Page 2 of The Fall Back Plan
“You think it’ll be busy enough to warrant an extra patrol?” I’m only asking to be polite, but of course I’ll send a deputy that night. Public safety calculations change when liquor enters the equation. No one had dared cross Janice Sullivan, not even after Tom died, and if ever an out-of-towner got too uppity, the locals schooled them right quick. Without knowing what kind of security or policies this new owner has, the smart play is to have a deputy in the area until we get a feel for what kind of trouble will find the Tequila Mockingbird and how the bar will handle it.
Miss Ruth shrugs at my question. “Don’t know what kind of crowd it’ll get. But you’ll wish you’d had someone here if it’s big, and that’s worse than sending a deputy you don’t end up needing.”
“You’re right.” I nod like I’m grateful for this wisdom.
The worker reappears with a poster, which he unfurls and sprays with adhesive before sticking it to the window. A large serif font announces that Tequila Mockingbird will be opening in a week.
So far, I’m taking the sign that nearly hit me in the head as a figurative one as well: Karma LLC does not have all its crap together, but it’s my literal job to make sure that doesn’t cause problems for Harvest Hollow.
Chapter Two
Jolie
We’reopen.
After all the negotiations, ordering, renovating, staffing, and training, it’s here.
I sit at the table in the farthest back, nearest the hall leading to the restrooms and my office, a shadowy corner that couples will no doubt claim in the future for whispered conversations and kisses.
Sullivan’s was built in the old shotgun bar style, and we had to stay with that floor plan, but everything else is different, the interior stripped and remodeled from the ceiling down. If I had to describe the previous aesthetic, it would be “Have you ever seen a 1970s movie scene shot inside a bar?”
Now it’s boho contemporary with light woods and natural textures wherever we can use them. Wicker shades in modern funnel shapes on black iron pendant lights, stone and jute covering the walls, lush plants in harmonious places. In a nod to the town’s full embrace of fall, some of the tables have small pumpkins filled with succulents.
Ads have run in theTimesand all over social media for a week now announcing our opening night. It’s 5 PM on a Monday, typically the slowest night of the week in the restaurant and bar industry, but that’s intentional. It gives my staff a chance to get some experience and work out kinks before the weekend rolls around and we become part of the modest Maple Street pub crawl.
We have a full month to get our act together before the Harvest Festival, when the crowds descend and our taps—and their cash—will flow freely.
Harvest Hollow is a “just big enough” town. Big enough for two high schools. Not big enough to expect a long wait at your favorite restaurant most nights.
Still, I don’t expect an empty bar fifteen minutes after our official opening time. I exchange nervous glances with my cousin Ry in his spot behind the bar when no one has come in. Our servers, Tina and Precious, shift from foot to foot. They’re both experienced waitresses, single moms who need the tips that pay them better than any salary job will get them.
My security, Mary Louise, stands by the door wearing an inscrutable expression. She looks as if she’s always thinking hard, but you can’t ever tell if it’s good or bad. It’s how she looked on the court as Valley League All-Star basketball forward for three years straight in high school.
After another five minutes, even Mary Louise fidgets, her fingers drumming against her thigh the only giveaway that she’s got some reservations about how this opening will play out.
Ry shoots me another look. “Rethinking not sending those invitations?”
I shake my head. Not even a little. He’d been on my case for the last month to invite the Harvest Hollow VIPs for complimentary drinks on opening night to help get the word out.
“The mayor? The Chamber of Commerce? They love photo ops showing them caring about local businesses. They’ll post it all over their social media. Free advertising for you while they tell everyone what good citizens they are.” He’d made several versions of this argument, and I shot each one down with a look. He’d drop it for a day or two. Then he’d start up again, even though he knew exactly why I didn’t want an Oakley or his spawn in here.
It had been plenty satisfying to know they were probably popping blood pressure meds every time an outside vendor or delivery truck pulled up to Tequila Mockingbird. It would drive them crazy knowing I hadn’t spent any of my renovation funds in town.
I am in my petty era. The kind of petty that has a long memory, and now has the money to act on it. But I learned from the best. Namely the biggest snobs in this town.
Finally, nearly a half hour after we unlocked the front entrance, the door swings open to let in the waning daylight and two women in their late twenties who I don’t know. It isn’t surprising. Harvest Hollow is the kind of place where you always see a few people you know at Walmart but even more who you don’t. I’d probably graduated two or three years ahead of these two, but if they’d gone to Stony Peak and not Harvest High, there wasn’t much chance our paths had crossed.
One was in a black pencil skirt and light blue blouse, the other in a navy pantsuit. Bankers, I decided. The account rep level. They’d probably started as tellers and graduated to desk jobs that allowed them to wear heels that no teller would put on for a full shift on her feet. I had a whole closetful of designer versions of both their outfits.
Tina goes to greet them, her dark box braids swaying softly from her high ponytail as she leads them to the center table.
Precious sweeps in next, bearing two flutes of champagne, her halo of blonde curls catching the soft bar light. “Welcome to Tequila Mockingbird, ladies. You’re our very first patrons, and we want to celebrate with this complimentary champagne.”
They happily accept and admire the decor as they drink. Within minutes, Pantsuit has her phone out, telling Tina she’s putting out the word to her friends to come in and check us out.
By seven, Pantsuit and Pencil Skirt are leaving, but our tables are half-full, and more than half the barstools are occupied as well. I stay in my corner to watch it all, periodically slipping into my office to pull up the sales report and see how we’re doing.
We’d given the first twenty customers free champagne, but even still the sales are adding up. Tina especially is doing a good job of pushing our signature cocktail while Precious keeps our house ale selling. I’ll have them compare notes to see what they can learn from each other.
