I had no idea why Tag included that part of his story on the tapes. I’d watched Millie when Tag had recounted the scene with Morgan, and her face had fallen like a house of cards. I’d wanted to throw the tape recorder out the window and hunt my best friend down, so I could slap some sense into him.
But then, as Tag had continued talking, Millie’s expression grew thoughtful and her stiff posture relaxed, and I realized suddenly why Tag was sharing the uncomfortable story. Tag confessed the details of Millie’s hiring because he didn’t want her hearing it from someone else and thinking that he was in on the joke. Tag clearly wanted Millie to know that the first time he’d seen her dancing, he’d had no idea she was blind. He’d thought she was beautiful.
“You heard what he said, Millie. He didn’t know. You convinced him you were the real deal. He thought you were even better than the other dancers.” My gut twisted again. If Tag were coming back, he wouldn’t have felt the need to make that clear or insulate Millie from gossip.
“I know,” she whispered and then stood. “I need to take a break, Moses. I need to go home and make sure Henry’s okay.”
I offered to give her a lift, but she refused, claiming she needed to stretch her legs. She had to dance at the club in a few hours too, and I was glad to hear it, even if she was only going through the motions. Going through the motions means you aren’t sitting still. Sitting still is what kills you. And so far, everyone was keeping up appearances for Tag, everyone was showing up for work, doing their jobs at his gym, his bar, and his store on the corner. Tag may have abandoned his world, but if we all went through the motions, maybe we could keep it turning for him until he came back. I didn’t let myself think any further than that.
MORGAN DIDN’T COME back to work. I made sure I was at the bar at two the following afternoon, ready to meet him or fill in for him, whichever it was going to be. When five thirty rolled around with still no sign of my manager, I cursed and started flipping through options in my head. I had a big fight to get ready for, and I didn’t want to be working late shifts at the bar every night. That’s why I’d hired Morg. I wanted to come in, make my rounds, slap some skin, and work the back room. I didn’t want to be working forty hours a week behind the bar managing the place. I already had too much on my plate. But I’d embarrassed Morgan. Hurt his pride. Still, I was surprised he hadn’t shown.
I spent the evening making drinks, chatting up my regulars, and watching the door. I was sure Morgan would slink in eventually. He just didn’t have that many options. Amelie came through the door at seven, using the front entrance instead of the back, which was customary for employees. Henry was with her, his riotous hair covered by a Giants ball cap, his eyes darting from one side of the bar to the other. It was interesting to see the siblings together, one so composed, one so uncomfortable.
I called a greeting to both of them, and Amelie smiled uncertainly, moving toward the bar with Henry in tow. She was on the schedule to dance, and I wondered what she was thinking, bringing her brother to work. Henry didn’t act like he heard me at all. His eyes shot straight to the television over my head and he halted about three feet from the stools, stuffing his hands in his pockets, shutting out everything around him. His lip looked swollen and there was a bruise on the side of his face. I wondered if Amelie had any idea.
“Uh, hi David . . . Mr. Taggert,” Amelie said, feeling for the edge of the bar.
“Amelie,” I interrupted. “Please, for the love of Pete, stop calling me Mr. Taggert.”
“Okay. Right.” She smiled sheepishly, but continued, discomfort evident in her voice. “Could Henry sit in here and watch the Laker game? My neighbor usually comes over and house sits while I work, just so Henry has someone there at night. But she’s not feeling well. He’s old enough to be alone, obviously, I mean, I’ve left him home at night before. But never for very long. And he’s had a rough day. Robin’s coming to get him, but she won’t be here for about twenty minutes . . .” Her voice faded off uncomfortably.
I wondered briefly about her parents and then decided it wasn’t any of my business.
“Does he like bubbles too?” I teased. If Henry could sit quietly on a stool and watch the game until Robin arrived, I’d keep him in drinks and pretzels. He wasn’t old enough to be in the bar, but as long as he wasn’t drinking—which I could make sure of—and as long as it wasn’t for very long, I wasn’t too concerned about it.
“Sprite. He loves Sprite.” She sounded so relieved I thought she was going to break into tears, but she turned to Henry instead, finding his arm and instructing him gently.
“Henry, did you hear that? Mr. Tag—um, Tag says you can watch the game with him.” Henry slid onto a stool, his eyes not leaving the screen.
“Is he okay right here, David?” She just couldn’t get comfortable with my name. I wondered why.
“That’s fine. Go on. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Thank you. Thank you, I . . .” She stopped, squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said firmly. With her stick in hand, she tapped her way around the bar and disappeared down the long hallway that led to the restrooms and the employees’ locker room.
I put a bowl of peanuts in front of Henry, along with a tall Sprite, thought better of it, and replaced the peanuts with pretzels. Henry seemed like he might be the type of kid who would be horribly allergic to peanuts. That was just what I needed tonight.