Voir Dire (N.H.)

six

Kelsey had been right about it being a busy night. Since the second the doors had opened the bar had been bustling, and it wasn't  showing any sign of stopping soon. Tom had just let them know that the AMAs had just ended, which meant a bunch of drunken celebrities were headed their way, wailing in their sorrows of not winning the award they had been nominated for.

Maya came up behind Kelsey with the drink she was mixing. "Tonight we're gonna see someone big-I can just feel it. I'm thinking Taylor Swift- heard she got beat out for Female Artist of the Year."

Kelsey rolled her eyes, throwing some ice into the glass of the whiskey sour she was mixing. "Please Maya, Taylor Swift's not the Manhattan type. She'll be home with a bottle of wine and her cats."

Maya stifled a laugh and headed back to her customer. She couldn't keep them waiting if she wanted a nice tip. Kelsey glanced at the time. It was only ten pm, which meant she had four more busy hours before bar close. Kelsey had thought that maybe she would be let off a little early tonight after working so many shifts this week, but with the amount of traffic in the bar right now, she knew there was no way that was going to happen now.

"Kelsey, can you deliver these Manhattans to table twelve please?" Meg, the bar's manager shouted in her direction.

"Of course," Kelsey responded, wiping her hands on a dish towel, before setting it on the counter and grabbing the tray of drinks. She navigated her way through clumps of socializing people towards the table in the back corner. Then set down the drinks in front of each of the women in the back corner. Although she didn't recognize any of them, she was guessing they had come from the awards show by the way they were dressed. Full length ballgowns and jewelry she only could dream of affording.

The woman handed her a twenty dollar bill and Kelsey placed it in her pocket after giving a polite thank you. She headed back towards the bar. She made her way through the crowd, pushing when her 'excuse-mes' go unnoticed. She had nearly made it back, when a man started backing into her. Like some kind of bartender premonition, Kelsey could tell what was going to happen before it even began.

"Shit," the man exclaimed in a thick accent. His beer splashing onto Kelsey as he bumps into her, leaving her shirt drenched with the sticky substance. Kelsey glances down to see just how bad the damage was before her eyes travel upward to meet those of the man that had so kindly spritzed her with his beer.

His face was soft, with a slight scruff along his jawline. His blue eyes full of apology. Kelsey was sure that she knew his face, but at the moment she couldn't quite place it- not that she could acknowledge it even if she could- another of Manhattan's strict policies to ensure its elite patrons were not bothered.

"I'm sorry, wasn't watching where I was going," he apologized.

"Don't worry about it, happens all the time," Kelsey replied. It was for occasions like this that Kelsey was now sure to pack at least three different shirts with her when she came to work. Even the elite could get a little sloppy.

"Can I get you another one of those?" she asked, gesturing to his now almost empty glass. Kelsey had never understood why they had to provide compensatory drinks to patrons who had money coming out of their ears, but it was yet another policy she had to follow.

"Think I should be the one buying you one," he said with a laugh. 

"No drinking on the job unfortunately, but just give me a minute to change and I'll get you a fresh one."

The man's eyes flashed with the realization that Kelsey was an employee, as always. Once this occurred, there were usually two outcomes. The first being the guy lost all interest in her and pretended her ever offered to buy her a drink in the first place. The second being the guy took this as an opportunity to continue to flirt in hopes of getting stronger drinks and someone he could talk the ear off while he continued to drink. That was the bad thing about being a bartender, you couldn't exactly run from the creepy guy at the bar.