The Waiter

by Bradleigh Collins

  “Yeah, it’s a low score game,” Lucy said. “But hockey players are the hottest.”

  “Yes, they are,” I said, looking over at The Waiter.

  “How come he never went pro?” Lucy asked.

  “Well, he says he was good. But not that good. I’m kinda glad. He probably wouldn’t have that perfect face if he’d gone pro.”

  “Or all his teeth,” Katie said. I think it was the first time I’d laughed all day. And I was feeling a bit more hopeful about being bi-coastal.

  After the first period ended, the guys came back to the lounge area and joined us. Actually, I think they just came back to refill their booze.

  “Your man knows everything there is to know about hockey,” Kyle said.

  “He should,” I replied. “You guys should see the tapes of him playing in college.”

  “When did you watch those?” The Waiter asked.

  “Oh, I watch them sometimes when you’re not home.”

  “What she’s trying to say is that she reserves them for the spank tank,” Lucy said matter-of-factly.

  “I’m not even gonna deny that,” I said.

  “Girls have spank tanks?” Josh asked.

  “Big ones,” Lucy replied. Katie and I nodded in agreement.

  The Waiter laughed. “We have to get you a Rangers jersey before we leave.”

  “Why can’t I just have that one?” I asked, referring to the one he was wearing. The one with the name “Messier” emblazoned on the back.

  “Because this, my love, is as valuable to me as that Chanel bag is to you. I got it six years ago when we won the Stanley Cup.” He grabbed a beer and sat down next to me.

  “I’m going to get some more food,” Lucy said. “You want anything?”

  I shook my head.

  Katie got up and followed her. “I’ll go with you. I need more cheese.”

  “How was your day, Red?” The Waiter asked. “You left really early this morning.”

  “Yeah. I had a lot of work to do. How was yours? Did you find out when they want you in L.A.?”

  “I did actually,” he replied.

  “Well?”

  “You’re not gonna be happy.”

  “Just tell me,” I said. “I’m already miserable.”

  “Monday,” he replied. I just looked at him.

  “You’re moving to L.A. Monday? Like in five days, Monday?”

  “No! Not moving yet. Just going out for a couple of weeks to see the space. They already have corporate apartments for us and everything.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Baby, why don’t you fly out next weekend and just check it out?”

  “I can’t take any time off right now.”

  “So fly out on Friday after work and come back on Sunday. Just a couple of days.”

  “That’s a long ass flight for a couple of days.”

  “You can write on the plane. And it’s really warm and sunny out there. Please?”

  He was practically begging. I could see that the whole situation was just as hard for him as it was for me. And as much as I hated the idea of him moving to California - for any period of time - I wanted him to succeed. And I certainly could use some warm weather.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go.”

  “I love you, Red.”

  “I love you,” I replied. “But I fucking hate L.A.”

  I’d been to Los Angeles once, with Dalton. A friend of his was getting married in Vegas, and Dalton was a groomsman. The wedding was beautiful. The trip was ugly. I didn’t know anyone at the reception besides Dalton, and aside from the bride and groom, Dalton neglected to introduce me to anyone. I’d worn this beautiful scarlet red chiffon dress with a matching long, flowing scarf, but I may as well have worn a scarlet letter. I spent most of the evening sitting at a table by myself watching Dalton work the room, catching up with his friends while leaving me to fend for myself. At one point, the quite handsome brother-of-the-bride sat down next to me and began chatting me up. Like magic, Dalton suddenly appeared and wanted to dance with me. It was the last dance of the evening. The wedding photographer snapped a photo of us. I looked happy. Dalton looked annoyed.

  The next day, we drove out to Los Angeles. After doing the usual tourist attractions, I pretended to take a nap in our hotel room while I listened to Dalton on the phone, talking negatively about our relationship to one of his ex-girlfriends. An ex-girlfriend who just happened to live in Los Angeles. An ex-girlfriend that we ended up meeting for dinner that night. She had huge tits. I’ve hated L.A. ever since.

  “Come watch the game with me baby,” The Waiter said, taking me by the hand. “I’ll teach you all about hockey.” The fifteen-minute intermission was up and the Rangers were back on the ice.

  “Okay,” I smiled. “And then we can watch one of your games when we get home. And you can teach me more.”

  “If that means what I think it means, then I’m down.”

  “Oh, you’ll be down alright,” I replied.

  He laughed. There was that sexy, knowing smile that I loved. That same smile I’d seen in the back of the cab the night we’d left De La Guarda and were headed uptown to my hotel. That was the first night we slept together. And now we sleep together every night. We don’t have sex every single night, of course. But I was getting laid on a regular basis. That was about to end. And it wasn’t even the sex that I was going to miss the most. I mean, the sex was incredible. But falling asleep in his arms, waking up with him spooning me, hell, even brushing our teeth together in the morning...those were the moments I was already missing. And he wasn’t even gone.

  I sat down on one of the chairs at the suite’s high-top table overlooking the rink. The Waiter stood behind me with his arms around my shoulders, leaning in close and explaining everything that was happening on the ice. There were fights and power plays and something called icing that had nothing to do with a cake. It was exciting and exhilarating, and for an hour or so, I forgot about California. Tonight was all New York.

  When we left The Garden, the Rangers had won. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had lost.

  CHAPTER 34

  ◆◆◆

  My Friday night flight landed at LAX at ten, which was one in the morning for me. I was exhausted, but I quickly got my second wind when I exited the jetway and saw The Waiter standing there.

  “You have a tan!” I said hugging him.

  “It’s L.A., Red. What did you expect?” He kissed me. “God, I’ve missed these lips.”

  “I missed you too. Where’s Nick?”

  “He’s out with some of his L.A. friends tonight. You’ll see him tomorrow.” He took my carry-on from me and we headed out of the terminal, hand-in-hand. “How was the flight?”

  “Long.”

  “Were you able to get any work done?”

  “A ton, actually.”

  I spent the entire five-hour flight writing and editing a series of articles that would post on the e-Styled website in March. I was way ahead of schedule as far my editorial calendar was concerned, and that felt great. After The Waiter left for California on Sunday, I focused completely on work, staying late at the office every night except Wednesday, when Lucy and Katie insisted I meet them for dinner at Tortilla Flats. I’m pretty sure they were just performing a wellness check to make sure I wasn’t suicidal.

  “How’s California treating you?” I asked The Waiter.

  “Good. Wait ‘til you see my view.”

  He’d called me on Sunday and told me about the corporate apartments they had set up for him and Nick in Santa Monica. Apparently, his new place was three times the size of our apartment and had a large balcony with a view of the Pacific Ocean. Our apartment in Manhattan had a fire escape with a view of the elevated subway.

  “In addition to the view, I also have a bottle of wine with your name on it,” he said.

  “This is the best airport pickup ever!” When we stepped outside of the terminal, I stepped out of m
y coat. “I guess I won’t be needing this for the rest of the weekend.”

  “No you won’t,” The Waiter replied as he escorted me to his rental car. “It’s gonna be in the sixties. I hope you brought some non-New York clothes.”

  All I had were New York clothes. I did manage to pack some sleeveless dresses and sandals, but they were still very New York. It was twenty-three degrees when I left the office for the airport today, so I arrived in L.A. in black leather pants, a black cashmere turtleneck, and a black wool coat. Oh, and black boots. I looked like Johnny Cash.

  “Welcome to Los Angeles,” the sign said as we drove out of the airport. Fuck Los Angeles. She was trying to steal my man, with her warm sunny weather and big apartments with balconies and ocean views. Though I have to admit, when we arrived at his apartment and I stood on that balcony, glass of wine in-hand, I was impressed. The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore. The moonlight shining down on the ocean. The warm breeze that felt amazing now that I’d changed into one of my little black dresses. The Waiter had his arms around my waist and his lips on my neck as I stared out at the ocean. I could definitely picture a life here with him. A much more laid-back, less stressful life than what I had in New York.

  “It really is beautiful here,” I said.

  “You’re beautiful here. You’re beautiful everywhere.”

  God, I loved this man.

  “Come on.” I took him by the hand and led him back inside towards the bedroom. “We’ve got a week to make up for.”

  Sex with The Waiter was always intense, but tonight was even more so. I was trying to hold on to every single touch, every single kiss, every single second. Even though I had one more night with him before I flew back to New York, I knew that it might be awhile before I saw him again. Like a Buddhist monk, I was living in the moment. Of course, I realize that Buddhist monks aren’t having sex and trying to mentally record every detail. But I was.

  The next morning, I woke up cradled in The Waiter’s arms. I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was only six-thirty. But I was still on New York time. I snuck out of bed and into the bathroom. I grabbed The Waiter’s robe from the back of the door and put it on. Then I went into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. It was still dark outside. We had plans to meet Nick for lunch and then take a tour of the new gym. I was both looking forward to and dreading it at the same time. I had to pretend to be happy for them even though this whole deal was tearing me apart.

  I made myself a cup of coffee and went outside on the balcony. I stared out at the ocean as the sun began to rise, weighing my options. Actually, my options were weighing on me. It was a no-win situation. Heads. I give up my job and my friends in New York and move to California. I lose. Tails. I stay in New York and The Waiter and I attempt the long-distance relationship thing. I still lose. Over time, and over this much distance, our relationship would eventually fade away. I didn’t want that either. And I definitely didn’t want The Waiter to give up his dream for me. The only logical choice would be for us to break up and go our separate ways. All that logic went out the window when The Waiter walked out wearing nothing but his underwear.

  “Damn, you look good in a tan,” I said, looking him up and down.

  “And you look good in my robe.” He hugged me. Then we stood there looking out at the ocean. “Tell me you couldn’t get used to these sunrises.”

  “Of course I could.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I can make you breakfast.”

  “Not really. You?”

  “I want you for breakfast,” he said.

  “Well, I can’t say no to that tan. Or those abs. You’ll probably end up on a Calvin Klein billboard in Hollywood soon.”

  We spent the entire morning in bed. Afterwards, we got dressed and drove up the Pacific Coast Highway to meet Nick at Gladstone’s in Malibu. The drive alone was enough to make me reconsider moving out here. It was just as beautiful as it was in the movies. Even more so. Sitting on the deck at Gladstone’s overlooking the beach had me wondering if Jackie would ever think about opening an office here. California was reeling me in.

  “There she is!” Nick yelled as he approached our table. I stood up and hugged him. He picked me up and swung me around. “How are you gorgeous?”

  “I’m good, Nick. How are you?”

  “Great,” he replied. “How you like this weather?”

  “It’s incredible. I think it’s like thirty-two degrees in New York today.”

  “So you could get used to this?”

  “I could totally get used to this.”

  “Good. Because this guy’s missed you like crazy,” he said, referring to The Waiter. I looked over and smiled at him. There he and Nick sat, wearing their Aviator sunglasses and looking very Hollywood.

  “I’m gonna have to start calling you guys Ponch and John,” I said laughing. They looked like characters from the 1980s hit television show C.H.I.P.S.

  “I get to be Ponch,” Nick said.

  The three of us sat out on the deck, eating and drinking for two hours. I listened to them discuss their plans for the gym and what they had to do over the next several weeks. I couldn’t help but be excited for them. And after a second appletini, I started to wonder what my life would like if I did move out here. Now I was more confused than ever. Or maybe I was just drunk. At three o’clock in the afternoon.

  “I’ll be right back, babe,” The Waiter said, leaning down to kiss me and then disappearing towards the bathroom.

  “He’s crazy about you,” Nick said.

  “I’m pretty crazy about him too.”

  “You know he’s not going to do this deal if you don’t move out here.”

  “What?” His statement hit me like a line drive to the face. Whatever buzz I had from my martini times two suddenly vanished.

  “He said he’s not doing it without you. That if you didn’t move out here, he wasn’t moving either. He said I’d have to find another partner.”

  “Oh god, Nick.”

  “He loves you, Sam. He loves you more than he loves this business.”

  “Nick, I promise you, you will not have to find another partner. Don’t even worry about it.”

  “So you’re gonna move?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I swear to you I won’t let him give this up. Under any circumstances.”

  “Don’t tell him I told you.”

  “Of course not. And Nick, I appreciate you telling me.”

  We left Gladstone’s and drove back to Santa Monica to tour the space, which was just off Wilshire Boulevard. The building was enormous. It had two stories with a loft-like atmosphere, a gorgeous view of the ocean, and rooftop access. We walked through the space, as Nick and The Waiter pointed out where everything would go. There was a retractable part of the ceiling that would allow climbers on the rock wall to access the roof but could be closed when it rained, which apparently it never did in California. There was enough room to have four full-sized boxing rings - two on the main floor and two upstairs. And the aerialist training area was right by the front windows so that anyone walking or driving by would be able to see people inside dangling from the ceiling.

  “This place is perfect,” I said to them as we stood on top of the roof. “It’s absolutely perfect.” After my conversation with Nick, I wanted to make sure that everything I said and everything I did from now on would encourage The Waiter to stay. Plus, just being here and watching him talk about it, seeing how excited he was about the whole thing, further cemented my decision that he had to do this.

  Later that night, The Waiter and I went down to the Santa Monica pier and rode the Ferris wheel. I didn’t stop smiling all night. And it was genuine. I decided to let go of all the “what ifs” and just try to enjoy whatever moments we had together, for however long we would have them.

  When the Ferris wheel began stopping to let people off, we were perched at the very top. You could see for miles. The twinkling lights of Los Angeles in the distance seeme
d to be winking at me, as if they knew something I didn’t. I leaned over and kissed The Waiter passionately, like it was our last kiss on earth.

  At that moment, I still didn’t know if I wanted to move to L.A. But I knew he had to.

  CHAPTER 35

  ◆◆◆

  “Did you spend the entire weekend having sex? Because you don’t have even the slightest hint of a tan.”

  It was the first thing Lucy said when I sat down at the table. I promised to meet her and Katie at Gramercy Tavern on Monday for dinner and a debriefing.

  “You guys know I can’t tan,” I replied, taking off my coat. “But yes, I did have all of the sex this weekend.”

  “So, how was it?”

  “The sex?”

  “No, silly. California.”

  “Warm. And sunny. And perfect.”

  “Oh god,” Katie said. “You’re leaving us, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not. When I said perfect, I meant perfect for their business. After I saw the space, I totally got why they’re opening there. Right location. Right market.”

  “But not right for you,” Lucy said.

  “Totally not right for me.”

  “So, what does this mean?” Katie asked.

  “It means I’m going to have to get used to being bi-coastal.”

  “See?” Lucy said. “I told you that’s what you should do. It’s the best decision for both of you.”

  “I agree. But now I just have to convince him of that. He told Nick that he would give up the deal if I didn’t move out there with him.”

  “Seriously?” Lucy asked. I nodded.

  “I’m not gonna let him give this up. He’d end up resenting me. And I’m not gonna give up my job and my life here either. I’d end up resenting him. It’s the only logical solution.”

  “Have you told him this?”

  “Not yet. He’ll be home on the twelfth for two weeks. I’ll tell him then.”

  “Aw, he’ll be here for Valentine’s Day,” Katie said.

  “Yeah. And then two weeks later, he’ll be moving to California. Without me.”