What You Work For

James and I made the 25 minute drive from the practice rink to one of my favorite hide-outs. It was located just a few miles from the community that I had grown up in and once I was old enough, you could find me there on any lazy Saturday night. Huntz’s Tavern was my safe-haven.

“What’s so special about this place?” he asked as we stood outside the old building.

I frowned at him. “I love this place. No one makes a big deal about anyone and it’s cheap. Good place for a college student to catch up with friends.”

“But you’re not a college student anymore,” James countered as I led him inside.

“But I was,” I said taking my usual place along the bar. “Take a load off, Nealer.”

He took a seat next to me and I waved Sal over to us. It was nearing 6 o’clock on a Saturday night, so there were only a few patrons crowding the dark room.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite home-girl,” the older man smiled. “And she’s brought a friend. What can I get you two?”

“Anything Pittsburgh, Sal. You know me,” I shrugged. “James?”

“Uh, same,” he said and nodded.

“Comin’ up,” the barman sauntered away.

“So why’d you bring me here if you didn’t want to talk in the first place?” James asked.

Well, now he was just being difficult.

“You wanted an answer about my tattoo and I changed my mind about talking,” I said as I looked over at James to my left. “Is that okay with you, Mr. Neal?”

He cracked a smile. “Don’t call me that. And yeah, whatever floats your boat, Ollie.”

Sal brought over our bottles and he stood a moment staring at James.

“Sal,” I said. “Give him his drink.” I couldn’t keep the giggle out of my voice. The older man didn’t budge. “Sal, what are you doing?”

“Sizin’ him up,” he said. “He hurts you, I hurt him. Got that?”

James certainly wasn’t intimidated by him, but he simply nodded.

I groaned. “That’s not Nick.”

Sal squinted through the darkened room and stared at my companion. His eyes went wide.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry, Ollie. I couldn’t tell. I mean, they look so familiar.”

“I guess,” I shrug.

“You must think I’m such a jagoff,” Sal said as he walked away.

“Jagoff?” James asked after sipping his beer.

“Pittsburgh-ese,” I explained. “Pretty much means asshole. You hear it a lot when you’re driving.”

“I’ve never heard it,” he shrugged. “What’s some other Pittsburgh slang?”

I think for a moment. “Well, there’s pop, not soda. And gum band, which is a rubber band, Crick, not creek Ain’t, and Warsh instead of wash. Then you’ve got n’at which means ‘and that’. I could go on and on, really.”

“You grew up in Pittsburgh,” James said.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I laughed.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he put up a finger. “But you don’t talk like that.”

“I grew up around here, in the suburbs,” I explained. “I said things like ‘crick’ and pop. That other stuff is more in the city.”

He nods and we settle into a comfortable silence, sipping our beers.

“My grandma would say it,” I said quietly.

“Huh?”

I lift the hem of my tank top just slightly to reveal the words that are concealed by it and my jacket.

“My grandma would say it whenever I would hit a rough patch with hockey,” I explained. “She would say it to me while I would moan on and on about not being able to amount to anything.” I giggle at some of my own dramatics as they play back in my mind.

“She sounds pretty cool,” he consents.

“She was,” I nod.

“Oh,” James catches on quickly. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t-,” I cut him off.

“How could you know?” I asked. “I’ve never brought it up. It was an honest mistake.”

“How long?” James asked.

“A few months before the draft,” I said. “Actually, it was right after we found out I was going 2nd overall.”

“That-that sucks,” he said. “Shit, why did I say that?”

I laugh. “Nah, what else can you say, you know? I think the same thing all the time.”

And honestly, what else can you say?