Memoirs Aren't Fairytales by Marni Mann Read Free Book Online Page B

family drama or the ATM machine had eaten my card. My excuses weren't very creative, but somehow they worked.
    It didn't take long before Mark caught on to my lies. I told him one day I had food poisoning and had gone to the hospital to get checked out. He wanted proof like an invoice or a statement from my insurance company. He knew I didn't have either and chewed my ass out. I'd seen him fire other servers over stupid things like forgetting to roll the silverware in napkins and stock glasses at the end of their shift. And here I was, stumbling into the bar three hours late, and all Mark did was yell at me. He must have had a thing for brunettes with big boobs, because there was no other reason he was keeping me around.
    Renee was never late to work. The way she moved behind the bar was like she was on coke again. When Mark reamed me out for being late, I asked her how she was holding it together so well, and she taught me how to be a functional smoker. It was common sense really: take just a few hits rather than basing half a bag, and pound Red Bull to give me the energy the dope took away. So instead of spending my dinner breaks nodding out in the hotel, I smoked in a bathroom stall at work. I thought I was being more responsible. I was real slick about it too. I'd blow into the toilet and flush, so the water sucked down all the smoke.
    And then I got busted. Someone must have ratted me out, probably one of the prissy waitresses who was picking up my slack. It all happened so fast. I was freebasing off the foil, and the next thing I knew, Mark had pried open the stall door. Our eyes locked. His got all watery, and his hand went over his mouth like he was witnessing a car wreck or something. There wasn't anything I could say that would justify what I was doing. He saw the foil and the pipe, the bag of dope in my lap, and the stream of smoke coming from my lips.
    He yanked me by the arm and pulled me out of the bathroom, dragging me through the restaurant. His grip was strong and should have hurt. The customers glared and whispered from their tables. I didn't feel the pain or the humiliation. All I could see in the back of my mind was a foil of heroin Mark flushed down the toilet, and I wanted to dive into the water and save it.
    He plopped me down in a chair in his office and sat in front of me on the edge of his desk. I was expecting a lecture about how much potential I used to have and how I screwed up all the time, and blah-fucking-blah about my lies and excuses and worthlessness. If he did say any of that, I didn't hear it. I couldn't hear anything. My ears were buzzing like bees were dancing on my eardrums.
    Damn, I had smoked more than I thought. I couldn't keep my eyes open. My chin was falling to my chest, and I couldn't stop it.
    When my eyes were closed, I saw fields of sunflowers. When my lids fluttered open, I saw compassion and tenderness like I was Mark's sick child.
    I couldn't control the nod. I couldn't tell him I wasn't sick. All I could do was follow the path of sunflowers, smell their petals, and touch their prickly stems.
    “Nicole, stay with me,” Mark said.
    I felt the warmth of his breath and the light slaps of his hand on my face, and my eyes shot open.
    Mark was no longer sitting on his desk. He was kneeling in front of me and his hands were rubbing my cheeks. “Are you okay?” he asked, his lips close to mine.
    I thought, without a doubt, I was getting fired. I needed him to believe I was sorry, even if I wasn't.
    “It won't happen again,” I said. “I'll change, I promise.”
    My eyes filled and I blinked, so the tears ran down my face, a skill I'd learned in drama class at my high school. I'd stare at something without blinking until my eyes welled. Right now, that was Mark's face, and he reacted by pulling me into a hug. When he finally let me go, he put his arm around my shoulder and walked me to the employee entrance. He told me to go home and rest. I still had six hours left of my