Bob was a typical fuck boy manager. He was in his mid-40s, good looking, in shape, and silver-tongue. Bob was affable, approachable, and easygoing. In fact, he was so easygoing he’d let the staff pretty much get away with murder and toss us the manager card when we had to discount anything. But I appreciated he was easy to work under and many of the girls would end up under him indeed. At least he would always jump in to help when I pointed out the restaurant was about to drown.

Because otherwise Bob spent 90% of the time sitting in the far corner booth in the lounge on his phone. While he claimed he was usually coordinating with people for his other job (a liquor representative) we knew he was hitting the dating apps and messaging his harem of young, naive women. I’m sure even the patriarchs of large mormon families and Saudi princes would’ve been jealous of the number of women under his spell. 

Bob was an obvious player, who bedded and expended women at leisure, but that’s hardly unique in the industry, and to be fair most girls knew what he was like. Whether they thought they could change him, pretended not to know, or just didn’t care I have no idea. I just know he was the life of the party, could charm anyone, and despite his serpentine tendencies Bob was hard to hate. He also had a decent lifestyle and always procured the “necessary accessories” the staff needed to party. 

This of course was drugs and thanks to Bob there was never a shortage of cocaine, ecstasy, weed, etc. His main supplier was an obnoxious drug dealer who talked with a fake Australian to attract women and came in every day to see his girlfriend, who worked there. The guy never paid for anything, not even fries and ranch, interrupted me at the most inconvenient times, and was frankly annoying. One day I got back at him by organizing a lottery where the staff guessed what time he’d come in to see his sweetheart. I lost the pool, along with $5, but it was worth it to see the look of shock and disgust on his face.

Anyway, Bob and I got along because we respected our relative positions and never fucked with each others’ interests. I did my job and kept quiet regarding his activities, and he reciprocated by backing me up in petty workplace disputes when lazy or Machiavellian employees tried stealing my shifts and sections. We hung out and drank together often enough, but I never partook in most parties and stayed clear of the drugs. Because I’ve struggled with alcohol since turning 19 and one bad habit is enough.

I also steered away from the constant drama created by the stream of women he went through faster than a kid on Ritalin that found a stash of pixie sticks. Because besides not giving a shit I couldn’t have remembered the sheer amount of relevant names, dates, and events even had I wanted to. 

***

It was Wednesday or Thursday night at the restaurant and past supper rush. In fact, the place was dead and Bob had sent home everyone except me and a waitress to serve the lounge and dining room. As I recall we didn’t get many tables after 7 p.m, so I focused on cleaning and closing duties so I could leave once we closed. I wanted to hit my favorite pub to drink and write until last call.

Around 7:30 p.m. a cute, young woman entered the lounge and went straight to the corner booth where Bob was. It was Bob’s girlfriend… his official one at least. You’re probably expecting me to describe her critically and mock her ruthlessly, but I won’t. Because she was one of the most kind, fair, and decent people I’ve worked with (especially at a rotten place like here). We never clashed once or exchanged a mean word, and her only crime was loving a person who took advantage of her trust and generosity. Given I’ve been in her position many times she gets an unequivocal pass.

I brought her a drink, we chatted briefly, then I left her and Bob in peace. I’ve no idea what they talked about because I didn’t care to eavesdrop. I merely returned to the table once to grab her another drink but knew Bob would take care of the tab. As in he’d void the drinks and give me a $10 bill for my troubles. You could call that corrupt but when your best manager was the guy who got fired for showing his penis to the Filipino supervisor whistleblowing wasn’t exactly an option.

Bob’s girlfriend left around 8:15 p.m. and just over 15 minutes later another young woman entered the lounge. She was near the same age as Bob’s girlfriend but hotter, more gregarious, and always had a mischievous smile. This girl was Bob’s mistress and she approached his table with no less enthusiasm as the last one. I didn’t know her well but she’d worked there briefly before and seemed nice enough. 

I also found her very attractive so I had to be more careful with my interactions compared to Bob’s girlfriend… if only to avoid looking like an idiot. So I used a more professional tone, kept small talk to a minimum, and made sure not to ogle her, even via my legendary peripheral vision. Again, I only returned to the table once, to bring another drink, and I’d be rewarded with another $10 bill.

Once more I’ve no idea what they talked about but unlike with his girlfriend the exchange was physical and flirtatious… with the insinuation of sex after his shift I’m sure.I suppose that’s the point of having a mistress, to have a ready supply of passion without the burdens of a formal relationship. She left just after 9:15 p.m. but not before approaching me to give me a $5 bill. This was unexpected but she smiled suggestively, thanked me for my service, and gave a soft tap on my shoulder. I stuttered a reply, turned away before blushing, then thanked her.

Bob saw the whole thing and smiled. I’m convinced he put her up to it to play a joke on me, given my obvious attraction to his mistress. All I could do was smile back, shake my head, and say “damn them” to myself. But at least I’d acquired another $5 so I quickly recovered and got back to my closing duties.

***

Slightly after 9:30 another cute girl came in. I recognized her, we’d worked together at another restaurant. She had often been flirtatious and we texted occasionally. But while the young woman was happy to see me she was slightly embarrassed and kept glancing towards Bob in the lounge. Putting everything together I realized she’d also come in to see him so I cut the interaction short and watched her walk towards Bob with no less energy than the last girls.

“For fuck sakes,” I thought to myself with a mix of amusement and jealously, “…I wanted that one.” Because this girl was significantly younger than them and some people would even question if I went for her (let alone a guy like Bob). But I got over it, laughed, and went to serve the third girl who came in to see Bob that evening.

Unlike the other two she didn’t order booze but spent most of the time checking her phone and engaging in awkward flirting. Because she was only 19 and not 100% sure about Bob. If the first girl was his girlfriend, and the second one was his mistress, she was just a fling… and probably one among many. I made a mental note to stop texting her and to focus on the other remaining, and soon to be just as disappointing, girls I had some interest in at the time. 

This girl left sooner, either because she was in third place, or because as a Gen Z she had the shortest attention span. Given I only brought her a pop and never returned to the table I didn’t expect a tip via proxy from Bob. However, another $10 bill appeared miraculously on my bartop when I came back from the washroom. Clearly, he was covering his bases and wanted to make sure I kept quiet about everything. I pocketed it with the other tips and resolved to buy a girl a shot at the pub after my shift, just to pay it forward. But this rationalization likely never came to fruition. 

***

I approached Bob just after the third girl who came in to see him left. Slightly jealous I said “how the hell do you coordinate all of that?” “Huh, what do you mean?,” he responded. “How do you time it so well there’s no overlap between them coming in and seeing each other?, I pressed him. “Andrew c’mon…” he tried bullshitting me, “I’m only with (random girl’s name), the other two are just friends.” 

I smiled and laughed in disbelieve. “Sure they are Bob…”