The Waiter

by Bradleigh Collins

We started our stroll up Broadway hand-in-hand. The sun was just starting to set and the weather was perfect. Definitely still summer, but with the slightest hint of fall in the air.

  “We’ve got about fifteen blocks, Red,” The Waiter stated. “Plenty of time to tell me how you managed to contract the plague again.”

  I took a deep breath. And then I told him everything. How we met. How he was my first real love. How we would break up and get back together. How he made me feel like everything was my fault. How he acted the day of my dad’s death. And on and on and on.

  The Waiter listened intently the entire time. When we got back to the hotel room, he hugged me.

  “I’m so sorry about your dad,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

  I almost started crying. I hugged him even tighter.

  “You know the worst part about all of this?” he asked.

  “What?” I looked up at him.

  “You said you always get back with him.”

  “Not this time. I’m moving on. Literally. To New York. And he would never in a million years move to New York.”

  “Good. Now we don’t have to talk about him anymore.”

  “We don’t have to talk about anything,” I said. I untucked his t-shirt from his jeans. He smiled and took it off. I kissed his neck, then his chest, then all six of his perfectly defined ab muscles, slowly working my way down until I was on my knees. I started unbuckling his belt.

  “I could really, really, get used to this,” he said, looking down at me and running his fingers through my hair. I looked up at him and smiled.

  “No more talking.”

  CHAPTER 13

  ◆◆◆

  “I’ll wait for you here at Starbucks,” The Waiter said. He was off today, so he accompanied me to my job interview.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  “You’re going to get it. And did I mention how hot you look in that dress?”

  “About a million times since I put it on.”

  “Go.” He let go of me and kissed my hand. “Go get it, Red.”

  I walked away but couldn’t resist the temptation to turn and look back. He smiled, looking me up and down, and then blew a kiss. I laughed and kept walking. If ever I needed to walk into a job interview with a shitload of confidence, this was the day. I was strutting down 60th Street in my four-and-a-half-inch wooden Chloe sandals. I had purchased them on major sale a while back at Jeffrey in Phipps Plaza. They were a modern version of Candies and another nod to the seventies I hoped Jackie would notice. I was glad I had packed them for my weekend trip.

  I entered the building and stepped into the tiny elevator. I pressed the button. It was the slowest elevator ride of my life. With each approaching floor, I became more nervous. I took a deep breath. You got this, Sammy.

  The doors opened and I walked out into a huge open loft. It was filled with modular workstations and racks and racks of clothing. There was a kitchen with a full-size cappuccino bar in the back corner and a photo studio set up right next to it. I walked over to the reception area, which contained a white lacquered desk and a large neon “e-Styled” sign. It was by far the coolest office space I’d ever seen.

  There was a woman leaning over the reception desk finishing up a phone call, so I waited off to the side before approaching. She hung up the phone and looked up. It was Jackie. And I was instantly intimidated. She was even more attractive in person.

  “Hey! You have to be Sammy,” she said with a big friendly smile.

  “Yes,” I responded.

  “I have so been looking forward to meeting you. I’m Jackie.”

  She walked around the desk and shook my hand. She was wearing a perfect white pantsuit that reminded me of Bianca Jagger in the Studio 54 days. Her red hair was parted down the center and slicked back into a bun.

  “Our receptionist George is out right now, so I was filling in for him. Come back to my office and we’ll have a chat.”

  I was taken aback not only by the fact she had a male receptionist - how modern, but also that she, the owner and CEO of the company, was just casually filling in for him like it was nothing.

  “Ann Marie,” she said to someone as we walked by, “can you keep an eye on the reception area until George gets back?”

  “Sure,” she nodded.

  Jackie was wearing sky-high red-bottomed Christian Louboutin heels that made her seem almost six-feet tall. Without them, she was probably closer to my height, give or take a few inches.

  Scattered throughout the office along with clothing racks were foam board website mockups, stacks of fashion magazines, and tables full of shoes and accessories. The whole loft was one big fashion closet. My heart began to palpitate at the thought of this being my workplace.

  There were no enclosed offices in the loft aside from Jackie’s, which was in the back left corner. There was one glass-enclosed conference room opposite her where people were gathered watching a slide presentation.

  “Have a seat,” Jackie said. Her office was modest but stylish. She sat in a silver Herman Miller Aeron chair behind a white lacquer desk, similar to the one in the reception area but smaller. I expected the exposed brick walls to be covered with photos of her with Anna Wintour and other fashion industry people, but it wasn’t. There was just one large framed photo of the entire e-Styled staff. A beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers in a round glass bowl sat prominently on her desk.

  “Those flowers are beautiful,” I said.

  “Aren’t they? I stop every Monday morning at the bodega on the corner and pick up fresh flowers for myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”

  “That’s a lovely habit,” I remarked.

  “The fact that you use the word ‘lovely’ is a lovely habit,” she said.

  I laughed.

  “I have to say, I really loved your writing samples. You have a very distinct voice. Southern chic, I’d call it. Funny, clever, but real and honest.”

  “I have a full portfolio for you.” I took it out of my bag and handed it to her. “Do you need another copy of my resume?”

  “Nope!” she said as she thumbed through the pages. “This is impressive. And the recommendation letter from your boss was very heartfelt.”

  “I adore him,” I replied. “He’s retiring soon. He’ll be greatly missed in that office.”

  She started the interview by telling me about the company. There were eighteen full-time employees, and they also worked with several freelancers. The company was well-funded, having just received another round of financing, and was now in the pre-IPO stage. She was currently in the process of hiring five additional full-time employees which would include two sales managers, another programmer, a marketing assistant and my position.

  “So, Sammy. Tell me. Why do you want to move to New York?”

  “Because it’s New York,” I said immediately. “Every time I visit, I don’t want to leave. It’s starting to feel more like home than Atlanta.”

  She looked at me and smiled. “Well, you certainly have the New York look down. I love that Missoni on you.”

  “Thank you. I picked it up yesterday at Scoop.”

  “They’re one of our clients,” she said.

  “Really? I was panicking about what to wear, which makes me your target audience. I packed several outfits, but I hated them all. Lucy turned me on to Scoop.”

  “Lucy is the best ad rep they’ve got at Vogue. I tried to poach her, but she’s out of my price range.”

  We continued the standard interview back and forth. I told her about my experience at the ad agency. She told me about how she came up with the idea for the company when she couldn’t figure out what to wear to a wedding in the Hamptons. She envisioned a website where she could just type in “what do I wear to a Hamptons wedding?” and get different outfit options and advice from legitimate stylists and industry insiders. Our conversation flowed effortlessly. I felt more like I was chatting with a friend than being interviewed by an icon.


  She finished flipping through my portfolio. “So I have one more question that has absolutely nothing to do with your writing skills. And I hope you won’t think I’m completely shallow.”

  “Okay,” I said nervously.

  “Is that your natural hair color? Because if it is, you’re coming to the salon with me right now.”

  “This is so not my natural color! This is Joshua at Van Michael Salon in Atlanta.”

  “What’s your natural color?” she asked.

  “Blonde.”

  “Why did you change it?”

  “Spite.”

  She looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Long story short. I was in a play in college where I had to wear a red wig. My boyfriend at the time loved it and was always trying to get me to dye my hair red. The day he broke up with me, I dyed it. And I’ve been a redhead ever since.”

  Jackie laughed loudly and without the least bit of self-consciousness. I wanted to be that confident in my own skin.

  “I love it!” she said. “Lucy was right. You’re perfect for this job. I always hire people on instinct. And I want you to come work for me. Can you start next month?”

  I wanted to stand up and scream, but I tried to keep my composure. “Seriously?”

  “Let’s see,” she looked at the calendar on her desk. “How about Tuesday the 12th? Monday is Columbus Day and we’re closed.”

  I had absolutely no idea how I was going to find an apartment and get moved in such a short time frame. But I didn’t care. I would make it happen no matter what it took.

  “Yes, that works for me. Oh my god, I’m so excited!”

  “Well, there’s just one thing,” she added.

  I braced myself. I knew this was too good to be true.

  “We don’t pay for relocation expenses, but I will pay your freelance rate if you can write your first piece over the next month.”

  “Of course! I’d love to.”

  “I want you to write about what to wear for a job interview, using your own personal experience and how you ended up with that dress. Scoop will love it.”

  “I can do that. Great!”

  She stood up. “Okay, I’ll have Victoria send out your offer letter and all the other paperwork. And here’s my business card. If you have questions about anything, anything at all, call me.”

  “Oh my god, thank you so much.” I stood up and extended my hand. She walked over and hugged me instead.

  “Welcome to the family. I think you’re going to fit in well here, Sammy.”

  She walked me back through the loft to the reception area. George was back.

  “George, this is Sammy St. Clair. She’s our new Online Editor. She’ll be joining us in October.”

  “Girl, that Missoni is everything.” George was obviously gay. I had several gay friends and had spent enough nights at Backstreet to have a finely tuned gaydar.

  “Thank you,” I responded. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  “Oh! I’m doing a show in November! Off-Off-Broadway. You must come!”

  “George is a fantastic actor,” Jackie added. “We go to all of his shows.”

  “I’d love to,” I responded. “Jackie, thank you so much. You have no idea how excited I am.”

  “Me too,” she said.

  The elevator door opened and I stepped inside. Had it not been for the two other people in there with me, I would have broken out into a very awkward happy dance.

  I walked out of the building and back to Starbucks. The Waiter was sitting at the counter by the window reading a book. I tapped on the glass. He looked up and knew immediately by the look on my face that I had gotten the job. He came outside.

  “You got it?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh my god, Red! Congratulations!” He picked me up and swung me around. “I told you so. Did I tell you so?”

  “You told me so,” I said. I was shaking.

  “When do you start?”

  “October 12th. I have a month to find an apartment and get moved.”

  “Come on,” he said, taking my hand and stepping out into the street to hail a cab. “We’re going to celebrate before you have to leave.”

  I had already checked out of the hotel and just needed to pick up my luggage before heading to the airport. A car service was picking me up at the hotel at six.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To my apartment. I want one last chance to get you out of that dress.”

  “My lucky dress?”

  “Yes,” he said as we slid into the back seat of the cab. “Broadway and 74th,” he instructed the driver.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon and The Waiter and I were making out like teenagers in the middle of midtown traffic. In that moment, I, just like Jackie, was completely confident. I had just landed my dream job. And, from the look of things, I may have landed my dream man too.

  CHAPTER 14

  ◆◆◆

  Friday after work, Dana and I were sitting in Atlanta traffic on our way home to Douglasville. We were going to visit our families for the weekend while Simon played golf.

  I’d already put in my two weeks’ notice. Bitchy Brenda knew I was leaving. She ignored me the entire week, and for that, I was grateful. My boss was thrilled for me. He had grown up in New York and gave me a list of places I might find an affordable apartment. I called all of them and put my name on a wait list. I would take one sight-unseen if it was in a decent neighborhood.

  “I still can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Dana said. She was leaning over into the backseat, trying to retrieve something as I drove.

  “We’ve already worked this out, Dana. You’ll come to New York one weekend a month, and I’ll come home one weekend. I have to or my mother will kill me.”

  “How is she handling this?”

  “Better than expected. I think she’s just happy I’m getting away from Dalton. Although she has this vision of New York in the seventies ingrained in her head, so she’s really concerned about my safety. The fact that Josh is there helps.”

  “Ah, got em! I wanna look at these again.” Dana was back in the front seat with the packet of photos from my trip. I took the disposable camera to a one-hour photo place on Tuesday during my lunch hour.

  “I take it you won’t be showing your mom this pic,” she said, holding up a photo of The Waiter and me lying in bed, him shirtless and me wrapped in the sheet. He snapped the photo of us Monday morning.

  “No. I don’t think she’d approve of me sleeping with someone I’d only known for three weeks.”

  “I can’t decide which is better. The chest or the cheekbones,” she said, still looking at the photo.

  “They’re both equally impressive,” I replied.

  “Have you guys been having phone sex this week?”

  “No,” I laughed. “We haven’t even had our ICQ chats. He just started his last semester of grad school, so he’s been pretty busy.”

  “So after this, he’s done with his MBA?”

  “Yep. He and Nick are scouting locations for their gym. They already have investors interested.”

  “Flying trapeze Nick?”

  I nodded.

  “You have to take me to that show when I come up.”

  “Of course. You will love it!”

  We continued the drive, listening to my new Christina Aguilera CD. I bought it Tuesday when I was getting the photos developed.

  “You’re gonna wear this song out fast,” Dana said, referring to “Genie in a Bottle.” I had it on repeat.

  “This song is liquid sex. And I kinda feel bad saying that because isn’t she like a Mouseketeer or something?”

  “She was. I doubt she is now.”

  “So was Britney Spears,” I said. “Must be something in the water at Disney.”

  I dropped Dana off at her house and went inside to say hello. Her mom and dad were like second parents to me. I had spent so many nights in this house. Every ti
me I walked inside, I was flooded with memories of sleepovers, Rick Springfield and Duran Duran posters, and John Hughes movie marathons. It was like stepping back into my childhood.

  After my brief visit, Dana walked me out to the car.

  “Don’t forget you’re my wingman tomorrow night,” I said. “I’ll pick you up around six and we’ll drive back to the city. Christine is going to meet us for dinner at Surin.” Christine was one of our other friends from grammar school.

  “I can’t believe you’re meeting Dalton.”

  “I can’t believe he agreed to meet me. He’s really pissed. But I have to tell him about this in person.”

  “I still say you don’t owe him anything, Sam.”

  “I know. But I need to clear the air between us before I move. I mean, I’ve been with him since I was old enough to drink. And I’m southern. I feel like I should send him a thank-you card or something.”

  “Thank you for fucking up my life for the last ten years? Yeah, I don’t think Hallmark makes that one.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hugged her. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  When I got to my mom’s house, she had just ordered pizza. We always had pizza when I came home. And then we would watch a movie and I would fall asleep on the couch.

  “So can’t you just move into Josh’s building so he can look after you? Surely there’s an apartment available there.” My mom firmly believed that a woman needed a man to take care of her. It was a Southern thing. And I was her baby. My two sisters were a lot older than me, and both of them had gotten married before leaving home. I had no intention of ever getting married and was the only one in the family that had ever lived alone. It drove my poor mom crazy. My dad, on the other hand, always knew I could take care of myself.

  “It’s not like that Mom. Apartments are really hard to find in Manhattan.”

  “Why can’t you just live with Josh?”

  “Um, because he only has a one-bedroom and that would be weird.”

  “I just don’t understand what’s so great about New York. But I do see how happy you are, and that’s all that matters. That and your safety.”