Shirley, I Jest!: A Storied Life Read Online Free PDF Page B

squeeze his hand. I stand there a moment, letting the adrenaline subside. And now I can really feel my damn cheap pumps pinching my feet. I reluctantly let go of Jim’s hand and trot off to the bar where Tony ruffles my hair and laughs. I see that my Zombies and the other Tom Collins drinks are ready to go. I put them on my tray, take a deep breath, and head off. I set the Tom Collins down in front of the girls and the Zombies in front of each of the men. As I start to walk off, one of the men taps my arm. I turn around.
    He looks at me and says, “Light ’em!”
    “Light ’em?”
    “Yeah, light ’em. If these drinks have triple the liquor, they’ll catch afire!”
    I had not been trained in this customer request either. But if he wants his drink lit, I’ll give it the old junior college try! I set my tray down and grab one of the official Whisky matchbooks off the table and, inwardly trembling, do as the gentlemen requested. I light his drink afire, holding the match over the Zombie.
    Boom ! It goes up in a majestic blue flame, as does the other one. Whoosh ! I’m thinking, “Bravo, Tony.”
    They smile at me, but not in a Jim Morrison way. I retreat from the table back to the bar. Tony is waiting for me. He says, “Those guys actually thought we had cut them short with the drinks, but I love mixing Zombies.”
    “Yes,” I said. “But you should have warned me about the fire thing!”
    The Flying Burrito Brothers have left the stage and now, “Sympathy for the Devil” is blasting out over the club speakers with the light show going full-bore. Gypsy Boots sways and circles one of his little girl dancers and others join in. Good God, you could see right through the gossamer! They circle each other with liquid arm movements—hands and fingertips moving in front of their eyes, bodies swaying in some sort of slow-motion whirling dervish. I thought, “This is the kind of dancing you might witness if you had lived a past life in Atlantis!”
    I was always fascinated by this and years later would mimic these moves in a funny dance we did on Laverne & Shirley .
    I checked on Jim’s table, and he was gone! They were all gone! One of the waitresses said, “Don’t worry about the check. The club took care of it.”
    What about the tip? Did Jim leave me a tip or maybe a note? I wanted to ask this, but I didn’t dare. Besides it really didn’t matter. The experience with him was more important than any tip. But still! I scurried to my Zombie table and asked if everyone was doing OK. Lo and behold they were, and now they wanted Zombies all around plus cheeseburgers and fries. I wrote down the new order. I started to make my way back to the bar to put in my order when Maggie, the other new waitress, came to me crying.
    “What’s the matter?” I asked.
    She said she had tripped and spilled her tray, then she had messed up an order, and now she was being sent upstairs to the dreaded Peanut Gallery.
    “Poor Maggie,” I thought, but then maybe it was for the best. After all, downstairs was just too challenging for some people, and I couldn’t help but think that with all of my waitressing experience it came as second nature to me. A thrilling blast of horns rang out. Chicago Transit Authority had taken the stage!
    The next night I was relegated to the Peanut Gallery, where they had intended me to work in the first place. I didn’t really mind, I was still kind of flattered by the whole Jim Morrison thing. I kept my job at the Whisky for another two months, serving everyone from Duke Ellington to Joe Cocker. I could tell many fantastic tales about working the Peanut Gallery at the Whisky, and maybe one day I will.

Three
    Back to the Valley
    I had to quit the Whisky because I couldn’t support myself on what I made working upstairs in the land of low tips. After that job, I was back in my old orange uniform working the graveyard shift at the International House of Pancakes, this time on Sunset Boulevard. I had