“She’s adorable!” Jack’s friend said.
“Not the one I’m thinking of,” Jack answered and I deflated.
I really wanted it to be Zooey Deschanel.
“She played Sara Palin on SNL,” Jack’s wife said to her husband.
“Tina Fey!” I said suddenly.
“That’s the one!” Jack said, smiling, making his mustache dance across his face. “You must be really funny.”
I smiled. “Inappropriately so.”
“Anything to drink?” I asked the table of four obviously wealthy, mid-thirties businesswomen.
“Do I want the sangria?” one woman asked.
“If you want a hangover in your teeth,” I said.
“Uhm, no. Vodka soda then, please.”
“House red.”
“House white.”
I glanced at the last woman. “For you, ma’am?”
“I’m pregnant.”
She looked like she was waiting for me to say something. I didn’t know what to offer her, except for a belated, “Congratulations?”
She beamed.
“So, no drink?” I went on.
“How about a mocktail?” her friend suggested.
“What’s a mocktail?” I asked before my brain could silence my mouth.
They looked at me like I was an idiot. The pregnant woman enlightened me. “A mix of fruit juices and club soda. Makes it a spritzer.”
“Oh. Okay. So, you…want a…mocktail.”
“Yeah. What fruit juices do you have?”
“Cranberry, pineapple, orange, grapefruit, pomegranate,” I listed.
“Oh! How about a combination of all of those, and a splash of club soda on top.”
“That sounds so good!” one of her other friends chimed.
I wanted to kill myself, but I forced a smile. “Sure thing.” I went to the bar and asked Tracksuit for all the juices.
“What do you mean? Like, a glass of each?” he demanded.
“No, like, all of them at once. In one glass…”
“Fuck my life,” he muttered. “See the couple at the end of the bar? They’re fighting.”
“Anything good?” I asked.
He nodded again, more vigorously this time, his perfectly gelled hair not moving.
I took my sweet time getting my drinks together, shamelessly listening to the disgruntled couple. They were in their late thirties, overly tan, wasted, and had thick Jersey accents.
Hello, Bridge and Tunnel.
The woman was annoyed with the man, and doing nothing to keep that fact hidden. “What did you say to your friends?” she demanded at full volume.
He shrugged, looking like a sullen teenager. “We were at brunch. The guys asked if your pussy was tight and I said no.”
“You whaaat?!” she shrieked, grabbing her purse and coat from beneath the bar. I thought she was going to leave, but before she left, she stopped for just long enough to punch the guy square in the nose and stomp out.
The guy nearly fell off his stool, and as he attempted to go after her, I heard her say, “Fuck, I broke a nail.”
Tracksuit and I stared at each other in total shock and dismay.
“I love my job,” Tracksuit stated.
I took the drinks to the table of ladies and they all looked at me expectantly. “What happened at the bar?” the pregnant woman asked me.
I shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I just work here.”
Chapter 16
Tiramisu [tir-ah-me-soo]:
1. Italian for ‘a pick me up’. A layered dessert consisting of ladyfingers dipped in Marsala and espresso, then slathered with mascarpone. Sprinkled lightly with cocoa as a garnish.
2. It tastes wet. I don’t… What? Veto.
Almost. Through. The night.
Almost, I thought, tapping my pen on my server book while I waited for the two guys to order.
“What’s that noise?” the young man asked.
“What noise?” I said, gently turning my body away from him. I fiddled with the outline of my phone through my apron, but I couldn’t find a way to silence it.
“It sounds like…the Speed Racer theme song?”
His friend laughed. “Yeah, I hear it too.”
“It’s your ring tone, isn’t it?” the young man asked.
“Maybe?”
They laughed.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “I forgot to turn it off. I’m on call this weekend. Hospital,” I joked. Thankfully they laughed and were already on their second round of cocktails. I breathed a sigh of relief when my phone stopped ringing and the laughter kept coming. I discreetly left the table, heading towards the coffee station.
“Please tell me that wasn’t your phone ringing,” Aidan said as he pulled an espresso shot.
“Okay, that wasn’t my phone ringing.”
“You’re not supposed to have your phone on the floor.”
“Everyone else has their phone on them,” I pointed out.
“No one else forgets to turn their phone on silent.” He held out his hand and I sighed, reached into my apron pocket and gave it to him. “If you’re nice to me, you’ll get it back by the end of the shift.”
“Hold on,” I said, taking back the phone so quickly, he almost dropped his espresso. I shut my cell off. “There. Now you won’t see if I get any really embarrassing texts from Annie.”
“What’s going on?” Natalie asked.
“Gah!” I jumped. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” She frowned.
“Move like an Asian ninja.”
“As opposed to a Jewish ninja?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Why are you taking Sibby’s cell phone?” Nat asked Aidan.
“Because it rings at tables,” Aidan stated, grabbing my phone back from me and sticking it in his pants pocket.
“Which ring tone was it this time?” Natalie asked, not looking at all impressed. I shot her a look. “Flintstones? Jetsons?”
“It’s happened more than once?” Aidan slowly turned his eyes to me.
“No,” I said, dismissing him with my hand. “Okay—maybe—yes. Thanks, Nat.”
“Any time!” she chirped.
“It was the Speed Racer theme song,” I muttered.
“What are you, eight?” Aidan asked.
“My table thought it was funny.”
“Table sixty-two?” Natalie asked. “They’re hammered. They think the bread basket is funny when you wear it as a hat.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
She pointed. “Because one of them is wearing it as a hat.”
“Be glad we have bigger problems at the moment,” Aidan said, moving towards the table that was starting to draw attention.
“Watch my station a minute?” Natalie asked.
“Sure. Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom. I have to answer a text.”
“I’ll have an Irish Coffee,” the barely twenty-one year old dude said.
“Sure. Would you like whipped cream?”
He frowned. “Irish Coffee doesn’t usually have whipped cream.”
“We serve our Irish Coffees with whipped cream, but you don’t have to get it. Or I can put it on the side.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just take the Bailey’s and coffee.”
“Wait, so you want Bailey’s and coffee?” I asked in clarification.
“Yeah, an Irish Coffee, the normal way, like I said.”
“Sir, Irish Coffee is Irish whiskey, coffee, and in most restaurants it comes with whipped cream.”
“Then what’s Bailey’s and coffee?” he demanded.
“Bailey’s and coffee.”
He paused to think. “I guess I’ll have Bailey’s and coffee, then.”
“Great. So, would you like whipped cream?”
“Are you going to give me my phone back?” I asked Aidan at the end of my shift.
“If you ask me nicely.”
“Please, m
ay I have my phone back?” I asked, fluttering my eyelashes.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Flirt. You don’t want me to flirt with you, so you’re not allowed to flirt with me.”
I frowned. “You’re not making any sense. And not making sense is usually my job. So stop it. It’s freakin’ me out.”
Aidan dug into his pocket and handed me back my phone. “You wanna stay at my place tonight?” he asked.
“Shhh,” I said, looking around to make sure no one could hear our conversation.
“Sibby,” he growled. “I hate this.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” I promised quickly.
“How?”
“You like fudge.”
“I’m sick of fudge.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Not with the way I’m thinking of eating it.” I had the pleasure of watching Aidan blush—ever so slightly. I made a grown man blush. I leaned in to whisper, “My place. One hour.”
I woke up congested and a little spacey. There had been a brief snap of decent weather in the city, and whenever that happened, my body didn’t know what the hell was going on.
“You should call out of work,” Aidan said.
“I can’t.” I drank the shot of daytime cold medicine, feeling like my head was about to explode.
“Yes, you can. You call out, then I spend the entire day taking care of you.”
I shook my head. “No. You go home. Escape the plague before I take you down with me.”
“Sibby, it’s okay to be sick and call out.”
“I don’t feel that bad,” I said. “Honestly.”
“Whatever you say. Want me to make you a cup of tea?”
“Okay.”
Two hours later, we trekked to the train so I could go to work and Aidan could go home. I walked into Antonio’s, rifling through my bag for cold medicine gel caps. Maybe I should’ve taken Aidan’s advice and called out, but I didn’t want to be a wimp.
“Ah, jack pot,” I said, finding the meds at the bottom of my purse.
“You feel okay?” Zeb asked.
I swallowed a few capsules and then answered. “I have a little cold.”
He frowned. “Are you sure? It doesn’t sound ‘little’.”
“Well it’s not like it’s Swine Flu. Can Jews even get Swine Flu?”
“I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. You’re so congested you sound like a cartoon character.”
I perked up. “Thanks!”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Well, I choose to take it that way. I took some medicine. I should be fine.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was back upstairs, on the floor and ready for action. Zeb peered at me and then nudged me towards the new table. “Okay, team player, batter up. Let’s see how you interact with real people.”
I headed towards the only table in the restaurant. “How old is the Baby Amarone?” the middle-aged-man asked.
“It’s a teenager,” I said without pausing.
He smiled. “I’m good with that.”
Maybe I could do this today after all.
As I punched in their order, Jess came onto the floor looking a bit frazzled. “You ever think she’s just going to explode one day? I mean, where does she put all that espresso?” Zeb asked.
Jess overheard Zeb talking about her and smiled tightly. “Not now, Zeb. We’ve got a VIP, PITA on the way.”
“PITA? You’re expecting a falafel for dinner?” I asked.
“Pain in the ass,” Zeb explained.
“Oh. Clever.”
“What’s wrong with you? You been drinking the Kool-Aid?” Jess demanded, looking at me.
“No, just cold medicine.”
“Greeaaat,” Jess said sarcastically. She glanced at Zeb. “You have to take the table.”
“Who is it?” Zeb said.
“You’ll recognize him, trust me.”
“Someone famous, right?” Zeb said.
“Yep,” Jess answered. “He comes in all the time.”
“Oh, I know who you’re talking about. I’ve waited on him before. To be fair, it’s not usually him that’s the issue—it’s the date he brings,” Zeb said.
An hour later, I was at the service station when the famous actor came into the restaurant, his hand at the waist of some tall, waif model.
After Zeb brought Famous Actor a bottle of sparkling water, he said to me, “I have to use the restroom. I’ll be two seconds.”
“What if he wants to order?” I whispered.
“He won’t be ready,” he said. “He takes a while.” With that last note, he slipped off to the bathroom and I dropped dessert menus at one of my tables.
“Is that who I think it is?” the young woman asked me as she pointed towards Famous Actor.
“Who?” I asked, pretending to look around. “Oh. No, it’s not. Does look like him though.”
“You sure?” she pressed. “The resemblance is uncanny.”
“I’m sure.”
“Where are your mixed berries from?” the guy she was with asked.
“They’re harvested by dwarves in fairyland by the light of the silver sickle moon,” I said as though I was completely serious. The guy just looked at me.
“Um, California,” I said when he didn’t laugh at my terrible joke.
I let the couple sit with their dessert menus another minute and was about to go talk to Tracksuit, but Famous Actor caught my eye and he smiled.
And like a stupid lap dog, I went to him.
“Did you need something?” I asked.
“We’re ready to order,” he said. “If you’re ready.”
“If you’re ready, I’m ready,” I said, pulling out my dupe pad and pen. Unfortunately the pen I reached for fell out of my hand, skittering across the floor. I sighed, but didn’t reach down to pick it up. I pulled out another pen and waited, turning my attention to The Waif.
“I’m a vegetarian,” she said.
“Okay...”
“And I have a lot of dietary restrictions.”
“Ooooo-kay,” I drawled.
A model with dietary restrictions.
Shocker.
After she listed all the things she couldn’t have, I told her the two items on our menu she could have. That’s right, two. Not five or seven. Two.
She gave a sultry pout and handed me her menu.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No, just more limes for the sparkling water.”
“All right. And for you, sir?” I asked. God, he was really attractive. No longer just the ‘pretty boy’ in chick flicks, but a man who’d come into his own as a talented actor. I’d tell him that too, if I could just find my tongue.
“Surprise me,” he said with a smile.
“Huh?”
“Surprise me,” he said again. “Your favorites. Appetizer, entree, glass of wine.”
“No restrictions?”
“No restrictions,” he said.
I took his menu and thought for a brief moment about professing my undying love to him, but closed my mouth and nodded instead. Zeb waited for me at the computer by the kitchen. I nudged him out of the way so I could punch in their order.
“I took their order.”
“Yeah, I saw that, but why? I was just in the restroom. I would’ve been back eventually.”
“Zeb, it’s a pooled house, and you guys just got done telling me his date is a pain in the ass. I thought I was doing you a favor. Anyway, since I have their order maybe we don’t switch servers on them now that it’s done, yeah?”
Zeb nodded. “Good luck.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go clarify to the kitchen what she ordered, and listen to Julian complain about how she is ruining his culinary genius by making up her own entree.”
As their appetizers hit the table, I rushed to the bar for Famous Actor’s glass of wine.
“How is everything?” I asked as I approached their tab
le with the wine.
The Waif said nothing as she stirred her kale around her plate with her fork.
“What am I eating?” Famous Actor asked.
“Artichokes alla Romana.”
“Fuckin’ good artichokes,” he said.
“Glad you like—ahhhh!” My foot slid on the errant pen that I had failed to pick up earlier during their ordering process. I went sliding, trying to right myself, but it was no use.
The tray went up, I went down, and a freshly poured full glass of wine went all over Famous Actor.
“That could’ve happened to anyone,” Zeb said, trying to hide his laughter.
“Yeah, but it didn’t,” I muttered, taking a sip of my hot toddy. It was more toddy than hot and the cold medicine had long since run its course. I was having a quick drink and then had to go home and sleep off the headache.
“He found it funny. He’s got a good sense of humor.”
“His model girlfriend is another story,” I pointed out.
“Not girlfriend, date.”
“How do you know who he’s dating?”
“US Weekly, duh.”
“What’s wrong with Sibby?” Johnny asked. Johnny, as in owner of Johnny’s. He worked the bar a few nights a week, and when I’d started at Antonio’s Zeb had introduced me to the entire staff at Johnny’s, including the owner.
“She dropped a glass of wine on someone really famous. Like, really, really famous.”
“No shit?”
I moaned.
“Guy was cool about it,” Zeb went on. “So I don’t know what her deal is.”
“I should’ve called out sick,” I said. “Drugs are the devil.”
“You aren’t really going to try and blame your clumsiness on cold medicine, are you? Drink more—it will help all your problems go away.” Johnny pushed my toddy closer to me.
While I nursed my drink, I pulled out my phone, knowing what I was doing was dangerous, but I didn’t care. I’d spilled wine all over Famous Actor. I needed a pick-me-up.
I texted Aidan to see if he could meet me. He replied almost instantly and said he was already in the area with Caleb.
“You ready to go?” I asked Zeb.
“Sure.”
Tales of a New York Waitress (The Sibby Chronicles Book 1) Page 14
