Personal Yummy #60
“I’m going to beauty school.”
Cathy, who is filling in for her husband tonight, announces this as she stands behind the bar and busily washes a few small draft glasses in a sink of sudsy, steaming water.
“Beauty school?” asks Billy, a kind, cute, curly-haired carpenter with an always-innocent air who comes in for a large Bud draft almost every night.
“Yes, beauty school,” Cathy repeats, “starting next week.” She places the glasses on a dish mat to dry and wipes her red hands on a white, just-laundered cloth.
“Oh, how exciting,” I say, a bit woozy from my half-full glass of merlot.
Harold, sitting comfortably in his paint-covered jumpsuit and nursing his large Rolling Rock draft, looks at her curiously. “Is this a new idea, Cathy, or something you’ve been throwing around in that head of yours for a while now?”
“Oh, god, Harold,” Cathy says, reaching for the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, “it’s been more than a while now, that’s for sure.” She pours a few-seconds-worth of the liquor with one hand while she presses the Coke button on the fountain gun with the other. Both liquids meet in a rocks glass full of ice. She applies a lime to the glass’s rim and places the drink in front of Bianca, dressed in blue jeans, a tight, sleeveless white top, her long hair, and a hint of lip gloss.
“Yeah, Cath,” Bianca says, removing the stirrer from her drink and taking much more than a sip, “I can remember you talking about doing this years ago, back when we first met… So I guess you decided it’s about time?”
“Yeah, actually, it is about time,” she answers, putting her hands on her hips. “Now that the boys are a bit older, I think it’s about the perfect time.” She cocks her head to the side. “But not that it’s going to be easy, I know.”
Billy tips his empty glass in her direction.
“Another one?” she asks. She picks up his glass, places it under the tap at an angle, and pulls the handle toward her. “Yeah, I mean, thank God Nick agreed to sacrifice a bit and help me…otherwise…otherwise…there’d be no way I could do it.” She releases the handle back into its original position, puts a fresh bar napkin down, and then places the tall, golden draft on top of it.
“Thanks, honey,” Billy says. He takes a couple of bucks out of his pocket and pushes them toward her.
“No way you could do what, Cath?” Walter, who has just walked in, asks. As he sits down, he takes his comb out of his back pocket and quickly runs it through his hair.
“No way that I could go to beauty school, Walter,” says Cathy, who is now busy pouring a large Rolling Rock draft.
“Ah, your dream…beauty school. Finally getting the chance, are you?” he says, massaging his beard with his hand.
“That I am, Walter, thanks to—as I was saying when you walked in—Nick.” She delivers the draft to Walter and then proceeds to prepare its never-ending companion, a CC on the rocks. “Yeah…he’s really surprised me. I mean, really, he’s agreed to get up early in the morning, after not getting home until around three, and watch the kids while I’m at class. He’s agreed to make his own meals. And—I mean it’s just wonderful—he’s even offered to work a few extra shifts to cover the tuition.” She places the CC on the rocks in front of Walter with a smile. Then, abruptly, she turns around.
I could be wrong, but I think I saw her gratitude in the corner of her eye.
******
The above excerpt is from my coming-of-age novel—The Grill on Murray Avenue: A Story of Innocence—about the inhabitants of an unassuming bar-and-grill in Squirrel Hill, a vibrant neighborhood in the east end of Pittsburgh. The story is told by Jenna, a young waitress who dreams of becoming a professional dancer.
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