Avery
Please give me a job.
Avery
It doesn’t have to be a bartender gig.
Avery
I could do dishes or bus tables.
Ethan
No. You’re not the kind of worker I’m looking for.
Avery glances around the sparse office.
She spots a series of framed photos featuring bikini bartenders.
Avery points at the photos.
Avery
Bikini models? Hooters girls?
Avery
You won’t hire me because I’m not your type.
Avery motions to her oversized T-shirt and baggy jeans.
Then she gives Ethan a pointed look.
Ethan leans back in his office chair and crosses his muscled arms.
Ethan
You’re not my type because I’m hiring painters.
Ethan
And electricians. And a plumber.
Ethan
This bar isn’t open.
Ethan
I bought it three weeks ago. I’m remodeling before I open.
Ethan
And for the record, I won’t be employing topless waitresses.
Avery
Oh, give me SOME credit, I assume they’ll be wearing a top of some kind.
Avery
Something the size of a handkerchief, maybe.
The light catches Avery’s auburn hair and he turns away from the sight.
Ethan
Do you mind leaving my office now?
Ethan
As much fun as it is having you waltz in here and insult me, I have things to do.
Avery
Oh, come on. I see the kind of shape this bar is in.
Avery
And I know my way around a tool box.
Avery
I charge twenty bucks an hour.
Avery
That’s a fraction of what a handyman will charge you.
Ethan clenches his jaw, studying her.
The two stare at each for a long moment.
Ethan
Fine. Painters arrive in a week, and the walls need to be prepped.
Ethan
Signs down. Holes puttied.
Ethan
Seven days. That’s it.
Avery closes the office door behind her.
She crosses the dimly lit bar with a new bounce in her step.
She picks up a hammer and starts removing some old beer signs near the entrance.
Twenty minutes later, Ethan joins her.
He’s wearing a pair of worn blue jeans and a T-shirt that clings to his taut chest.
Avery
Sooo…why’d you buy this bar?
Ethan
Sooo…why’d you walk into my bar and demand a job?
Avery
Got tired of my road trip. Needed a job.
Avery
Heard coastal Oregon was pretty.
Ethan
You probably should’ve picked a town with more than one bar.
Ethan
Maybe even one that’s open for business.
Avery
The joke’s on you. I’d rather work construction than bus tables.
Ethan
Why the hell did you walk in here anyway?
Avery points to a sign taped to a dirt-streaked window.
Avery
You have a ‘Now Hiring’ sign taped next to the front door, genius.
Ethan grumbles and stalks across the room.
Avery
You have such a delightful personality.
Avery
I can see why you wanted to get into the hospitality industry.
Ethan
You know, I can fire you just as quickly as I hired you.
Avery
Yeah, but I’d convince you to give me my job back.
Avery
Just like I convinced you to give me one in the first place.
Avery
I’m persuasive like that.
Ethan
That’s a polite word for what you are.
Avery blushes and turns away.
Avery
So you’ve had the bar for three weeks.
Avery
How long have you been in Oregon?
Now it’s Avery’s turn to roll her eyes.
Avery
You’re not going to answer any of my questions, are you?
Ethan
Fifteen bucks an hour. That’s all I owe you.
A half-hour passes in silence.
Until Ethan nicks his finger on the jagged edge of an old tobacco sign.
He curses, wrapping the bottom of his T-shirt around the cut.
Avery
Do you have a first aid kit?
Ethan
It’s in the back of the kitchen. Across from the grill.
Avery runs toward the kitchen.
When her eyes land on the food stored on big metal shelves, her stomach growls.
An industrial-sized can of olives. Pickles. Beans.
A big, unopened jar of peanut-butter.
She hasn’t eaten breakfast.
She’s still rationing her last half-sleeve of gas-station crackers.
She spots the first aid kit and rushes back out.
Avery grabs his hand in hers.
The bleeding has slowed — the cut is jagged but not deep.
He lets out a hiss between his teeth as she holds the antiseptic wipe against the wound.
Ethan
You don’t look like the type.
Avery
There’s a lot you don’t know about me.
They stand there holding hands for longer than the medical situation requires.
Finally, Ethan pulls his hand away.
His voice is brusque when he speaks.
Ethan
There’s a lot you don’t know about me either.
