by Lisa Samson
“What are you talking about?”
“You called in sick twice last week, then you show up to work hungover.”
Hungover? What in the world? “No. I was not hungover.”
“It’s too much, already.”
“Manny, I was not hungover. I was sick!”
José rarely meddled in Manny’s business, but Nina had been one of their most dependable waitresses. If he couldn’t see something was happening with Nina, he wasn’t looking closely enough.
Manny spun around, eyes hard. “Seeing how the other half lives, José? Stay out of this!”
José didn’t want trouble. He just didn’t want this to escalate. If Manny was going to fire Nina, fine. But this berating while the staff looked on: too much. Just too much. Even for Manny.
Manny pushed past his brother, back into the restaurant.
Pieter scurried out the door, arms overflowing with Nina’s belongings: a pair of sneakers, a T-shirt, a makeup case, a paperback, and a stuffed bear. José liked Pieter even less than Nina liked Manny. The little suck-up.
Nina took the box. “Oh, thank you. Thanks, Pieter. That’s nice.” She turned and headed back down the sidewalk toward the subway station. Fired.
José pushed past Pieter and hurried behind her. At the end of the block, she tucked her belongings under her arm, not noticing as the small stuffed bear tumbled to the ground.
José hesitated. Should he? This wasn’t exactly step ten in the hermit’s handbook. The bear almost got stomped on by a woman in high-top sneakers. That settled it.
He hurried forward. He’d always liked Nina, occasionally standing with her out back on her smoke breaks when he needed a break as well. She didn’t speak about much more than the latest book she’d been reading or movie she’d rented, but he liked the sound of her voice and that she knew little about him other than the fact that he was the owner’s brother and was nicknamed “The Quiet One” by the rest of the staff. Nina wasn’t a gossip. He liked that about her too. She smiled a lot, but he knew a lonely soul. José saw people like him and Nina on the street all the time, pain stitching them all together with its scarlet thread, arm to arm, hip to hip.
He hesitated, scooped up the bear, and rushed forward. “Nina!”
“Nina!”
Nina thought she was being followed. She whirled around, people snaking past her as they hurried to get through the turnstile and down to the tracks.
Oh. Just José. Good.
José stopped, her bear in his hand. She didn’t realize she’d dropped him. If she’d gotten home and that bear was gone, well, that would have just been the final, screaming exclamation point to the worst day of her life since her father died.
And Pieter! She never thought he was filled to the brim with courage and integrity, but that was ridiculous. Yes, they’d kept what happened a secret from the rest of the staff, neither Nina nor Pieter wanting them to jump to the wrong conclusion. But couldn’t he have at least refused to get her things? Even for the principle of the thing? She didn’t get pregnant on her own.
José’s dark blue eyes softened as he held out the bear. “He’s unconscious, but I think he’ll survive.”
She’d never heard him string that many words together at once.
Oh, this little bear. John Bubbles. She’d named him after her favorite tap dancer when she received him on her twelfth birthday. They’d been through so much together. “Thank you.” She smiled and held up the bear, jiggling him a little. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
She started toward the turnstile.
“Hey, why were you late? You know my brother.”
Nina stopped. “Oh, trust me. I know your brother. He’s a jerk.”
A woman dressed for the office pulled up behind her. “Excuse me. Are you going in?”
Nina’s nerves were stretched so tightly, she wanted to scream, but she moved aside. “Go ahead. Sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“He didn’t have to humiliate me like that in front of everyone, José. I’ve been working for him for four years!”
She took advantage of a break in the fl ow, swiped her card, and pushed her way past the barrier. José was nice and she knew he meant well, but really, “rules are rules” didn’t make what Manny did any easier. At least he didn’t use the “this is no way to run a restaurant” line on her that Manny always did. She hated that. She looked up at José, the man of secret sorrows, kindness accompanying the pain in his eyes. How could two brothers be so different? “And you tell him that I wasn’t hungover. I was really sick!”
Starting for the train, she hesitated. José deserved better than that. And Manny should know what he really did back there. She turned back, grabbed the tubing of the bars that separated her from scruffy José. “I’m pregnant.”
His face froze.
She grated out a laugh. “Yeah. This is one of the first mornings I haven’t thrown up.”
José looked down. The Quiet One.
She waited, and when no words came—“Okay. I’ve had enough for today.” She held up Bubbles again. “Thank you. You’d better get back to your boss man.”
Why was she taking this out on him?
Just get home, Nina. Make a cup of tea, slip in a DVD of Fred Astaire, and try to make it through until Wednesday.
José knew he couldn’t let her go. Something inside him pricked his brain and he shouted, “Wait! Wait, Nina!”
She turned back.
“So what now?” he asked.
Her lips turned down. “Guess I have to figure that out, right?”
“You want to talk about it?”
She paused as if she were considering whether or not to pick up the earth and place it on her shoulders. She passed the Metro Pass to him through the bars. “They don’t need a waitress; why would they need a chef ?”
Good. Good, good, good. He had no idea where she was going, but he had all day to be gone from the restaurant. At least until the lunch rush was over. If he was going to anger Manny, he might as well go all out. The result would be the same either way.
José took the card, swiped it, and joined her.
The prep work was finished. All Manny had to do was find somebody to run the line. Simple.
Manny figured he just needed to cool off. He fell back into his leather desk chair and massaged his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his left hand. Staring at the jockey silks, he began to calculate how many years it would be before he could hire somebody else to run this place while he threw himself full time into racing. Not soon enough, apparently, judging by the headache knocking on his brain.
Pieter’s shadow fell across his desk, his face stretched with panic. “José left.”
“What do you mean ‘left’?” He jumped from his desk, tore up the stairs and back out onto the sidewalk. Nothing there but the construction crew marring the late morning with the jarring sounds of their equipment. Despite that, Fifth Avenue never seemed so deserted.
“Who’s going to run the line?” Pieter asked.
“José is gonna run the line.”
That was that. He’d come back. José had no life, no place to go, nothing really to do with himself. He’d closed himself in. He’d be back. Besides that, he had to be. Because when it came down to it, José knew how to run that line better than anyone at El Callejon. There was no getting around it.
“What’s the matter with you? You sick?” Manny asked.
Pieter shook his head. “No.”
“Because I need you, man. You can’t bug out on me like Nina. And what’s the matter with that girl anyway? You know?”
Pieter shook his head again and made for the door.
“Everybody’s flaking out on me today,” he mumbled, reaching for a roll of antacids in his jacket pocket.
Nine
Nina and José sat on the subway train, the sickening fluorescent lights turning everybody’s skin a shade yellower than was normal. Light yellow. Yellow ochre. Golden brown. The car was pa
cked, some unfortunate people hanging on to the overhead bars. Nina fixed her eyes on a particularly dark man with baby dreads and full-grown bling, a large gold cross hanging from a thick chain around his neck. His high cheekbones as well as his dark glasses reflected the lights. She suspected he might be asleep behind those glasses. Lucky guy. Because here she sat with José, who was trying to be supportive but couldn’t seem to say a word. Any conversation Nina ever had with José had been superficial. Friendly, yes, warm, somewhat, but never anything of internal importance to either of them. How could it be? She basically talked and asked him yes-or-no questions.
Why are you here? she wanted to ask him. She wanted to turn to him and say she didn’t know what was driving his sudden need to befriend her, but . . . but what would she say after that? I’m glad you’re here? I’m lonely and have nobody else, really? Gee, you know underneath that big beard you’re pretty cute? And hey, as long as we’re talking, why the beard in the first place?
She rolled her eyes, berating herself for being stuck in this situation. And there sat a pregnant woman three seats away rubbing her protruding belly. Just what she needed to see. A little girl, probably four years old with a dozen twisted ponytails and a gold hoop in each ear, stared at her, huge brown eyes stuck in her perfect brown skin like buttons on a pillow. She lifted her angel lips in half a smile.
Nina looked away.
None of that. Cute little people were what babies turned into. And babies, well, she didn’t want to think about babies right now.
Four teenagers pulled out some five-gallon buckets, a shaker, and some cans. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen!” said what appeared to be the youngest of the group, his hair in cornrows, his smile, too many gold teeth notwithstanding, that of a born showman. “We are the Drumatics, and we would like to entertain you. After our presentation, donations will gladly be accepted.”
The rhythm began, the hollow thunk of the buckets and the echoing metallic thrumming of the cans, the scratch of the shakers—back and forth, back and forth.
Oh man, Nina thought. It was one thing when performers did their thing in the stations. You could turn your back. You could walk away. You could turn up your MP3 player. But now they were stuck between here and there, at the mercy of all this noise.
The teen moved and clapped along with the percussionists, his open smile inviting people to join him in enjoying such amazing feats of rhythm—or something. A couple of tourists clapped. The rest, jaded New Yorkers like Nina, hunkered down into their magazines and newspapers. They didn’t ask for this.
Nina held Bubbles, squeezing the little bear more and more tightly as the drumming increased in intensity. She looked down at her hands, trying to think about something else, trying not to feel so awkward next to José, who quite honestly looked like he wasn’t actually sitting in the train, as if he’d hired some stand-in to sit there and let the everyday things of this world roll off his back.
“Give it! Give it!”
What now?
She twisted Bubbles’s arm.
Two seats down and across the aisle a woman sat with her grandson who stood with his feet planted firmly apart, screaming and yanking on the plastic sword she held at the hilt.
“Give it to me!”
Little brat.
“No, sweetie. It’s too dangerous on the subway. You could hurt someone.”
The Drumatics, in an attempt to drown out the boy, turned up the volume even further.
“Give it! Give it!”
Pull and yank and scream and yell.
“No!” the grandmother, not to be outdone, hollered back.
The hands of the drummers moved faster and faster, the thunks and pops slamming into Nina’s head.
She twisted Bubbles in her hands. Harder and harder.
This was turning out to be the longest subway ride she’d ever experienced. And while she knew the drummers were only trying to make a buck or two, she’d have appreciated a little quiet about now.
Oh, that’s right. The little boy was still yelling anyway, his shrill screams and jutting lip calling attention to just how wonderful child raising can be. Right?
Right?
The brakes squealed as the train pulled into the station.
What was she going to do with José? Invite him back to her apartment? What would they say to each other? She felt fresh out of good ideas.
Guess I’m a little preoccupied.
She knew he had a secret. But Manny stayed mum, and if any of the staff knew what had dragged José into the realm of the walking wounded, none were letting on. Not that they didn’t hypothesize: unrequited love, a crime on which he was waiting out the statute of limitations, some even thought he might be a burnout. Nina didn’t. He wasn’t that far gone. Tortured and gone were two different things.
Anytime a new waitress came, she ended up with a crush on José that lasted about a week until she realized there was no hope in starting up something with him. Even Nina had felt a pleasant little tumble of the stomach when Manny first brought him in, but, well, there was too much baggage there, obviously, and she definitely did not need more of that, no matter how nice-looking the luggage was.
The little girl, eyes wide, pointed to the bear and said, “Look.”
Bubbles’s arm was torn almost complete off his body.
Nina glanced up at the girl, forced the tears back behind her eyes, and shoved the little bear into her backpack. “I’m sorry,” she whispered and stood to her feet.
José followed her off the train.
Manny had taken off his jacket half an hour before. Sweat ran down his face. He rolled up his sleeves and wiped the perspiration away with his forearm. This was not good. Not good at all.
This was not a good day.
He spooned some sauce over the fish entrée he was plating. “It’s all about the presentation,” he said to Pepito. “We don’t need him. We don’t need him.” If he said it with enough confidence, maybe they’d believe him. Maybe he’d believe himself.
José, José, José!
Pieter, as rushed as everybody else, hurried into the kitchen, picked up a knife, and began chopping green chiles. “Maybe your mother and father will know where to find him.”
Manny glanced sideways at his dining room manager. Truth was, Pieter, who’d never liked José, was always trying to undermine José’s popularity with the kitchen staff and never made a dent. He had a cousin in Buffalo dying to move to New York, and Pieter wanted Manny to hire him as the chef. So Pieter always cast José in a bad light to Manny, but Manny saw through it. He kept Pieter on because Pieter knew where to find the freshest ingredients and had enough connections to negotiate the best prices delivered in the shortest amount of time. Not only that— Pieter was easy to boss around. Let him try his maneuverings; Manny would keep José on because José was his family and somehow they’d make things work.
He handed Marco the spoon. “Take over. I’ve got to make a call.”
Marco stepped on the line. “You got it.”
So Manny called and complained to his mother, getting her upset, trying not to make it seem like he was making her feel guilty for asking him to hire José in the first place, which was exactly what he was doing. And there she sat in her cozy house near the beach worrying.
Truth was, he would have called her eventually, but now he had Pieter to blame. Well, good. He paid Pieter well enough for that.
The line was quickly falling apart, food arrangements falling over as they sat on the window, runny sauces bleeding over from entrée into side dish. The beans had scorched in one of the first pots Manny had ever bought for the restaurant.
Yes, he had a sentimental side.
He could see José’s raised brow. Sentimental? Or cheap?
He wanted to prove to the staff and to José that he could run this line just as well as anybody. But finally, enough was enough.
He picked up the glaring red phone on the wall, the one with buttons the size of tea bags, and punched in hi
s brother’s mobile number. Ringing began on the other end. Manny held up a hand as the ringing began. “Shh!”
He cocked his head to the left, listening. The ringing . . . was in the room?
There sat José’s mobile phone near his usual post.
Manny picked it up, saw his own number fl ashing in the display, then slammed it down on the counter.
Ten
Nina pulled out a ten and handed it to a clearly relieved Carla. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem.” Carla eyed José with suspicion. Nina wanted to laugh. If this baby was José’s, she wouldn’t be in the same pickle. José would take care of his responsibilities by doing something more than suggesting “halvsies,” that was for sure.
Pregnancy kit paid for. Good.
She turned to José. “Want to go to the park?” That was a lot better than her apartment.
“Okay.”
They stepped out into the sunlight, walked in yet more silence to the park bench. They sat down as a group of Haitian nannies, their charges in strollers, crossed the sidewalk in front of them. This mystified Nina. “I thought the point of having children was to raise them. You know the parents make enough money to support three families. They should stroll their own babies.”
It was bad enough her father was not around because he had died. Imagine, she thought, never having your parents around and they weren’t dead? Yeah, that would make a kid feel really special. All the nice clothes, good schools, and positive messages on PBS kids’ shows couldn’t counteract all that. Well, her kid, when she had one someday, wouldn’t have to worry about never seeing her. She wouldn’t be that kind of mom.
You’re already a mom.
Oh, shut up, she thought.
José stood up and slipped a hand in the front pocket of his jeans. He dug out . . . nothing. He began patting all of his pockets. “I have to call my brother.”
“You don’t have your cell phone?”
“I must have left it in the kitchen.”
