by Helen Cox
Crossing at the traffic lights, I adjusted the collar on my shirt and hoped for the best.
‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ The hostess was an Asian girl in her twenties. Everything about her was in order from her tailored red blazer to her straight black fringe that’d been gelled into position with expert precision. Her eyes wandered down my lax ensemble.
‘Er. Yes. My friend Angela booked a table on the terrace?’ I crossed my arms, gave myself an awkward hug.
‘Oh. You’re British,’ she said, as though that somehow explained everything she hadn’t hitherto understood about me.
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry, what did you say the name was?’ Seemingly, she’d been too busy judging my outfit to listen properly the first time round.
‘Angela.’ She read down the list on her clipboard.
‘Got it. Follow me.’
I obeyed. Whatever she’d told me to do in that moment I would’ve obeyed. If the woman was that serious about hair care God knows how she dealt with difficult customers.
Inside, ‘Groove is in the Heart’, the only song any club DJ seemed capable of playing that summer, blasted out over the speakers. The bar’s interior was completely black. The blankness broken only by yellow, orange and electric blue fish flitting around huge water tanks installed in the walls. Palm trees had been arranged amongst the bamboo chairs and groups of twenty-somethings lolled across them. Discussing Christmas travel plans to Costa Rica. One girl, a red-head in a black cat suit, was a little too animated about the idea of wearing a bikini and a Santa hat on the beach. All of them looked like they’d been cut out off the front of a fashion magazine and I was grateful I’d at least washed my hair that morning rather than tying it back into a ponytail for the fourth day straight. My hair looked best as it was now, hung in a loose mane about my shoulders. This small blessing was all I had going for me in a world where everyone was rich enough to buy every item in their wardrobe from Gucci.
The server led me up a spiral staircase out of the blackness and into the light of their roof terrace where more palm trees and bamboo seating arrangements awaited. I spotted Angela in a cobalt playsuit that showed off her slim, tapered legs. She was donning sunglasses and looked even more of a potential movie star than the boyfriend sitting next to her.
Yes, she’d brought Jack.
And now my heart was in my throat.
He too was wearing sunglasses. His black hair was swept back by the light breeze flowing over the roof top and he looked at ease in a salmon T-shirt and navy shorts. Soaking up what was left of the sunshine.
‘Hi Esther!’ Angela glided over and gave me a hug before taking my hand and guiding me back to where they were sitting. Jack took off his sunglasses as I sat down and looked hard at me.
‘What?’ I asked when his staring became obvious to the point that even Angela was giving him a quizzical look.
‘Nothing. Nothing. Sorry. You just look different. You look different without your uniform.’
‘Yeah. Well. Pepto-Bismol isn’t really my colour.’ They both laughed and Jack put his sunglasses back on so I could no longer be sure where he was looking.
‘Can I get you a drink, ma’am?’ One of the waiters appeared at the table and looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet than serving us. I couldn’t blame him. There are a million things to do in New York in the sun. Waiting tables doesn’t come anywhere near the top of that list.
‘Er …’ I skimmed down the cocktail menu. ‘I’ll just get a Cosmopolitan. Thanks.’
‘Comin’ right up.’ The waiter disappeared as quickly as he had manifested.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you two were having a date,’ I said to Angela. ‘If you’d rather we just had one and then rearranged for another time, that’s totally OK by me.’ I hadn’t eaten much that day and alcohol plus an empty stomach plus a man I ached after plus his girlfriend was like the world’s worst maths problem. I had to talk my way out of this vile little love triangle before I did or said anything I’d regret.
‘Oh no.’ Angela shook her head. ‘Jack’s not stopping.’
‘I’m not?’ Jack looked at her, a little put out.
‘Nope.’
‘Anything else you want to tell me about my itinerary for the day?’ he asked, looking back into his drink.
‘I told you, I’m treating Esther. We don’t need a third wheel.’ She leaned forward and kissed him. I tried to find somewhere else to look. Oh God, this was twisted. So very twisted.
‘Actually, I think I have the third wheel thing covered. We should rearrange. It’s Friday. You should be doing something fun, together,’ I said.
‘No.’ Angela took a slurp of her Mojito and smiled. ‘Jack can stay for one and then the girly fun can begin.’
‘Oh well, thank you for keeping me informed.’ Jack smirked.
‘Are you drinking whiskey?’ I asked with a grimace.
‘Yes,’ he said quick enough to sound defensive and then slower, raising his glass, added, ‘why drink anything else?’
‘I don’t know, off the top of my head because whiskey is a foul, old man’s drink,’ I said.
‘Oh and I suppose that makes me a foul old man. Very funny. Ha ha.’ Both Angela and I laughed. After a few seconds playing deadpan, Jack couldn’t help but join in.
‘Your drink, ma’am.’ The waiter appeared with my Cosmopolitan. I took a first, tentative sip. I’d always found cocktail glasses quite precarious and was eager to avoid my usual trick of spilling half the drink down my front before I even began.
‘Well, if I’m only staying for “one” I better get a second in before you two finish your first,’ said Jack. ‘Could you bring me another whiskey please? And make it a double.’
‘Certainly, sir.’ The waiter nodded.
‘He can handle his liquor alright,’ Angela said with a hint of pride. ‘Never known it go down so easy for anyone as it does for Jack.’
‘Well, he probably had his first celebratory drink on VE Day so he’s had a lot of practice.’
‘Hey!’ Jack tried to keep a straight face but was lapping up the attention. ‘I’m really not that old.’
‘Alright,’ I said, taking another mouthful of my Cosmopolitan. ‘How old is “really not that old”?’
‘Well, if you must know, I’m thirty-eight.’
Angela spat out some of her Mojito. ‘Thirty-eight?’ Her eyes were wide. ‘Are you sure? You don’t look that old.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ Jack clinked her glass with his.
‘Wait – the topic of age hadn’t come up between you two?’ I started to laugh though it may just have been the cocktail going to my head.
‘Oh no, it’s come up. But he’s always made some suave comment whenever I asked. Now I know it was just his way of avoiding the question.’ Angela shook her head.
‘Well, how old are you?’ I directed this at Angela. Three sips in and my politeness filter was almost completely disabled.
‘How old do you think I am?’ Angela asked with a coy smile.
‘I don’t know.’ I grinned. ‘I suspect I’ve got a lipstick somewhere that’s older than you.’
Angela laughed. ‘Well, I’m twenty-five –’ she looked at Jack ‘– in September.’
‘Wow.’ I laughed again but realised the smiles had dropped from their faces. ‘Oh come on you two.’ I took both their hands and held them together on the table. Another warning sign I should’ve stopped drinking that second and left: my sense of personal space evaporates when boozing. ‘Age doesn’t matter. Look at Cindy Crawford and Richard Gere.’
‘Ew!’ Angela withdrew her hand. Jack left his hand in mine but looked equally disgusted by the comparison. ‘Are you honestly using those two as a positive relationship role model?’ Angela looked horrified at the idea of being the next generation Cindy. I uncoupled my hand from Jack’s and brought it to my mouth. Laughing at my own lame attempt to make their age difference seem OK.
‘Your double, sir.’
The waiter set down Jack’s drink.
‘Huh. A double,’ I said, ‘you’re only drinking that because you think it’s macho.’
‘Well, in those shorts he probably feels the need to compensate,’ said Angela, sparking laughter from the two of us. Jack looked down at his shorts and shrugged.
‘You don’t think drinking whiskey is tough?’ Jack directed this at me.
‘I didn’t say that. Don’t get defensive,’ I replied.
‘I’d like to see you two after a few drams of hard stuff.’ He looked at both of us out of the corner of his eye. Angela and I looked at each other. This was obviously a challenge. A challenge I should’ve declined. And if it weren’t for my unshakable sense of pride I’m sure I would have.
‘We can handle the hard stuff,’ I said, taking another nip of my crimson cocktail.
‘Prove it.’
Jack was clearly on a mission. I was unsure about the exact nature of it but phase one seemed to be getting me and Angela drunk.
‘Fine. But does it have to be whiskey? It’s repellent.’ I made a face. Remembering the stench from the day I fainted. That acidic sting with traces of damp soil. It never occurred to me to ask where that whiskey came from. Did Jack carry a bottle around with him in his coat pocket? That seemed more like a Walt thing to do…
‘Alright.’ Jack set down his glass which was already half empty. ‘Name your drink.’
‘Vodka?’
‘Waiter!’ Jack called the split second the word left Angela’s mouth. The waiter looked irritated to have to deal with us again so soon but didn’t let it sound out in his tone.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’d like to order twenty shots of vodka please.’
‘Twenty?’ Angela almost shrieked the word. I said nothing but gave Jack a look. He was behaving like a total lush.
‘Yeah,’ he said, defending his request, ‘three each for you two. I think you might just be able to manage three each and I can handle the rest.’ Angela pouted at Jack who grinned at the annoyance he was causing her.
‘Twenty shots, sir? Coming right up.’ The waiter seemed unimpressed by the order and returned quicker than expected with a score of glasses filled with clear liquid. He placed them on the table in front of us.
‘OK,’ said Jack, ‘we all start drinking and the person who drinks the most shots before they’re gone is the winner.’
‘Oh, I’m not convinced anyone here is going to be a winner,’ I admitted.
‘It’s not too late to back out.’ He gave me a sly smile, knowing that was never going to happen. ‘No? OK. After three. Three. Two. One. Go.’ We all reached for a glass and started tipping vodka down our necks. The first one set my throat alight. I winced, reaching for a second. Angela and Jack were doing the same, except Jack wasn’t wincing at all. After five shots Angela bowed out shaking her head. Struggling to hold down the shot she’d just swallowed. Five shots were left. If I drank three I could out-do Jack and wipe the smirk off his face. I reached for another glass. Jack followed. And another until there was one glass standing. We both reached for it and knocked the glass over, spilling most of the contents.
‘What’s left is mine,’ I said.
‘How do you work that one out?’ asked Jack.
‘After centuries of patriarchal oppression you really have to ask that question?’ I slapped his hand away, downing what was left of the shot. Slamming the empty glass on the table, I looked at him in triumph. The sense of victory would only last as long as it took for the vodka to hit my stomach but that seemed to make savouring the moment all the more important.
I remember little else about that evening.
Laughing. There was a lot of laughing from all three of us. And more alcohol. And food, I remember the food. I think I called Lucia from a payphone at around ten.
‘Lu? It’s Esther.’
‘Esther? You alright?’
‘Are there any leftovers? I’ve been drinking and haven’t eaten and things are going to get messy if I don’t consume something in the next thirty minutes.’ Angela and Jack giggled in the background.
‘You went out drinking?’ Lucia seemed confused by this idea.
‘Yes. It’s not that outrageous a thought.’ It was though. Shopping. Alcohol. Sex. On the whole, I abstained from pretty much everything Mona and Lucia considered fun. They were convinced I was a nun in training.
‘Alright, don’t get smart. I’ll have some food boxed up if you swing by on your way home.’
‘I love you, Lu.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
Ten minutes later I was stuffing a burger into my mouth as though it was my first meal in a week. Angela and Jack watched on as I devoured it, joking about how ravenous I was.
The only other image from that night was Angela and Jack stood in the doorway of the room I rented. They hadn’t trusted me to get up the steps on my own and so escorted me up the three flights of stairs to ensure I made it into bed. I’d stood in the hallway hunting through my bag for my keys for about ten minutes before finally locating them and swinging open the door.
‘Wow,’ I remember Angela saying. ‘You got a lotta books.’ An understandable reaction given my room comprised of a bed and a desk insulated by piles of second-hand volumes I’d accumulated since moving to America.
‘Yes,’ I half-slurred, taking off my shoes and socks and leaving a trail across the carpet which was grey and almost threadbare. ‘They’re very important books. All very important.’ And with that final comment my head fell into my pillow.
Everything went blank.
Chapter Nine
I clattered through the diner doorway mere seconds before my four o’ clock shift was due to start.
‘Heavy night, Esther?’ Mona said, pouring me a coffee without even asking if I needed one.
‘On a scale from light to heavy, last night was Andre the Giant. I had to wear sunglasses in the shower for God’s sake.’ I stirred some milk into the coffee. How was I going to serve fried goods to people for the next eight hours without throwing up? ‘I take it you talked to Lu?’ I yawned.
‘Well, yes. She was one of my sources,’ said Mona.
‘What do you mean?
Mona slapped down a copy of the New York Chronicle on the counter. Heading up the entertainment section was a photo collage of Angela, Jack and me at various points in last night’s proceedings. None of which I remembered. In one photo, I had my arms draped around Jack’s neck. In another he had Angela hoisted over his shoulder and in the next, there was me in the same position.
‘Oh my God.’ I slumped into a stool behind the counter.
‘You and Mr Faber are lookin’ pretty cosy there.’ Mona leant against the coffee machine and folded her arms.
‘This is…’ I stopped as I read the worrying caption: ‘Full story on page twenty-three…’ The paper dropped to my lap and I put a hand to my head.
‘How much you drink last night?’ Mona asked, grinning.
‘I…I honestly couldn’t tell you…’ I said, massaging my temples. ‘Have Jack and Angela seen this? Have they been here? Did you talk to them?’
‘Yeah. They came in around lunchtime lookin’ to see if you were alright.’ Typical of Mona to drip feed information at a moment like this when her usual tack was to gush out every detail.
‘Well?’
Mona pressed her lips together at my tone but I had bigger priorities than keeping the peace. ‘Well, Jack thought it was kinda funny. Made some crack about it boosting the ticket sales for his first movie. Angela was less amused but tried not to make too big a deal outta it. Seemed worried what the higher powers at work would say. I told her nobody pays any attention to this kinda thing.’
‘Ugh. Just when I thought I already had the world’s worst hangover.’ I covered my head with the newspaper. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed out with those two last night.’
‘Oh come on now, honey –’ Mona put an arm round me ‘– how many people can say they’ve been pictured
in a newspaper?’
‘Pictured drunk in a newspaper,’ I corrected.
‘Not just pictured drunk,’ Mona insisted, ‘pictured drunk with a movie star.’
‘Movie star?’ I shook my head. ‘His first big movie has only just hit cinemas. He’s been famous for about ten seconds. You can barely cross the street in this city without getting attacked and this is what they choose to report on? Actor gets drunk.’ Mona raised her hands, palms facing the ceiling, and shrugged.
The doorbell chimed and a man somewhere in his early-thirties walked in. He was chewing gum; he had a leather satchel slung over his shoulder and was sporting a loose pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, which he’d smartened up with a sky-blue blazer.
I walked over to him, shaking off my shock at the unexpected media attention a little too much vodka had stirred. ‘Good afternoon.’
‘Oh, your breakfast was so good you came back for more?’ said Mona. I looked back at her for a second; this guy must’ve been in earlier but that wasn’t so strange. Walt wasn’t the only customer who lived here.
‘Oh yeah.’ The man eyed me up and down in a way that prompted me to step backward. ‘I certainly left wanting more.’
‘Oh-kay,’ I said. ‘Table for one? Or would you prefer the counter?’
‘The counter’s good,’ he replied. I gestured to a stool and he sat looking at the menu.
‘Say, miss,’ he called me over after a few moments.
‘What can I get for you?’ I asked, taking out my pen and paper.
‘I’d like a banana milkshake.’ He smiled up at me.
‘Alright. Anything to eat?’
‘No thanks –’ he pulled a notebook out of his satchel ‘– but I was hoping to ask you a few questions.’
‘Questions? What do you mean?’ I sauntered over to the blender and started chopping bananas. ‘The Empire State Building’s that way.’ I pointed over my shoulder and smiled, it was obvious from his accent he was local. Brooklyn by the sound of it. He laughed but then corrected his face into a more serious position.