Love's Illusions: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

changed, the stores were changing too – getting a little classier. New restaurants were popping up almost overnight, and all of them had bars decorated to the hilt with the latest fashions. Flashing neon signs in every color of the rainbow fought for the attention of anyone who walked by.
    I ‘discovered’ The Canteen my first week in the neighborhood as I was walking from my new apartment to catch a bus south to school. I’m not sure what drew me to the place; there was nothing special about the sign or its lettering or design. It was just plain old yellow wood with THE CANTEEN painted in black block letters, and an arrow that followed the upper arch of the doorway then hooked around directing everyone to the large double door below. I remember smiling to myself as I passed by and thinking, Cool arrow, I wonder what kind of place it is?
    When I came back after classes in the late afternoon, one side of the metal door was propped open. I hesitated on the sidewalk for a few seconds, then found myself standing in the doorway staring down a flight of stairs into a dimly lit room. The stairway was wider than a regular set of stairs – about double or triple the width, covered with badly stained indoor/outdoor carpeting and a single brass handrail running along each side. Somehow the stairs didn’t seem as steep as normal stairs either, maybe because there was a large landing area at the top that housed a tall bar stool and a small podium type shelf that was covered with miscellaneous papers, and had a telephone on the wall. As I descended, I could hear a couple of male voices talking about a broken beer tap. At that moment the room filled with fluorescent lights as one of the men flipped a bank of switches that was concealed behind a panel in the bar area. As he turned around, he noticed me standing at the base of the stairs.
    He was a rather tall, lanky-looking guy with light brown hair pulled back into a pony tail at the base of his neck, flat cheeks, and a full Dave Crosby mustache that hid much of his mouth. He was wearing a red, yellow, and orange colored shirt in a large, abstract floral pattern with the buttons undone to his mid chest, a worn brown leather vest with fringe, and a large silver peace symbol around his neck suspended at the end of a leather cord. His jeans (which I assumed would be wide bell-bottoms, had I been able to see through the bottom of the wooden bar), were baggy, and being held up by a belt with yet another, although much larger, peace symbol belt buckle.
    “We’re closed,” he snapped as he stared at me standing there, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for other intruders.
    “I’m sorry – the door is propped open so I thought…” I started to reply, but trailed off, watching as he place both hands on the bar and pole vaulted over. He reached my side almost immediately (yep the jeans are wide bell bottoms) , and looking up the stairs he started yelling at a couple of other guys, who popped up from under the beer taps, about how they were supposed to close the door after they got their equipment out of the truck, and ending with “Never mind, Goddamn it, I’ll close it myself. Come on honey… We open at eight, come back then, this place could use more pretty girls around.” He smiled as his narrow eyes scanned up and down my body sizing me up.
    In that split second, I made up my mind. Smiling back I said, “But I’ve come to see if you might be hiring, I mean if you needed a cocktail waitress… I’m looking for a part-time job.”
    He stopped, his leering smile turning into more of a grin, his lips pursing together until the big mustache swallowed his entire mouth; finding my statement either ridiculous or considering the possibilities – I couldn’t tell which. After a few intense seconds of examination, he said, “Sure, let’s talk, my office is back there. Stay here while I close the door, then follow me.”
    I followed him through the large rectangular