Page 6 of Scarred King

“Listen…. I didn’t understand anything in this interview…” he scratches his head and looks thoughtful. “But the truth is that I’m sick of all the idiots who work here.” He turns his head toward Carly. “Except you, of course.” He smiles at her affectionately and she giggles. “So if my friends agree, I'm willing to give you a chance tonight.”

“Thank you very much,” I say excitedly and turn to look at Tommy and Scarface. The guy with the bleached hair shrugs indifferently and Scarface nods once without looking at me. I turn to Carly, who looks as surprised as I feel.

“Wow,” she rubs her hands with pleasure. “I would have never believed that my prank would end with you actually getting a chance to work here.” She stands up next to the redheaded guy and puts her arm through his. “As you can see, Mike manages our exclusive dance club. Tommy…” she points at the guy with bleached hair, “manages our special hospitality rooms and Liam…” Scarface looks at me, “manages the business bar. You’ll be working mainly with him.” She walks alongside Mike towards a steel door on the left side of the bar. “Good luck.” She giggles to herself and they both disappear behind the door.

Tommy stands up and skips up the stairs to the top floor. I remain alone at the bar with Scarface, and look around. Oh my God! I think I’ve just been given a chance to work in hell.

5

Silence prevails in the bar. I'm trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do. I’ve never waitressed before. Actually, I’ve never worked at all, except for that embarrassing attempt I made at tutoring last year. And if there’s one thing that my few friends will all agree on, it’s that nobody is less suited for this job than me because this job requires you to interact with other people.

“Sit,” Scarface orders, and I squeeze into Carly’s seat across from him. My eyes dart between the scarred side and the angelic side of his face until he slams his beer bottle down on the table. I am fixated on the scarred side.

“Want to stroke it?” he sneers.

“Stroke what?” I ask and try to count the scars.

“This.” He points at the scarred side and with no control over my actions I rise, lean forward and let my hand caress his cheek.

“I don’t understand it…” I mumble and jerk my hand back in panic. I can’t believe I did that.

He raises one eyebrow in amusement. “You’re the first one who has actually taken me up on my offer.” He chuckles, and I continue counting the number of scars.

“I don’t understand this….” I mumble again and he looks at me confused. “The scars on the top half are "clean cut" but on the bottom half of your face they’re all messed up.”

He narrows his eyes at me carefully, and for a moment it seems that he’s overwhelmed by bad memories. His jaw locks and his whole body tenses, but his half smile returns to the angelic side of his face as he touches the scarred side and stops where the chaotic scarring begins.

“That’s when I managed to get one hand free and fight back,” he simply says.

I shiver. “Who did this to you? Who did you have to fight? Did you go to the police?” I fire my questions at him and his half-smile spreads also to the scarred side.

“You ask a lot of questions.” He looks back at the file in front of him which contains pages that are covered with names and numbers. “Here, in this place, don’t ask questions. You won’t want to hear the answers.” He adds a number next to a new name that he has written and raises his gaze to me again. “You’re not allowed into the dance club.” He tips his head toward the steel door behind him. “And you’re not allowed on the top floor either.” He points at the staircase. “You work only in this room. You take orders and serve drinks.” His tone becomes hard. “You don’t hold conversations with the customers, you don’t ask any questions and you don’t give out any information about yourself. Are we clear?”

I nod.

“And most importantly.” His green cat eyes grow serious. “You never sit down in any of the chairs at the square tables. You can sit at this table or on the chairs by the bar. But never on any other chairs in this area.”

“Why?” I ask, wondering.

“There you go asking questions again,” he complains. “Customers will start arriving in fifteen minutes, so you’d better start cleaning the tables.” He goes back to look through the page in front of him while I try to understand his instructions. They arouse my curiosity and I open my mouth to ask some more questions. “Now!” he roars suddenly, and I jump out of my seat and walk towards the bar.

The main door opens, and an older, overweight black man walks in. “Hey, Liam!” he calls from the entrance and Scarface raises his hand and waves without looking up from his file. “And who are you?” the man asks curiously. I remember the instructions my new boss gave me and don’t say anything. I'm not supposed to give the customers any information about myself… “I asked you a question, girl.” He goes behind the bar and picks out a bottle from the top shelf.

“Who are you?” I reply with a question of my own and his loud laughter echoes around the bar.

“Didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to answer a question with a question?” he opens the bottle and pours himself a drink in a small glass.

“That’s exactly what you just did.” I answer, being a smartass without intending to, while picking up a cloth lying next to the sink.

“Witty.” He laughs again and empties the glass to his mouth. “I’m Charlie, the bartender.” He pats his chest proudly. “And this is my kingdom.” He spreads his arms out to the sides.

“I’m Elena, the new waitress.” I copycat his chest-patting movement. “And one day, all of this will be mine.” I spread my arms out to the sides and his laughter becomes louder. I snicker to myself and start wiping down the black marble on the bar, while he can’t stop laughing.

“You’re not really the new waitress, are you?” he finally manages to ask.

“Actually, I really am.” I move over to the square tables and start cleaning them.

“Liam,” he yells, “I’m gone for two days and you bring in a girl scout to wait tables in my bar?”

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