Saving Anne [Complete]

Chapter Eight ( Unedited)

"Hey, Anne.  You ready for your first day?" Marv called out to me from behind the bar.

    "You betcha!  Do you have my uniform shirt for me? I'll just hop into the bathroom and change." As I approached the bar, he tossed me the tank top.  I could tell by how little fabric there was that we were going to have a problem.  I might have a tiny waist, but I have some curves, my best asset is my D's, I usually wore a large in a tank. "Umm, do you have a larger size, Marv.  I don't think this one is going to work."

    "Trust me, work with what you got.  You are working in a bar, sweet heart." I gave a curt nod and walked into the back room. Pulling the tank on over my head and smoothing the fabric down my chest and my flat stomach, I had to admit that it looked pretty good, even if it was reminiscent of a Hooters' girl. Glancing over my should, I cringe. Two one inch, dark pink scars are showing. My heart palpitates at the visual reminder of my assault.  Each one situated on either side of my spine.  A constant reminder that I could have been much worse off.  I could be bound to a wheelchair.  I give God a quick thanks that I can still go on my runs. Needing a quick a fix, I take my hair out of my high ponytail and shake my mahogany and amber hair until it falls loosely down my back in cascading waves. As long as the humidity doesn't get to me, it would do.  I give myself a mental check to talk to Marv about possibly doubling up on my tank to cover more in the back.  I could pair it with a razor back tank, still low cut in the front, and the gruesome reminders of that tormentous night will be covered. Out of sight, out of mind so to speak.

    "Okay, I'm ready!" Flashing my best smile I could afford at the moment.  Marv gives me a once over, smiles and nods.

    "You are going to kill it with tips tonight, sweet heart." I smile back.  Marv is a nice enough man.  He looks like he is in his early forties and has been running the family business for the past fifteen years.  Within the past five years, he inherited the place and brought it back to life.  In his prime, Marv was definitely a heartbreaker.  He had that bad boy look down with a heart of gold.  He is solid build and from what I can tell is still sporting a decent six-pack.  He has blond hair with natural highlights and brilliant hazel eyes, blue, green and gold.  His smile is adorned with one dimple on his right side.  It fit him perfectly with his naturally crooked smile.  If I was ten years older, I would be chasing. However, my reaction to Marv pales in comparison to what I endure with Liam. Hardly even a blip on the radar.

During my training yesterday I was able to talk to some of the girls and they all sang his praises.  He is more that willing to work around schedules and goes the extra mile to make sure his employees are taken care of. One of the girl's car broke down and it took more than a week to get it fixed.  Marv not only picked her up and dropped her off from her shifts.  He also drove her toddler back and forth to the grandmother's house.  Another girl's furnace broke during the deep freeze last year and Marv lent her the money for the repairs.  He is just a class act.  He also knew how to run his bar, and let's be honest, sex sells.  Even the illusion of it.  A tight shirt not only can increase sales, it creates return customers, and inflates tips.

Three hours into my shift, I have only brought the wrong drinks once.  The guys at the table were champs about, if not just a little bit cheesy. "Hey dimples,  I had a Labatt's not a light."

"I'll get that fixed for you right away.  Go ahead and keep that one on the house and I'll be right back with your drink."

"No problem sweets.  Just flash me a smile and all is forgiven." I have to say that my shirt is working well.  I go back behind the bar to grab the right drink.  With the quick pace getting to me, I pull my hair over my shoulder to cool me down for a second.

"Shit, sweet heart.  What the fuck happened to you!" Marv choked. Tracing one of my scars then pulling his hand back.

"Yeah, about that.  I wanted to bring this up to you at the end of my shift.  I was hoping that I could layer my tank with a razor back.  It is hot as hades and I don't want to pull my hair up with my scars." My eyes pleading.  With his reaction, I definitely did not want the customers or the work seeing my back.