New York: Allie's War, Early Years

"No, that would be San Francisco," Jon said, smiling a little and rolling his eyes. "Anyway, you're just pissed because Jack blew you off. Stop taking it out on Allie..."

"That's not true! I told you...we both decided it would be better for him to stay there."

"Yeah. Sure you did."

Cass threw a plastic swizzle stick at Jon's head, coincidentally the same one I'd thrown at her. When it bounced off Jon's temple, she burst out with a laugh, covering her mouth with her hands in mock horror.

"Oops, sorry."

Jon rubbed his forehead. "Jesus, Cass."

"Guys!" I said. "Cut it out, all right? Seriously. You're like twelve-year-olds!"

I was about to say more, when the bartender appeared from the back room. He'd been carrying crates of beer in from the alley out back for the last few minutes. Of course, he might also just have been hiding, since he was probably sick to death of listening to the three of us joke around and bicker like infants. Either way, I tried to tone it down when he was there.

But this time, he yelled out for me.

"Hey!" he called, setting a box of import beer bottles on the bar. "You Allie?"

"Allie?" I said, surprised. "Yeah. That's me."

"Allie Taylor?"

"Yeah." I craned my neck, looking behind his not-inconsiderable form, half-expecting to see Jaden. "Is the band out back? Do they need our help?"

The bartender shook his large, bald head, which had a tattoo of a spider web on the back. "No. I got a message for you." He tossed a folded square of paper on the bar. "Guy was looking for you. He couldn't wait, and I couldn't let him in. He wasn't on the list. So he said to give this to you."

Puzzled, I walked over to the bar and picked up the slip of paper. While I unfolded it, he went back to stacking and unloading boxes from the handcart.

Hesitating before I opened the paper all the way, I realized it hadn't even occurred to me that the guy might need help restocking. I looked up.

"Hey," I said, a little awkwardly. "Is there more out back? We could carry some, too. We're just waiting anyway...that way you could restock while we used the hand cart."

Turning, the bartender smiled at me. "No. That was the last of it. Thanks for asking, though. I think you're the first band person who's ever asked me that...even if it was a little late."

"Sorry," I said.

"That wasn't a dig. I mean it. Thanks."

I shrugged. "Waitress. I know how it is."