Gratuity

   Yvonne handed a tipsy middle-aged man his martini. He reached out suddenly, and hit the stem with an unsteady thrust. The glass careened wildly in his hand, but settled in a more or less upright stance. The man's hand was now wet.
   "Extra dry, just as you like it, Eric." She smiled.
   He seemed to miss the irony of her statement. "Thank you, Yvonne. You're sush a pretty little waitrish, and you alwaish take care of me."
   Yvonne looked down at him in mock concern. "You know that I'm going to have to limit your supply side, despite a growing market demand."
   Eric understood. "I'm cut off again."
   "I'm afraid so, big guy."
   Yvonne turned around to survey the crowded bar.  Eric tried to focus on the back of her jeans.
   "Nigh-sh ash..." His eyes weren't cooperating, so he gave up staring. "You gonna drive me home again?"
   "Not this time, Tiger. One of your big shot friends will have to take care of you." Yvonne absentmindedly glanced down at her watch.
   "How mush, cutie-pie?"
   "What?", she looked back down at him.
   "The bill - how mush?"
   "Oh, sorry," Yvonne suppressed a laugh. "Just that last one, your buddies bought you all the rest."
   Eric reached into his pocket and eventually brought out a crisp, clean twenty dollar bill. He stared intently at it for awhile, moving eyes back and forth in an attempt to focus. He laughed.
   "Eve!" he proudly handed her the twenty. "That's short for Eve-on."
   Yvonne looked quickly at the bill, but didn't have time for such games.
   "I'll get you some change, Eric."
   "No, ish all yours - look at the sherial number."
   The number read EVE3442048. "That's clever, but you can't tip me $15 on a $5 drink..."
   Eric had already turned his attention to another conversation, so Yvonne put the twenty on her tray, and quickly scribbled "Eric" on the bill. Then she slipped it in her top pocket as a reminder - she intended to give him some change before he left. But the bar got busier as the evening progressed, and that was the last thought she gave the matter.

   "I didn't hear you come in last night." Yvonne rolled over and yawned. The mid-morning sun was streaming through the dirty old lace curtains. She watched an unshaven man stir slightly beside her. Something about him irritated her today.
   "Hmph."
   "Where were you?" There was an edge to her voice. "I worked 'till three, and I still had to go to bed by myself."
   "Out." Greg wasn't very talkative at the best of times, let alone first thing in the morning.
   "You guys have a gig last night, babe?"
   "Ya...sorta. You know."
   "Did you get paid?"
   "Get off my case."
   Yvonne let the subject drop, and got out of bed. She unbuttoned her over-sized plaid shirt, and let it drop to the floor. Turning slightly, she caught her boyfriend staring at her in a lecherous manner.
   She laughed. "See anything you like?"
   "It's all grade A, baby"
   "Oh, stop!" she said, laughing. "you make me sound like a cut of meat."
   Greg grinned. He pulled her close, and they kissed.
   "Listen." she said. "I've got to get to the bank this morning - but maybe we can have some breakfast when I get back."
   "No can do. Gotta meet the guys..."
   "We don't do anything together, anymore." Yvonne complained. "Why can't we spend the day. You know - just talking."
   "Maybe later." Greg gave a her a big smile, and continued until she finally returned it.
   "Okay." Yvonne was suddenly happier. "You need anything while I'm out?"
   "Well...I could use a few bucks..."
   Yvonne hesitated for a moment. "It wasn't a good night, but I guess I can spare $40."
   As she handed him the money, they both avoided eye-contact. Yvonne quietly disappeared into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. The sound of the running water was muted as she closed the door.
   Greg got out of bed and started looking through her pockets. He picked up the shirt she had worn the day before, and found a neatly folded $20 bill. He noticed the word "Eric" as he added it to the money already in his hand.

   "Come on, Greg," A tall, lanky man in his early thirties was yelling through an open door of an old warehouse. He wasn't wearing a coat, and shivered from a cold December wind. "We've got to nail this new song tonight..."
   "...Keep your pants, on Weasel. I'm doing business here." Greg turned back to a shadowy figure in a dark BMW.
   "Sorry, Sam. Look, I need something for the weekend."
   "What do I look like - Santa Claus? You couldn't pay last time, and I let it slide. What makes you think you can do any business with me now?"
   "Ya, I know. That wasn't cool...but I've got the money now." Greg eagerly pulled out a handful of bills.
   The man in the car took the money and counted it. "Sixty bucks? You owe me fifty from the last time..."
   "Things are slow, guy. You know I always make good..."
   Sam stared at Greg shivering beside the door of his car. He tapped a cigarette against the face of his Rolex watch, then flipped it into his mouth.
   "Listen, Greggy..." A silver lighter clinked open and the end of Sam's cigarette soon glowed brightly in the dark. "I like you. I really do. You'd actually make something of yourself if you just got off your lazy ass. Look at yourself - dressed in rags - you've got no style, man."     
   "It's hard..." Greg looked away, trying to agree with what the man was saying.
   "With the talent you have..." Sam took a drag of his cigarette, and exhaled. "...Oh, what the hell." He handed Greg a small plastic bag.
   "Thanks, you're a real pal."
   "Just remember one thing: if you ever make it big, I'm going to expect to be paid back. Rock 'n Roll parties. Celebrities, the beautiful people." Greg was about to slip the money into his pocket when he noticed the word Eric written across the face of the top twenty dollar bill. He smiled as he pulled out a pen.
   "Nobody has respect for currency, anymore." he grinned and scribbled the words "Santa Claus" along the bottom of the bill.

   A long line had begun forming just before dusk. It wasn't a bitterly cold evening, but cold enough. Cold enough for this rag-tag collection of humanity that lined up for the free evening meal. Josh glanced down the line and realized that business had picked up in the last few days. More people came around Christmas, but they all seemed to disappear by February.
   "This will warm you up, Ralph."
   Josh didn't talk to that many of his 'clients'; they seemed almost resentful. But he recognized Ralph year after year, and the two men always had something to say to one another.
   "God bless you, Josh Stone." Ralph's well-weathered face broke into a big smile. "You serve the finest stew that money can buy. It is truly a culinary delight"
   "I try..." Josh stopped mid-sentence as a spotless BMW slowly drove past. It was a rare sight to see such an expensive car in this area of town. The driver seem to hesitate for a moment, then came to a complete stop. The power window slowly lowered as faces in the anonymous crowd turned to stare.
   "You're the last of a dying breed, Choir-boy."
   Josh recognized the face. He smiled. "It's good to see that you're not in jail, Sam - and nobody calls me that anymore."
   "Jail? You've got me all wrong, Choir-boy." Sam stepped out of the car. "I'm an entrepreneur, just like you. Except for the fact that I actually get paid for providing my services."
   "Selling that shit to people...how can you compare yourself..." Josh was getting angry, but stopped himself. He was trying to work on his tolerance, a virtue that escaped him as a teenager.
   "Listen, Sam. As long as you're just standing there, why don't you give me a hand. I'm short tonight."
   "Sure...for awhile..."
   "Grab a tray, spoon and bowl - give it to the next guy in line. That'll really speed things up." Josh smiled at his old class-mate. "We'll try not to spill anything on that $500 jacket."
   "$800."
   Not much was said for the next few minutes. The only sound came from shuffling feet, hoarse coughing, and the clanking of metal spoons on battered aluminum plates.
   "Hey, remember the final against Northern?" Sam looked like he needed some sort of approval.
   "Ya, sure do." Josh answered quietly. "We lost the game, but they lost the fight."
   "You sure were a tough son-of-a-bitch back then. Still work out?
   "When I can, but I've mellowed out since then."
   "I hear ya," said Sam. "the young punks these days have no idea. They fight if someone looks at their girlfriend. It's just not worth it."
   The line was just finishing up, and Sam looked at his watch. "Hey, man, I've gotta fly..."
   Josh looked disappointed. "I could use a little more help."
   "I...I can't." Sam looked away as he spoke. "But listen - don't you have a fund for Christmas? You know, like an under-privileged children's thing?"
   "Donations are always put to good use..." Josh stopped short as a handful of bills were placed into his hand.
   "Do some more good, Choir-boy. Do some more good."
   Sam hurried back into his BMW, and sped off into the night. Josh laughed to himself as he counted the money. A hundred dollars could buy a few toys for some needy family, he thought...no matter where the money came from.
   Then he noticed one of the bills. Somebody had written the words "Santa Claus" and "Eric". That has to mean something, he thought.

   Melanie sat down heavily on her tattered old couch. Her four year old was finally asleep, and now she had time to think. Christmas was in two days, but she just couldn't get into the spirit. This was the first year on her own, and money was really tight. She idly picked up the toy supplement from the paper, and glanced down at it.
   "Space Ship Warriors on sale for $59.95." she looked at a gray cat lying beside her. "The only trouble is, I don't actually have $59.95, and I really don't think I can expect a cheque from Mikey's father...do you?"
   The cat stretched lazily and yawned. It was nine o'clock in the evening, and time for one last nap before bed. Melanie scratched him behind the ear and smiled.
   "That's okay Buster...I guess you don't really care, either."
   There was a shuffling sound near the front door, and Buster jumped up as the door bell rang.
   "Who could that be?"
   The door bell rang again, and this time Buster ran and hid under the Christmas tree. Melanie walked slowly over to the front hallway. She was tired.
   "Nothin' personal, Buster, but next time I'm getting a dog. A Doberman!"
   She opened the door cautiously. "Josh...what a surprise."
   "How are you doing Mel."
   "Okay, I guess. C'mon in, it's cold out there."
   Josh carefully knocked the snow off his shoes as he stepped in. "How's little Mikey?"
   "Aw, he's a little angel. He's got a bit of a cold, though."
   "Poor fella...listen, the reason I'm here is this: I have some money that I'm supposed to distribute to a needy family..."
   Melanie was looking down at her feet in an uncomfortable stance. "I...I can't, Josh. We're just fine..."
   "Listen, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You know I represent a registered charitable organization. I've recently been given a small donation, and it's too late to find a family at this late date. Besides, you fit the profile of a single mother in need."
   Melanie hesitated. "Well...it wouldn't be for me. But I know of a four year old that would love to have a certain present under the tree."
   "Good. Then it's settled." Josh handed her five twenty dollar bills, a pen and a wrinkled piece of paper. "Just sign this, and I'll get out of your hair."
   Melanie scribbled down her name quickly, and handed back his pen.
   "Josh, could you do me a great, big favour?"
   "Anything."
   "If I leave right now, I can make it to the store before it closes..."
   "...You want me to keep an eye on Mikey. No problem."
   "Thanks, you're such a sweetheart!" Melanie grabbed her coat, and kissed Josh on the cheek. She left without noticing the scarlet hue that spread immediately across his face.

   Ten minutes to go, thought Gerry. Ten minutes, and I'm out of this city for awhile. Business had picked up in the past few weeks, but a corner toy store was beginning to look like a huge mistake.
   "Urban renewal, my ass!" he said out loud. "Toronto's no better than Vancouver."
   Familiar bells jingled over the front door of "Little Toy Drums". Another customer, he thought. Gerry looked up to see a bright smile on an otherwise serious face. He'd seen this woman in the neighborhood before.
   "I hope you're still open, I need to get something for my son." She asked politely.
   "I've closed out the credit card and debit machines. Do you by any chance have cash?" Gerry was trying to sound polite.
   "I sure do. In fact, I know exactly what I want - the Space Ship Warriors."
   "They're quite popular this season. I think I have one left, though." Gerry made his way down a narrow isle. "Yes - here it is."
   "Oh, great!" said the woman. "You know, it's convenient having a store for kids so close by. Going to the mall can be such a chore."
   Gerry laughed quietly. A couple of hundred more like her, and I might be able to stay in business, he thought. But if this was going to be my last sale, I may as well enjoy it.
   "I aim to please, ma'am." Gerry handed her a brightly colour box sealed in cellophane.
   She pulled out the money she had recently received, and counted out three twenties.
   "It's sixty dollars, right? Oh, wait - I guess there's tax."
   Gerry noticed the bill lying on top. The words "Santa Claus" made him smile. "I tell you what: just give me the sixty, and we'll forget about the tax for tonight."
   "Thank you." The woman smiled at him. "You have a real nice Christmas, okay?"
   "Same to you ma'am."
   Gerry locked the door behind the woman as she left. He put the three bills into his wallet, there was no sense opening the cash register tonight. His plane left early the next day, and he hadn't even started to pack.
   By the time the airplane touched down, it was starting to get dark. Airport cabs were on the expensive side, so Gerry opted for the bus. It was leaving the bus terminal that he first noticed a wide-eyed man with quick, nervous movements. Gerry made a half-hearted attempt to avoid him, but decided not to be paranoid. It was cold and windy, so he pulled up his collar, and headed into the night.
   A few blocks away, a dark figure suddenly approached him - the man from the bus station! It seemed like slow motion when Gerry was thrown to the ground. He still couldn't comprehend what was happening when a knife was thrust into his view.
   "Gimme it! Gimme it, or I cut you" the voice was disjointed.
   Something deep inside Gerry's brain told him to act. This was real. He stood up, and quickly took out his wallet.
   "Take it easy, man...here's my wallet. There's money in it."
   His assailant's eyes brightened in approval. Gerry remembered something he'd read about not being a victim. He tossed the wallet forward, and instantly ran in the opposite direction. Sure enough, the robber fixated on the wallet, and forgot about Gerry.
   With a fist full of money, the thief laughed and darted across the road. There wasn't much traffic that night, but a lone taxi cab made a sudden u-turn, heading towards a potential fare. The driver didn't see the man in black until it was too late. There was a sickening screech of tires, a scream, and the sound of breaking glass as this lifeless figure bounced off the cab and onto the cold payment.
   Several twenty dollar bills fluttered around in the wind briefly, and then disappeared down a darkened alley.   

   Angelina sat shivering on flattened cardboard boxes behind a busy Chinese restaurant. There was no snow, but with the dampness, it seemed so much colder than Toronto. And the rain - why did it have to rain all the time? Her one comfort was an old sleeping bag that she constantly wrapped around herself. That was just about all she had, though. No money, no food, and worst of all: no cigarettes.
   How long had she been there? Two weeks? Three weeks? It was so hard to tell; the gray days and rainy nights ran together in her mind. The depths of her loneliness and fear seemed bottomless, and timeless. She couldn't even remember what she was running away from, but that chapter in her life was now over. It was time to move forward.
   Light flooded into the alley. Angelina looked up to see the restaurant's back door open. A short oriental man in a dirty white apron stood on the step and smoked what was left of a cigarette. He eyed her suspiciously.
   "Hey, Mister." Her voice sounded weak, "Any chance you got one to spare?"
   There was no reply. The man continued to smoke, this time with his back to Angelina. When he was finished, he flicked the still burning butt in her general direction. She didn't know if it was meant as an insult, or a pitiful gift. Grabbing the filter, Angelina brought it gingerly up to her lips and stopped.
   All the disappointments of the last month came flooding into her mind. The roommate that cheated her, the broken promise of a job, and the huge fight with her father that drove her into this mess to begin with. She tossed the glowing ember to the ground and started to cry. With her head under the sleeping bag, she cried like she'd never cried before.
   Eventually, Angelina looked up into a swirling mass of garbage carried by a gust of wind. Something landed on her cheek momentary, then dropped to the ground. It looked like money. She grabbed it desperately to have a better look. Sure enough, it was a twenty dollar bill.
   "Yes!"
   Turning the bill over, she realized that someone had written "Santa Claus" along the bottom. She smiled. It was either Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day, she wasn't sure which.
   Then she saw the other scribble: Eric. It was a simple name, and a fairly common one at that. But it was also her father's name. She started to think about him as she made her way into the nearest corner store. Did he still hate her? For that matter, did she still hate him?
   "Rothmans please." Angelina held out the $20 bill proudly.
   An older man behind the counter looked her carefully up and down. "Are you even old enough to be buying cigarettes?"
   "Sure, I'm eighteen"
   The man laughed, but brought her a package of cigarettes all the same. Angelina held out a grubby hand for the change.
   "Are you okay? Do you need help?" This man reminded Angelina of her father.
   "I...I'm fine..." She was afraid she would start crying again. Clutching the change in her fist, Angelina turned to leave the store. She almost walked into a pay phone in the corner. Staring at the receiver, she made a decision.
   Tears were running down her face as Angelina dialed. There was nobody home. Of course, she thought - try the cell number. On the second ring, the phone picked up on the other end. There was music and laughter in the background, but she recognized the voice.
   "Hello?"
   Angelina hesitated for a moment.
   "Hello? Who's there."
   "Daddy...it's me..."
  

   Yvonne noticed a serious expression on Eric's face. He had been talking on his cell phone for awhile, and she worried that something may have happened. But she didn't consider it her place to ask personal questions, so she let it go.
   "You ready for another?"
   Eric looked up at her; he seemed miles away. "No...thanks, I have to call the airport..."
   "Sure thing. Just let me know when you're ready."
   Yvonne watched him wander over to a quiet corner of the bar. Whatever business Eric was involved in seemed terribly urgent. She noticed him take out one of his credit cards and read the number over the phone. A gentle bump from behind reminded her she was in the middle of a crowded bar.
   "Sorry" said an unidentified voice.
   A hand waved from one of her tables, so Yvonne twisted her way through the thick smoke and warm bodies. She soon had various drink orders balanced in her mind and on her tray. It was a busy night; she would make good money. Yvonne smiled.
   A gentle but firm hand landed on her shoulder. It was Eric. He had to shout to be heard over the music and laughter.
   "Yvonne - It's late, I have to go now."
   Yvonne moved closer to be heard. "Okay. Listen, you can pay me tomorrow, if that'll help."
   "No. It's okay. I'll settle it now." Eric reached around in his pocket.
   "Is everything okay?" asked Yvonne.
   "Yes, things couldn't be better...my daughter's coming home tomorrow."
   "I didn't know you had a daughter."
   Eric smiled. "Well, I most certainly do!" He handed her some money. "That should just about cover it..." He stopped, obviously doing some quick calculations in his head. "...I'll give you a better tip next time."
   "Don't be silly," Yvonne yelled after Eric as he hurried through the crowd. "You always over-tip me, anyway."