaving me with something you’d find in a century-old, water-logged coffin. I’m also stuck with Harold, who arrives thirty minutes late on the regular and barely does shit.

As Harold squeezes behind me, he greets, “Hi there, Amos.”

I groan, “So you’ve met?”

A kiss-ass, Harold laughs. “Absolutely. I’m excited to see where he’ll take the bar.”

I mutter, “Either into bankruptcy or straight to hell.”

Harold clicks his tongue, and I want to smash glass in his perennially sun-burned face. “That’s no way to talk. Be compassionate and optimistic.”

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