The Perfect Manhattan

by Leanne Shear

  “It’s so amazing to be alive on a day like today,” she said. “Don’t you love the Hamptons?”

  “What’s gotten into you?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I had the most incredible sex last night.” She beamed.

  “With Tom?” I asked, incredulously.

  “No, with Teddy. In the office. It was so hot, Cass, he lifted me up onto the desk, and he did this thing with my legs, where he lifted them up over my head, and—”

  “That’s enough!” I said, shielding my ears with my beach towel.

  “—and then,” Annie continued, giggling (she loved to make me squirm), “he turned me over on my stomach and started doing me from behind—”

  “Annie, stop!” I screeched.

  “It was incredible. By far the best sex I’ve had since I slept with that Christmas tree guy. Remember him?”

  “Yes, you told me all about him.” During the Christmas season in Manhattan, rugged men from Canada and New England came to the city to sell Christmas trees on the streets. They were all strong, handsome, outdoorsy types who smelled of pine, and New York women went crazy for them.

  “Well, Teddy was just as good, if not better. The only problem is, I think he threw my lower back out. It was worth it, though. So, have you slept with James yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  “I don’t know, I just really like him, and don’t see any reason to rush it.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But if it doesn’t happen by the Fourth of July, I’m going to be seriously disappointed in you.”

  Just as James’s name was uttered, I looked up and saw that we were approaching Further Lane. The walk to the beach from Animal House took us past eclectic scenery like the Amagansett School for Applied Arts, the Mobil gas station, and of course mammoth houses framed by neatly clipped hedges. I looked longingly down the road in the direction of his house, where I was sure he was sleeping peacefully, free of the rude awakenings and forced diaspora that were inevitably part of an overcrowded share house. A few minutes later we arrived at Indian Wells and looked around the stretch of sand for a good spot where we could stake our claim.

  “What do you think, to the right or to the left?” I asked, squinting underneath my counterfeit Gucci sunglasses.

  “Well, Travis and the guys usually go to the left,” Annie said.

  “Then we should go to the right,” I said.

  “Why?” Annie asked.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I love those guys. But James told me last night that he and Tom might come meet us later on, and I don’t feel like explaining all the empty forties of Colt 45.”

  Annie giggled. “Good idea.” We walked to the right for a few minutes until we found a perfect plot of pristine white sand not too close and not too far from the water. Annie spread out our beach blanket and placed flip-flops and water bottles on each corner to keep it from flapping in the wind. Then she rolled up our towels into makeshift pillows, determined the exact location of the sun, and positioned our bodies so they would achieve maximum sun exposure. She checked her watch. “Okay,” she said. “At exactly nine twenty-three we’ll flip onto our backs.” She prided herself on being an expert on how to achieve the perfect tan.

  The sun beating down on my back, I opened my notebook to a fresh page and started jotting down the ideas that were festering in my head from the previous night, even though I didn’t know exactly how or if they’d fit into my screenplay. I thought about what Alexis had once told me about working on Wall Street and needing something to fuel you through the long hours. It seemed completely unnatural for a person to work hundred-hour weeks—just as it was unnatural for a person to stay up until seven in the morning making drinks. There was a reason that the financial and club worlds were so closely tied—in fact, they were bound together by a tightly knit symbiotic relationship. There was no way that a city like New York, where the wheels of the world are set in motion, could function so frenetically and efficiently without some chemical help. I just hadn’t expected to come face to face with it in quite such a dramatic way. For a moment I wondered if I really belonged in this chaotic world. But I looked out at the ocean and conjured up James’s face and realized it was a trade-off I was more than willing to accept.

  Cassie, go long!” Glen called out. I ran out toward the surf to catch the Frisbee, but before the pass was completed, a wave clobbered me.

  “Are you all right?” James asked. He was standing at the water’s edge and trying hard not to laugh.

  I righted myself and, after checking to make sure my bikini top was still on and pulling some seaweed out of my hair, stood up and whipped the Frisbee in James’s direction. “I’m fine!”

  James, Tom, and Glen had shown up around one, and we had been running around ever since, swimming, playing Frisbee and Kadima, and drinking beers. The sun was hot, and as I wrung out my hair, I decided it was time for another break.

  “Want an Amstel?” Tom asked as I approached the coolers.

  “No Amstel for her,” James said, collapsing into a beach chair and handing me a Budweiser. “I bought these especially for you.”

  I jumped into his lap and threw my arms around his neck. He looked irresistible with his shirt off, and as my hands rested against his smooth, firm abs, I felt like I could spend all day just looking at him. The touch of his hand on my bare skin was enough to send me flying like one of the ad banners that sailed behind the planes riding over the shoreline. Even though I could feel the puffiness beneath my eyes, I felt like I didn’t need to sleep for days. “Thanks,” I said, kissing his neck.

  “So,” Glen said, eyeing the label on my bottle of Bud, “I’ll buy drinks for everyone at Cyril’s later if one of you can tell me what ‘Budweiser’ stands for.”

  “What do you mean?” Tom asked. “It doesn’t stand for anything.”

  “Yes, it does,” Glen said. “Each letter stands for something. Come on, I’ll buy all you guys drinks if you can figure it out.”

  I looked around expectantly at all of their blank faces. I couldn’t believe they didn’t know something so simple and American. “Because U Deserve What Every Individual Should Enjoy Regularly,” I sang triumphantly.

  “How’d you know that?” Glen asked, trounced.

  “I’m a bartender,” I said. “Besides, that’s not really what Budweiser stands for. It’s probably just something some frat guy made up at five in the morning, after drinking Buds all night. I think it’s really just a combination of the two names: Anheiser and Busch, but I don’t know.”

  “Congratulations, Cassie! You get free drinks all night, but it doesn’t matter since you have to work and will drink for free anyway!” Annie laughed, raising her bottle in a toast. She had climbed into Tom’s lap, and I couldn’t help but think about how less than ten hours ago she’d been having passionate sex with an entirely different person.

  James leaned over and kissed me on the top of my head. “You’re so refreshing,” he said. I beamed.

  “Well, I can at least buy you a BBC at Cyril’s before you go to work,” Tom suggested. Cyril’s was a divey outdoor bar and restaurant located on Napeague Stretch between Montauk and Amagansett, where they served fried seafood in red plastic baskets. It always looked like a scene out of Beach Blanket Bingo—people pulled up in cars and trucks with surfboards hanging out of the back, or mounted on the roofs, and most of the customers didn’t wear shoes; in fact, a majority of them were still in their bathing suits, with towels or sarongs wrapped around their waists.

  I knew I probably shouldn’t have another drink before work, but I had trouble turning down offers for alcohol in the Hamptons. When it came right down to it, I’d been drinking all day. But at least, I reminded myself, I could make it through a night of work without snorting coke. As the sun slowly started to sink in the sky, James leaned in to gently kiss me on the mouth. At the end of the day, some addictions were better than others.

 
Nine

  ____________

  THREE WISE MEN

  Sweating, I adjusted my grasp on the sides of the plastic checkered crate and, for the fifth time, attempted to heave it out of the stifling liquor storage room. Piled high with five Ketel Ones, four Citrons, four Jack Daniel’s, three house vodkas, and three triple secs, it didn’t budge. I began to drag it, scratching the hardwood floor until Miguel, the new bar back, who was a good five inches shorter and probably thirty pounds lighter than I, came through the door, took one look at what I was doing, and effortlessly picked it up, sailing back out into the bar. I was sure Kyle would be late, as usual, so I decided to set up both sides of the back bar. He took so many “breaks” when we worked together that I ended up making better use of his side of the bar than he ever did anyway.

  “We need more Cuervo!” I shouted, almost inhaling a fruit fly. The back bar was a disaster. Every conceivable surface was sticky, covered in hardened Rose’s Lime Juice and fluorescent pink Pucker Watermelon Liqueur. Hordes of fruit flies circled my head, and the smell of stale beer and mildewed garbage permeated the humid air.

  “How many?” Miguel asked.

  “I don’t know . . . I guess just bring out a case. I’m sure we’ll go through it all.”

  I felt like I was in one of the Y’s “Sculpt and Stretch” classes. Lunge to the crate on the floor, grab bottle, lift and place up on shelf . . . repeat thirty times. I was in a zone and barely noticed as Teddy, holding his ever-present clipboard, walked down the stairs, a flushed Annie in tow.

  “Here early, huh?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I replied. Over the past few weeks I’d made an effort to be always at least a little early, demonstrating that I was as responsible as possible, especially since the fiasco after the Blue Parrot. I’d somehow gotten away with that little incident, and even though we’d never mentioned it, I was pretty sure that Annie’s special relationship with Teddy had had something to do with it. I was determined to keep this job and the average of $800 I was making per weekend. Plus, it was Fourth of July weekend, and I wanted to equip the bar for the impending frenetic rush.

  “Go set up the front bar,” Teddy directed.

  “Can I just finish this one first?” I said. I made a mental note not to show up quite so early the next time. I didn’t want to get stuck single-handedly setting up the entire club just because I lived in fear of getting fired.

  “Kyle can set this one up when he gets here. You’re gonna work with Jake at the front bar,” he said distractedly, muttering “shit” as he paged through the list he held. Before I could ask why, he walked away, holding his Nextel cell phone in front of his mouth in walkie-talkie mode demanding, “Why the fuck is Lulu Johnson getting the table by the door?”

  “Thanks, Teddy,” I said, still a little surprised. I jumped over the gluey bar, careful not to saturate my new Seven jeans in week-old Southern Comfort, and headed north to my new station. I was setting up my speed rack when Annie pranced over to me.

  “I’m back at the front bar!” I cried.

  “I know,” she said with a self-satisfied smile.

  “How do you know?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Let’s just say I worked some of my magic with Teddy.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I just helped him take care of some things in the office, if you know what I mean,” she said impishly. Her cheeks were glowing and her lipstick was smeared. She hadn’t even bothered to rearrange her tousled curls or straighten her skirt.

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Anyway, as things were really heating up, I was like ‘Teddy, why’d you stick Cassie at the back bar?’ and he was like, ‘Let’s talk about this later,’ and I was like, ‘No, let’s talk about this now, she hates it back there. Can you switch her back?’ And he was like, ‘Anything you want, baby,’ and then he came so hard, I thought he was having an epileptic seizure!”

  “Okay!” I said, clapping my hands over my ears. “I get it.”

  “So am I the best friend ever, or what?”

  “You’re pretty amazing,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “I was thinking the whole train ride that it wouldn’t be worth it for you to come out here on a Thursday just to work the back bar and make no money, you know? Especially after you had to go through all the crap of getting the extra night off from Finton’s and pissing off Dan and Laurel. So I took matters into my own hands, so to speak, and now you’re back at the front bar permanently.”

  I looked at her incredulously. Teddy had made such a big deal about how “numbers don’t lie.” I guess when he talked about numbers, he was referring to how many times he and Annie had gotten it on in the office.

  As I continued shelving bottles of Mount Gay rum in the racks beneath the register, I pondered the surreal landscape of my postcollege environment. Two of my best friends were happily advancing in their respective fields—but more through their feminine wiles than their actual talents and intelligence. While I was grateful to Annie for getting me back at the front bar with Jake, I had to question where to draw the line. It was clear that being an attractive woman could get you far in this world, whether on Wall Street or on Montauk Highway.

  The day before I’d been on my way to my regular Wednesday shift at Finton’s when my cell phone rang. I’d hoped it was James; he’d been buried in work all week so we hadn’t spoken much. To my disappointment, it was Teddy.

  “Hi,” I said timorously. I figured he was calling because my ring at the back bar had slipped since I’d started working there earlier in June. At this point, I could only go lower at Spark if they set up a station for me out back by the Dumpsters.

  “I need you to work tomorrow night,” he’d informed me. “We have an open bar party booked from nine to twelve, and I need all my bartenders there. A buddy of mine over at Jive Records is throwing a release party for Britney Spears. You should be there at eight.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” I said. “I usually work at my job in the city on Thursdays, but I can try to get someone to cover for me.” I crossed my fingers that Sean was available.

  “I can’t take no for an answer. The owners said they might come by so I need all the bartenders on.” He hung up without another word.

  I’d still never met the ominous owners of Spark and wanted to be there should they show up. Plus, Spark money was always better than Finton’s money by leaps and bounds. My tail between my legs, I arrived at Finton’s and decided not to waste any time approaching Laurel, who was sitting at the bar devouring a hangar steak entrée, hunched over a dated edition of Wine Spectator magazine.

  “Laurel, I have to ask you for a favor,” I began, just as Dan Finton emerged, presumably from his observation chamber downstairs. Ever since I’d bolted that night we were closing alone together, Dan had been acting decidedly cooler toward me. For the most part, I was relieved.

  “Hi, Dan,” I said cheerily. He gave me a half-smile and a sharp nod of his head.

  “You were saying?” Laurel asked.

  I didn’t want to ask for Thursday night off in front of Dan, but decided I had to bite the bullet. “Um . . . well, I just got a phone call from my boss in the Hamptons—” I fidgeted with my necklace “—and he said that there’s a really big Fourth of July party at Spark tomorrow night, and he needs me there to work, because—”

  “If someone can cover your shift, then I don’t care,” she said flatly. “I can’t be bothered with this anymore.”

  I was stunned.

  “Okay, great,” I said, not believing my luck. “Thank you so much, Laurel. I’ll call Sean right now.”

  Just as I turned to skip over to the phone, Dan commented coldly, “It’s amazing how quickly your loyalties have shifted.”

  “Excuse me?” I said, feeling both insulted and surprised, but he’d already vanished out the door of Finton’s. I’d expected attitude about the schedule change from Laurel, but from Dan? On one hand, I was glad to have a little more distance f
rom him, especially after our loaded exchange about Bob and Alexis. On the other hand, things had been undeniably easier when Dan had taken special care to look out for me. Thinking back, it was clearly the reason I’d gotten my job at Finton’s in the first place and how I’d been able to get away with spending my weekends at Spark. I finally had to admit to myself that I’d been taking advantage of the perks that came along with being a woman in the bar industry all along.

  Now, however, I was experiencing the flip side of the coin with Dan. I’d seen this all too often in my short tenure behind the bar. In the beginning of the night, men would be polite and tip well. As the night wore on, they would get drunk and make advances. When I didn’t oblige them, they got belligerent, rude, and stopped tipping. In the case of Dan, it seemed, I was no longer his shining star.

  I’d called Sean, who agreed to cover my shift, and then headed back out to the bar.

  “Hey, kid!” Billy called out. “How’s it going at Spark?”

  “Great. I’m going out there tomorrow morning.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got a big weekend ahead of you. We used to bank over two grand on the Fourth of July. It was a beautiful thing.”

  “If I could make two grand this weekend, I’d be the happiest girl in the world.”

  “How are the other bartenders you work with?”

  “They’re all right. But most of the tips they make end up going up their nose.”

  “Welcome to the Hamptons,” Billy laughed.

  “Was it like that when you were out there? I mean, everyone’s so fucked up all the time—it’s insane!”

  “What do you think? I was there in the eighties working at a gay club,” Billy commented drolly. “It was a lot of fun, but I don’t think I could handle it now. You have to be careful, you know? If you do it every now and then it’s okay, but when you need to drink five martinis at six o’clock in the morning so you can go to sleep—” He shook his head. “It’s not good.”