Firsts: Book One’s

by Moore, Portia

  “And what’s that?” Casey asks, genuinely interested.

  “I want to have my own bar one day.” His gorgeous eyes light up like the sky.

  “Well hopefully you land one of these old rich hens,” Kristen says suggestively, resting her head on her hand and giving him a full glimpse of her cleavage in her low cut top.

  “Or I win the lottery,” he teases, with a devastatingly handsome grin. I look away because it’s almost hypnotizing.

  “Or you can open up in an equally great city that isn’t is as expensive,” I chime in.

  “And what fictional place is this?” he teases. I arch a defiant brow.

  “Chicago.” And they all laugh. New Yorkers and their fantasy of their city being the greatest place on Earth is annoying.

  “I’ve been to Chicago before, it’s really a beautiful city. Not as big and the food isn’t as good, but hey we all have our opinions right?”

  “Fine then stay here and earn the million dollars it’d take to open one up,” I tease.

  “So are there any specific events that you work Alex?” Kristen asks shoe-horning her way back into the conversation.

  “I work whatever comes up,” he says with a boyish chuckle, preparing our next drinks.

  “Busy man, I bet your girlfriend loves that,” she adds.

  “No girlfriend,” he replies quickly and we exchange a glance.

  “Good,” she says and I glare at her. Jesus, could she come off any more desperate? But I admit, if I wasn’t on my man-strike and we wouldn’t be working together, I’d be right there with her.

  Alex must be used to beautiful women flirting with him because he doesn’t miss a beat, carrying on with the conversation while educating us on the most popular cocktails and the wine selections. When he tells us he’s done with us and we’re free to leave I can sense all of our disappointment.

  “I’m sure I’ll see you ladies soon, it’s our busy season.”

  “What’s your insta?” Kristen asks. He tells her and he asks for ours. I try to erase his handle from my brain knowing that I may end up there and the last thing I need is to see carefully selected pictures of this already flawless man. Casey’s phone rings. She picks up and tells whoever’s on the phone she’ll be right out. She mouths a quick goodbye before grabbing her stuff and leaving me, Alex, and Kristen in the triangle from hell.

  “So, Mr. Bartender…where’s your favorite place to drink?” Kristen purrs.

  “My favorite is my own, of course.” He smirks, leaning on the bar. I feel my skin heat up, and the same charm he’s used with me he’s using on her. And why wouldn’t he? It stings just a little bit though.

  I start to say goodbye but then I realize I can’t stand Kristen, and is there a point to saying goodbye to him? I wanted to tell him thanks for the job information but then again I already did that too. So I grip the strap on my purse and walk away. I should have scurried behind when Casey left and waved. At least then my departure wouldn’t have looked so abrupt or rude, but at this moment I just want to get away from them and remember how much money I’m going to make. After all, that’s why I’m here.

  When I get home Parks is in the kitchen rapping to one of her favorite Nicki Minaj songs. Outside of the house, Parker is so sophisticated—born into the elite class, rich as hell, and her closet contains more than someone’s salary for a year. But inside she’s just a girl with a ponytail bopping to her favorite song, one of the coolest down to earth people I’ve ever met.

  “Lucy I’m home!” I call with a fake Ricky Ricardo accent.

  “Come, tell me everything!” she says in between sips of a deep red wine. I toss off my jacket and purse and join her at the island in the kitchen. I tell her all about my orientation from Casey to Kristen the bitch.

  “And what about the Uber driver, was he there?” she asks with a suspicious smile. I conveniently left him out. I’m not sure why. I tell Parks everything but I guess it’s better to pretend someone doesn’t exist than to admit they’ve taken up a little piece of real estate in your imagination.

  “He was there and trained us on bar, sort of. He’s the typical late-twenties playboy it seems, which is great since I’ve been there and done that,” I tell her pouring my own glass of wine.

  “Why is it great?” she asks stirring her concoction of vegetables and noodles in her pot.

  “What?” I ask her absently taking a gulp of my wine.

  “You said it’s great that he’s a typical playboy…why would that be great…unless…” she says, studying me. I give her a dramatic sigh.

  “It’s great because he has the perfect job to get tons of pussy. I don’t know Parks, I’m not a linguist. How do I say things aren’t important?” I wave her off, but now she’s squinting her eyes at me as if trying to unearth a deep dark secret, and I make a silly face at her.

  “How about you didn’t tell me how good things have been going with Brad?” I say, throwing her off the subject. She immediately begins to blush.

  “I didn’t want to rub it in your face after everything that happened with Jackson.” His name still stings me like hot water, but I won’t let her see it.

  “Parks, I want to be happy for you. Don’t take that away from me because my love life sucks,” I tell her. She sighs and shrugs, turning off the frying pan.

  “It’s not only that, you know me and my superstitions. I don’t want to talk it up and it all goes to hell,” she admits, grabbing plates for us.

  “But every day is better than the last with him,” she says this almost timidly and when she meets my eyes, for a moment I want whatever it is that she’s feeling now. I had a taste of it with Jackson but before I could even swallow it I had to spit it out. It crept up on me suddenly, spontaneously, and before I knew it I wanted the entire meal. Now it’s all vomited up and that reminds me I’d rather starve than have the feeling of it being taken away again. But I’m glad that my best friend has it now, that she’s enjoying it, and I want her to savor every morsel. As I pick up a fork to enjoy my actual food my phone vibrates and I can’t help but smile when I see that I have one new follower request. But I don’t accept.

  * * *

  Serving is hard. Really fucking hard.

  Your feet hurt and people bother you every five minutes. Well, not bother since you’re getting paid for it, but you have to smile and deal with all of their requests. Not to mention Veronica is a total micromanager. It’s our first week so Casey says she heard through the grapevine the first week is like hell week for all new hires, though it’s more annoying if anything. The actual job duties aren’t hard—carry trays of hors d’oeuvres without dropping them, get someone salad dressing, pour more champagne—and do this all with a megawatt smile.

  You also put up with rich jerks telling you about what cars they have and asking what plans you have afterwards, while older rich women with enough money to buy your life look on annoyed as their husbands stare at your ass or tits. But for all of the annoyances, the pay is phenomenal. My first week I’ve cleared $900, and for three events less than five hours each, that’s pretty damn good in my book; I’d do it in a clown suit if they asked. The other good thing is I haven’t had to work with Kristen, and Alex hasn’t been on bar at the two events I’ve done. The universe is cutting me some slack.

  “Did you do good?” Casey asks as we both finish counting our tips. We don’t give exact dollar amounts but from the bright look in her eyes and the little dance I do after counting we both know it was good. Tonight was a fundraiser for a not-for-profit hospital and maybe that put everyone in a giving mood. I make a note to always be available for fundraisers. My first event was an anniversary party. I made $400 that night but that was a full five hours. I wonder how spoiled this job is going to make me for having only made about $100 an hour.

  After we change we head to the exit. Casey chats to me about an audition she has tomorrow for an off-Broadway play. I don’t know if she’s a good actress but she has a really pretty voice from hearing
her sing along to some of the music I played while we got ready. Her Uber pulls up.

  “How far is yours?” she asks, and I tell her it’s only five minutes away and to not worry about me, plus the valet is lingering along with other people waiting on cars. We hug before she jumps in.

  “Have you been hiding from me, beautiful?”

  It’s him. I know it before I turn around because even though I’ve only heard him a few times, the real estate he’s taken up in my head makes me feel like I’ve met him weeks ago. Which I sort of did but I wasn’t thinking about him then since Jackson occupied most of the space.

  Alex swaggers over and his aura surrounds me; he has his own atmosphere. A sneaky grin rests on his face.

  “Hiding? No, I think you’ve just been preoccupied,” I tell him lightly. He let’s out a perfect laugh.

  “My thoughts have only been on you, beautiful,” he says this so smooth I wonder how many girls he’s told this to. His eyes are an incredible stormy grey and he’s got a smile that promises he’ll give you everything you could ever want.

  “Well you picked the wrong girl, Alex.” I force myself not to smile and I tear my eyes away from his.

  “Why is that?” He’s behind me. I feel him trying to suck me up into his orbit.

  “Because I told you, I’m a disaster,” I laugh but then I turn around to face him. The butterflies I thought I evicted are back with a vengeance.

  “Literally,” I say seriously, but his gaze is still playful.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, completely disregarding what I just said…I am hungry, but that’s beside the point.

  “You’re the type of guy who goes right past those glaring warning signs saying “turn around danger ahead,” huh?” I ask him amused and he shrugs.

  “I’m starving, you’re here, and I’d like to know how much of a disaster you are, make sure I didn’t refer some psycho. Which I’m starting to think is a valid concern since you seem to think me spending time with you would be the end of mankind or something?” he says gently.

  Spend time with me? Did he just say that? But why? I get it, my parents gave me good genes, which have afforded me more attention and relationships my kind of personality shouldn’t have in most cases. But this is New York City—full of girls more beautiful than me who would be more than willing to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants.

  “Why?” I ask him sincerely, my thoughts going back to a conversation I had with Parker when she pretty much told me every guy that comes in contact with me thinks I’m a puppy that needs to be saved or something.

  “Why?” he asks as if it should be obvious.

  “I know what you’re saying—you’re asking for a date or a non-date or whatever this is—but, I just…do you think I need to be saved or something?” The question sounds ridiculous the moment it spills from my mouth but I wonder what men see when they look at me. What Ryan saw, and Jackson. Do I scream “damaged little girl that needs to be fixed?” Well I’m definitely damaged but not in the way they think.

  “I don’t know if you need to be saved, you look like you can take on the world yourself,” he says. My face softens at his words. He steps a little closer to me and his cologne smells amazing. It’s flirting with my senses, coaxing my frown away.

  He squints at me almost like he’s trying to see into my soul. His head tilts and our eyes lock. I notice his grey eyes have specks of a golden color in them.

  “But, maybe protected.”

  I wonder how this moment got so intense? I force myself to breath. I get an eerie feeling that I’ve been here before, déjà vu to the tenth power. Parker believes when you have déjà vu it’s God telling you, you’re right where you’re supposed to be. Melissa, ever the cynic, has a theory that déjà vu is you getting a second chance at life to make a different decision that will change the trajectory of your entire life.

  Me, I don’t know what I believe but my stomach’s growling and maybe this is me being lightheaded and after a meal he’ll realize that I’m no different from the other girls he’s been with, so this fascination he has with me will dissipate.

  “Madison,” a woman with a short hair cut and annoyed expression in a blue Toyota calls out to me from across the street. It’s my Uber.

  “Yeah.” I look at her and then back at Alex. The choice is easy.

  * * *

  We take the subway and Alex insists on carrying my bag. We don’t talk much, only exchanging furtive glances. Alex acts as if he can’t keep his eyes off me, studying me like I’m his favorite subject, which is sexy and intimidating all at once. He looks at me as if he knows me, like we were together in another lifetime and I’m the one that doesn’t know it.

  It’s odd to me because he’s so gorgeous, hot enough for three of me to share. Guys like him aren’t supposed to make you feel like this, not like you’re the only one because most of the time you aren’t. Jackson proved that and he’s at least twenty years older. It’s not fair that a man’s value only increases with age.

  Yet here we are. I am walking towards the rabbit hole again. This time I know it’s a rabbit hole. With Jackson I feel like I was lured, tricked, and pushed down it. Maybe there isn’t a rabbit hole and Alex just wants to eat food and not me…or maybe both and that’s fine if it stops there.

  I wish he’d say “let’s fuck” and that’ll be that, because I can handle casual sex. Actually, I don’t know what I can handle right now. I’ve been off kilter ever since Jackson. Large cracks formed in my wall and now I’m worried that it can be broken down. The subway stops.

  “Our stop,” he tells me with an incredible smile.

  This is a bad idea.

  He gestures for me to go first and once I’m out of the train my heart stammers when he takes my hand.

  “Just want to make sure I don’t lose you,” he says with a look that makes my heart sit straight up in my chest.

  What are you doing here?

  The night is beautiful, the sky clear, and the air warm with the perfect hint of a crisp wind. One thing I will say about New York is that it literally doesn’t sleep, like ever. There are tons of people around as if it’s five in the afternoon on a Saturday instead eleven at night on a Tuesday. We weave our way through the crowd, Alex holding my hand the entire way. It’s nice, like it should be, and I realize I’m going crazy and on the edge of insanity.

  We make it to a restaurant with a glowing sign with the last half of the words not lighting up. We head in and the place isn’t exactly what I expected. Since I’ve been to New York I’ve only been at sprawling restaurants with multiple floors, beautiful décor, and prices that make my eyes bulge.

  This place is a hole in the wall named Orlito’s. It’s clean but the floor is dingy, the lighting is off, the paint is chipped…but my God the smell makes up for all of that. It’s literally mouthwatering and hits me like a truck. The aroma of vegetables and spices waft through the place and Alex gives me an I told you so grin. We grab menus from what should be the hostess stand but no one is there, and head to one of only a few empty tables in the back of the restaurant. It’s full of chattering and Spanish music pours from the speakers.

  “Please tell me the food is as good as it smells,” I say as we settle into our seats.

  “Oh it’s better,” he tells me and a tear almost comes to my eyes. I quickly scan the menu even though I know I already want chicken tamales, or maybe steak tacos.

  “What are you getting?” I ask.

  “I figure we’d get one of everything?” he says simply and I laugh because he has to be kidding.

  “One of everything?” I ask him again making sure I’m hearing him right.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll have you for, so I have to make sure you taste everything.” A smile tugs at his lips.

  I don’t blush, not how most girls do, because not much embarrasses me. But I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. A waiter has approached our table; he’s older and slightly balding but has a wide warm smile. His name ta
g says Orlando.

  “Alex, my friend, how are you? It’s been awhile,” he asks with a thick Spanish accent.

  “I know, but I’m going to make up for it,” he promises. Orlando turns to me and arches an approving brow.

  “And who is the beautiful senorita?” he asks.

  “I’m Madison,” I answer because “senorita” can answer for herself.

  “I will have to have the cook make something extra special for you,” he promises me and I can’t help but smile at that.

  “What will you have tonight my friend?” I throw Alex a furtive glance.

  “We want everything on the menu.” Alex’s face is deadpan and then he laughs.

  The waiter bursts into a boisterous chuckle and leans on the table.

  “Does that include the drinks?” he asks wiggling his eyebrows.

  “I think just the food for tonight.” Alex now displays his glorious grin.

  “Perfect. And to drink?” This time Orlando graciously directs his attention to me.

  “Water’s fine,” I force myself to say because the last thing I need is alcohol right now.

  “No, no, no. Senorita, you can’t come and not try my famous margarita. I’d consider it an insult,” he says this with a frown while his eyes are full of laughter. I grin, pushing my hand through my hair.

  “They are the best,” Alex joins in.

  “Just one,” I relent.

  “Give her the baby one,” Alex adds and I frown.

  The baby one?

  “The baby one, but she looks like such a big girl.” I roll my eyes at the two of them ganging up on me.

  “If I’m going to drink it won’t be off the kid’s menu. I’ll have the adult size please, and make it with lime and salt around the rim.”

  “Now we’re talking,” Orlando says giddily.

  “And your usual?” Orlando asks Alex and he nods.

  “A celebration for the return of my old friend. I will be back with your drinks,” he says boisterously before leaving us alone.

  “So you’re a regular here huh?” I ask amused.