by Risa Peris
"Oh. We're really busy tonight. I really can't have you leaving for too long." Kelly hooked her blonde hair behind her ears.
"I didn't leave. I was just making a customer happy." Stella smiled tersely and focused on the guests in front of her.
Stella spent the next two hours hustling. That's what Kelly called it. Hustling. To Stella it just meant running around until her feet hurt. At 11:00 PM the flow of customers stopped and Stella locked the front doors. There were still several customers eating, drinking and chatting but her work was done. The beauty of being a hostess was that you didn't have to clean or break anything down. When the customers stopped coming in, the job was done.
"How do you think tonight went?" Kelly looked flushed.
"Everything went smoothly. Why?"
"Heard from a source that Jessica might be taking some leave. Some medical disorder."
Jessica was the stern manager who liked to hustle even more than Kelly. "You planning on taking her spot?"
"Planning. Hoping." Kelly smiled ruefully.
"Well, hope you get it. If that's what you want."
"It's what I want. Running a restaurant. That's what the fancy degree is for." Stella knew Kelly had attended Cornell. Stella was doubtful that an Ivy League education was needed to run a restaurant but in Manhattan you needed any edge you could get to survive.
"Well, I'm done. There's a party to go to but I'm ready for bed."
"You look frazzled. Get a drink why don't you. Can't beat half price drinks." Every employee at Lola's was allowed to drink at a discount.
"Not a bad idea."
Stella headed to the long, softly lit bar. "Hey, Carlos. Can I get a vodka and grapefruit?"
"Stella!" Carlos held his arms out and yelled.
"Very funny. If I had a nickel for every Street Car Named Desire reference…"
"I know. You would have ten cents."
"Ha. Try five bucks. Give or take." Stella smiled.
"You look beat. What kind of vodka do you want?"
"Doesn't matter." Stella nudged herself into the high, modern bar stool.
"The kind of vodka always matters."
Stella turned. "Oh, it's you. Mr. Vodka Tonic."
Campbell bristled slightly. "Yes, that was me. I'm working on Midori Sours now. But may I suggest a good vodka for your drink?"
Stella pursed her lips. "Hey Carlos."
"Yeah?"
"What's the cheapest vodka?"
"Smirnoff."
"Is it good?"
"Mediocre."
"I'll have that."
"One Smirnoff and grapefruit coming up." Carlos started whistling Singin' in the Rain.
"You're making a mistake." Campbell was staring into his glass.
"Well, I'm poor. Struggling writer. Cheap is good because it means I can pay my overpriced rent."
"I'm not poor." Campbell looked up and looked momentarily youthful.
“Good for you.” Stella ran her hands through her hair and took off the oversized earrings. Carlos set a squat glass in front of her, bottle green. Stella took a sip.
“How is it?” Campbell was still staring at her and Stella suddenly felt self-conscious.
“Perfect.” Stella took another sip and swiveled her body to the left, away from Campbell and his dagger eyes.
“No it’s not.”
Stella sighed. “I like it.”
“No you don’t.”
Stella felt her weariness and impatience snapping. “Who the hell are you and why are you sticking your nose in my business? I’m off work so I don’t have to be nice to you anymore.”
Carlos looked up, smiled and continued stacking silver shakers. Campbell looked back down at his drink. He looked chastised.
Campbell held up his glass. “Another one please.”
“It was last call 15 minutes ago.” Carlos looked at Campbell with a small smile.
“You served her.” Campbell jerked his thumb at Stella.
“She works here.”
“Double standards.” Campbell gulped the rest of the liquid in his glass.
“Just how many have you had?” Stella was curious.
“I don’t know. Eight, nine or ten.”
“Nine.” Carlos sat the bill in front of Campbell.
“What a bargain! It only cost me $146.00 dollars to get kind of drunk.” Campbell handed a black American Express to Carlos. “I suppose you’re going to want a nice big tip.”
Carlos slid the card on the cash register. “That would be nice. Yes.”
“Do you think you’ve earned it?”
Carlos hesitated. “Ye…Yes.”
“That doesn’t sound confident. Tell you what. I’ll leave what you think you are worth. How much should I leave you?”
“This is crazy.” Stella could feel anger rising in her.
“Tell me how much you’re worth?”
“Twen…”
“I couldn’t quite hear that…did you say twenty? So you’re worth twenty percent? You could have had fifty percent. If you had asked.” Campbell pulls a twenty out of his wallet and puts in on the bar ceremoniously, as if he were offering up an emerald.
“What an ass!” Stella stood up and glared at Campbell.
“Oh, yes. I am.”
“Well, at least you know it.” Stella rushed to the locker room, put on her coat and scarf, and changed her low heeled pumps to flats. She took a deep breath. “It’s OK. Calm down. It’s OK.” Stella took another deep breath and walked into the dining room. Campbell was gone and Carlos was carting dishes to the kitchen. Stella waved good bye. Carlos nodded his head in her direction. Stella walked out into the cold night.
Chapter 3
“Do you want me to flag down a cab?”
Stella bristled. “There’s no escaping you.”
Campbell was leaning against a storefront window and smoking. “Why do you want to escape me?”
“You’re rude.”
“I bought you a drink.” Campbell pushed forward slightly, paused and then leaned against the window again.
“You did not buy me a drink.” Stella’s voice was loud.
“I thought I did.” Campbell looked genuinely perplexed.
“You must have forgotten while you were cheating a good man out of a good tip.”
“You drank cheap vodka.”
“Fuck. Don’t you have somewhere to go? Are you homeless?”
“Not homeless. Park Avenue condo.”
“Well, why don’t you go there?” Stella turned and headed down the street. The subway stop was two blocks away. It was chilly out but Stella didn’t mind. She liked the cold. It always seemed like she running a few degrees warmer than others.
Stella walked around the people on the street wondering if they were leading exciting and rich lives or if they were struggling like her. She stopped at a newsstand and surveyed the magazines. She picked up the Atlantic Monthly, flipped through it and then spotted a Vogue with Natalie Portman on the cover. Natalie was in pink with impossibly long lashes. Stella touched the cover with a sudden flash of longing for beauty. Stella tightened the scarf around her neck and mentally calculated whether or not she could afford to buy a magazine.
“If I skip breakfast for two days…” Stella added up the cost of yogurt, cereal and bananas in her head.
“Can I get the Harvard Business Journal and whatever magazine this young lady wants?” Campbell was standing solidly but he was speaking slowly.
Campbell smiled. “If I stand upright, I can’t speak very well and if I talk well then I can’t stand upright.”
“Are you following me?” Stella picked up the Vogue. The man is bonkers but if he buys me a magazine, thinks Stella, who cares?
“Yes.” Campell said the word as if in slow motion.
“Is that it?” The man in the newsstand asked with heavily accented English.
“Is that it?” Campbell looked at Stella.
Stella nodded and hugged the magazine to her chest. “Thanks,
” said Stella quietly.
“Am I still rude?” Campbell handed a twenty dollar bill to the cashier.
“Yes.” Stella stared openly at Campbell.
The cashier rings up the purchases on the cash register and takes the twenty dollar bill.
“Keep the change,” says Campbell.
The cashier nodded and then shoves his hands in his pockets and bobs his head to the Arabic music playing from the silver boombox on the counter.
“So nice of you to allow him to keep the change.”
“I’m making up for being an ass.” Campbell leaned slightly to the right and then grabbed the newsstand counter.
“You all right?” The cashier doesn't look happy.
Stella reached out and grabbed Campbell’s right arm. “Come on,” she said.
Campbell leans into Stella’s arms. “You have such soft arms,” Campbell mumbles.
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
Campbell looks alarmed and then shakes his head. “Maybe chubby.”
“That’s alright. You can say I’m fat. Chubby. Whatever makes you happy. I’ve made peace with my body. I will never be Natalie Portman. She was shockingly thin in the Black Swan movie.”
“Beautiful.”
“Yes, she was.”
“No. You are beautiful.” Stella looks into Campbell’s dark eyes.
“Wow, you are really drunk.”
“Just a little.”
“Maybe we can get you a cab.”
Stella guided Campbell to the edge of the sidewalk. She held up her left arm to flag a cab. Several drove past them. Campbell started nudging his nose against Stella’s neck.
“What’s your name?” asked Campbell.
“Stella.”
“Oh, that’s right. Street Car Named Desire. My name’s Campbell. Campbell Royce.”
“How do you do Campbell?” Stella was still waving her arm valiantly.
“My girlfriend broke up with me tonight. By text. And then she unfriended me on Facebook. She never showed up for dinner.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Stella pushed herself forward to alleviate the heaviness of Campbell. He looked slender but his body seemed sinewy with muscle. He was allowing his body to relax against Stella. She could feel his heat and could smell a spiciness on his skin muted by the sour smell of alcohol.
“I bought her a coat for two grand.”
“Two grand could pay for one and a half months of rent for me.”
“Cheap vodka.”
“Yes, we’ve already established this. I drink cheap vodka.”
“She used my credit card. I had to cancel it.”
“You gave her a credit card?”
“I had to cancel it.” Campbell was breathing in Stella’s ear. She could smell the slightly acrid smell of vodka on his breath.
Stella waved her arm again when she saw a yellow taxi approaching. The taxi stopped and Stella rushed forward with Campbell dragging on her side. The taxi driver did not look happy. “Is he alright?” asked the French accented Haitian driver. Stella looked at the name plate. Pierre.
“Hi, Pierre. He’s drunk. He lives on Park Avenue. Not sure of the exact address but my friend Campbell here can give you details.”
“You come as well.”
“No, I don’t live on Park Avenue.”
“You come or I don’t take him.”
Campbell moaned. “Where am I going?”
Stella sighed. “Did you hear that Campbell? I have to escort you. Damn it.”
“Damn it!” Campbell exclaimed.
“You just get drunker by the minute. Alright, where do you live Campbell?”
“Park Avenue.”
“Where exactly on Park Avenue?” Stella was losing patience. Her strong drive to be a nice person was losing ground.
“Twee, twee, sax.”
“Great. Now you’re starting to sound like a kid. You heard the man. Three three six.”
“You come?” asked the taxi driver.
“Yes, yes. You better pay for my cab ride home Mr. Royce.”
“Yep. I got money.”
“Beautiful.”
Campbell leaned his head back against the seat but was still gripping Stella’s arm. He found her warm and yielding. Stable. Campbell decided she wasn’t attractive. Her features didn’t look quite finished. It was as if an artist got bored in penciling in her face. It was not a felicitous blending of skin, hair and eyes. But there was something comforting about her face. She was a good person. Campbell understood that the moment he walked into the restaurant. Good people in Manhattan are a rarity, thought Campbell. Or maybe good people were rare in his career, his world. Stella was gripping the magazine tightly. He had watched her staring at. She looked reverential. Campbell wanted to yank it and yell that it was only a magazine not a deity. But maybe it was. Kristin worshipped beautiful things including her image. Why did women get so tangled up in the surface of things? Campbell wondered.
The taxi stopped in front of a gilded and ornate building. The doorman rushed out and opened the taxi door.
“Hello, Mr. Royce.” The doorman was short, squat and his maroon cap could barely contain his curly, cushiony hair.
“Mr. Royce is drunk,” said Stella. “He’s all yours.”
“Certainly, come along Mr. Royce.” The doorman pulled Campbell out of the cab.
“Twenty-five dollars.” Pierre was staring at Stella expectantly.
“Campbell!” Stella hollered.
The doorman turned around. Campbell had his arm slung around his shoulders.
“I need money for the cab.”
“Right. Right.” Campbell pulled out his wallet and handed Stella a hundred dollar bill.
"It’s twenty five.” Stella held her blonde hair down with her hand. The wind had kicked up.
“Keep the change.”
“How kind.” Stella’s tone was sarcastic. “So glad to be done with you.”
“Bye, Ms. Cheap Vodka.”
Chapter 4
It was Thursday. Stella didn’t mind Thursdays. She didn’t work at the restaurant on Thursdays. She had only the transcribing job, which meant she had the entire evening free. She considered napping or a reading a book but pushed away thoughts of wasting time. She needed to write. She was only a quarter done with her book. Since arriving in New York she had had many failed starts at writing. Stella was aiming for literary and profound. Big mistake. Nothing seemed good enough. Everything she wrote seemed trite, inflated, boring. Jane laughed at her.
“Stop trying to be Steinbeck. Just fuckin’ write. Entertain yourself. I know you read romance novels. You sneak em’ in. Like chocolate bars at a Weight Watchers meeting. Embrace trash. Write trash. Trash is rarely boring. Write for the woman sitting in an airport or the woman who sorts laundry before driving her kids to soccer games. That shit sells. And you need money. New York is expensive and you got big loans for going to that snotty girl’s school.”
“Wellesley is a women’s college not a girl’s school.”
“Who cares? All I know is that there were no boys there.”