by Hazel Parker
I’m not a cautious person by nature. But you wouldn’t know otherwise.
“If he’s being an ass, say so. We aren’t obligated to serve Hitler if he walks in, and we’re not obligated to serve creeps like this if they walk in.”
“OK, he’s not quite Hitler. But I understand.”
I also wanted to push away because, frankly, after last night, I was beginning to wonder if being around guys like Tucker was worth the opportunity for the higher-paying jobs. No longer would I have to slum it here, making roughly twenty an hour after tips and having to dive into my pool of savings just to make ends meet. I could go back to making what I made and be able to save money.
I liked Lacy and the rest of the staff, but they just weren’t the type of people I was used to hanging out with.
God, this is what alcohol once made you sound like, huh? Someone above it all. Maybe you did need to get your ass kicked.
I ignored the voice in my head and brought the glass of water out. As soon as I did and leaned forward, Tucker made an overt gesture of trying to stare down my shirt. I bit my lip as I rose, maintaining my smile.
“Do you know what you want to eat?”
“Oh, I do,” he said with a suggestive grin. It wasn’t even subtle.
“Do you know what you want to eat off the menu?”
“Oh, that, yeah, the egg sandwich is fine.”
“Which—”
“You be the boss; surprise me, just make sure there’s meat in there,” he said. “You know, like—”
“I got it, Tucker, thanks.”
I started to walk away before he grabbed at my hip—it seemed like he was trying to grab my ass—and stopped me.
“I know you’ve been avoiding me, and I get it. Fine. But really? You want your life to be working here? You want your ‘well-known place’ to be a restaurant? Come on, Christine. I had to do some digging to find you here, but now that I have, I know you can’t be happy here.”
I looked back at the kitchen, then looked over his shoulder out at Williamsburg and Brooklyn. The world out there was the one I was used to being in.
But did I have to get it through Tucker? Did I have to do it in the world of booze and alcohol?
“I’m going to write my phone number on the receipt instead of a dollar amount. It’s much more valuable than twenty percent of even your most expensive item,” Tucker said. “You’ll know what to do.”
I already have your phone number, you idiot. Why—
Then he did pat my ass, and I slapped his hand away, drawing some looks. Tucker chortled, and I walked away before he said anything else or tried to embarrass me in front of the rest of the restaurant. Lacy gave me a look as I entered the kitchen.
I ignored her.
I didn’t say a word to Tucker the rest of the meal. I was supposed to check in on him at some point and make sure the food was good, but if I wasn’t getting a cash tip, then what was the point? A phone number didn’t suddenly change in value just because I had gone over to make sure his food was good.
Tucker, for better or worse, was a man of his word. After he left—giving me a wink and a smirk on the way out—I collected his receipt and saw his number on it. It was different than the one I had, so at least it was a different phone, but it was still just such bizarre behavior from him.
Did he even have a job at my old firm if he had shown up at ten on a Monday to Egg?
But the worst part of this? The absolute worst part of all of this?
I was feeling so weak and so ashamed that I was giving serious consideration to meeting Tucker. Even if he had gotten fired, even if he was nothing more than a creep right now, he would have connections that could help me get back in there. Maybe I could use some of my dormant ones, but Tucker was someone I could manipulate into getting me something better.
Kind of fucked up, right? I was considering using Tucker to get what I wanted: an actual job that paid well. But he wanted to use me for sex, so…
What has gotten into you, Christine? None of this is like you. None of it. This is not you, and you know it.
Get through this shift. Go home. And talk to Marcel at some point. Until you speak to Marcel, though, don’t do anything stupid.
One thing was starting to coalesce in my mind, though.
I was going to go out this weekend. I was going to let my decision to drink or not be made in the moment.
And it was either going to be spent with Marcel in an attempt to atone for my past mistakes, or it was going to be with Tucker to get back to my old life.
Either way, I won. I’d either get the guy back that I liked, or I’d get back the old lifestyle that paid well.
Please let me wind up with the right one.
Chapter 15: Marcel
The time away from Uncle had not done me anything toward making me feel better.
In fact, as I stood in the office just before six, minutes before we were set to begin our meeting, I was even more pissed off than usual.
Uncle’s actions in front of the recruits had felt like some underhanded tactics to try and make me seem like a weak president. Was he planning on usurping control out from under me? It would have been very banker-like for him to do so. To set me up for failure, take the goods, and leave me out to dry.
Uncle and Fitz arrived one minute later, and the two of them were laughing about some stupid shit that I did not give a rat’s ass about. As soon as they entered the meeting room, I snapped my fingers.
“Let’s get this shit going,” I said.
I wanted everyone to know I was pissed off. Biggie and Niner already had an idea; they’d walked in to me fuming. Fitz and Uncle needed to get on the same page.
“Let’s talk this past weekend,” I said. “Uncle had some of the recruits in on Sunday. He pitched them on having a party this weekend, so that’s something that we’re going to have to do immediately.”
“Do you actually mean we, or do you just mean us while you go run off with some lady?”
I hated Uncle so much at that moment. I hated him even more because he had a stupid-ass grin on his face.
“I mean we, Uncle. Do you mean we as in all of us? Or do you just mean we except for me?”
“Hey, it’s not my problem that you decided to bring a date to our inaugural party.”
“A date that you chose to hit on.”
“Alright, guys, guys!” Biggie said, interrupting. “We just got this building on Friday. Can we keep the peace for a little bit, please? Can we wait to get angry until, I don’t know, we have an enemy worth fighting?”
Uncle shrugged and held his hand out as if to say it was up to me. I bit my tongue but I had a feeling it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
“In any case,” I said. “I believe Uncle procured about, what, four recruits?”
“Well, there were six there, but you are correct that two of them seemed to quit as soon as they could leave. So that leaves four potential targets.”
“Thank you,” I said. “So, we would expand up to nine members. So here’s the question, then. Do we grow as much as we can, or do we keep a cap on it? There’s no way in hell I can keep all these guys as employees.”
“Not only,” Uncle said. “You charge them. This ain’t a goddamn charity. It’s a fucking club. No freebies. Everyone has to pay their share. Especially the new members.”
“Sorry?” I said.
Uncle shrugged.
“Paying your dues isn’t just a metaphor. Let the fucking scrubs pay in. It’ll be a revenue source. We can use it to grow the club however we want.”
“I don’t hate it,” Fitz said. “I—”
“OK, let’s just stop right here.”
I hadn’t even contemplated the idea. Maybe I was just arguing because it was Uncle who had proposed the idea.
Was that really the worst thing in the world, though?
“For what?” Uncle said.
“We need to get members in; you think anyone is going to pay for something that has no
proof of concept? You think anyone is going to fork over cash for an idea?”
“We have a building, we have a well-known name, and we have us,” Uncle said. “I think I speak for all of us when I say I’d pay to enter this.”
“And how would you use the money then, Uncle?” I asked.
“How the hell would I know that now? I know it would benefit the club. But if you’re asking me for specific answers, I don’t know. We can project all we want, but until we get money in the bank, we don’t know. And this isn’t like a business, where everything is straightforward. Let’s face it; we’re a club of bikers. We’re going to have times when we just need to give money to members to support them in hard times.”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t act like you got all the answers, kid,” Uncle said.
“And a banker on Wall Street does?” I shot back.
“More so than someone who lets his thoughts of pussy get in the way of being a good leader.”
That was it. I fucking stood up, tried to walk over to Uncle, and began cocking my fist. Niner stopped me first while Biggie came behind and tried to corral me. One meeting in and we’re already going to kill each other.
“Get your shit together, Marcel!”
“It’s my fucking club, Uncle! You’re the treasurer!”
“Maybe I should take on both roles, hmm? Maybe you’re too fucking green at this.”
“Yeah, maybe we need someone who knows—”
“Shut the fuck up, Fitz,” I shouted. “You, of all people, belong here the least, you four-eyed fucking dork.”
Fitz bit his lip, shook his head, and started laughing as he put his hands on his hips. But if he said something, no one heard it, because shouting broke out amongst all of us Stones.
“Enough!”
Niner’s voice broke over the roar, silencing the din immediately. The former cop raised both hands, separating Uncle and me. He stared at Uncle first, causing me to snicker, before he glared at me.
“Everyone, sit down, right now.”
We all did as commanded. Perhaps it was because he was once a cop, or perhaps it was just because he was so damn big and scary. All of us, though, had enormous respect for Niner, as evidenced by how no one dared to question him or so much as speak.
“If you want to deal with office politics, go to the fucking NYPD,” he said. “I’m here for one reason and one reason only. I fucking like motorcycles, and I want to be around people like me. I’m willing to take up the sergeant-at-arms role for this club because it also utilizes what I did best on the force. Take down those who would otherwise hurt others. That, by the way, is going to be part of this club identity. This is not just a place to get laid and get paid. We can party, but we need to do what’s right for the community too.”
Though he had his glare reserved for all of his, his words were clearly intended for Uncle, the one most likely to turn the endeavor into something purely for profit.
“But as for what happens in here. I don’t give a shit about your family drama. I don’t care who likes who. This is a motorcycle club, not a church gathering. We need to operate as one club, with one vision. We can fucking debate and not turn everything into a fight. And this goes for both of you. I’ve arrested and dealt with assholes from the banks and the boroughs alike, and I gotta tell you, you both are the same; you just think you’re better for different reasons. So let’s get our shit together, or I’ll go, and you’ll have to find a new member.”
With that, Niner sat down. A tense silence filled the air. I looked at Uncle, who looked down at the ground, sighed, and nodded when he looked at me. I did the same for Fitz, who folded his hands on the table, twiddled his thumbs, and nodded to me. I nodded back to the both of them.
“Let’s agree on what we’re going to do next,” I said, choosing my words carefully to not inflame the situation. “We can have a party this weekend. We did our first one, we know what to expect, and we can better use it to recruit people who may actually join the club. As far as recruiting goes, I think anyone and everyone can recruit. For now, let’s not plan any charges. We get our income from the shop. That’s it. I don’t want us to add to our plate anything that isn’t thought out. Is that good with everyone?”
I looked one by one at the other four officers. Everyone silently nodded. Even Uncle.
“We can revisit plans for building up income at our next meeting on Thursday. In the interim, let’s operate this shop, reach out to those who were interested, and keep things quiet. I don’t want Kyle coming by on another surprise visit in a few days because he heard something or because one of us got in trouble. Understood?”
Everyone again nodded.
“And I’m sorry.”
Everyone except Niner recoiled in surprise.
“I… fuck, might as well tell you. I missed a date with my daughter yesterday. Am still upset about it. Won’t be over it until I see Lilly again, and even then, it may not be something that I can just forget and move on from. I carried it with me all of yesterday when I saw Uncle. I was able to get away from it then, and I should have slept it off and moved on. But I didn’t. I carried it here with me, a shitty move, obviously. I’m sorry that that happened. I will do better next time.”
I cleared my throat.
“Does anyone else have anything else they want to say?”
I was hoping that Uncle would say something. Maybe even Fitz. But the silence that filled the room was unyielding. No one wanted to interrupt it.
“Alright then,” I said. “Have a good rest of your evening.”
I patted the table and stood up. Biggie and Niner also did. I walked past Uncle before he put his hand up, pausing me.
“Sorry, kid,” he said. “I’m just edgy about my investments. I’ll do better.”
I smiled, patted his shoulder, and kept on walking out. The truce, however uneasy it may have been, was enough for us to move forward.
I got outside, waited for everyone else to clear out, and shut the door behind me, locking it. It had been a pretty short meeting, but in some ways, it felt like a meeting we had to have. After Uncle’s actions on Friday, after my sleeping on Sunday, and after everything else, we had to have that moment where we almost came to blows. Without it, I had my doubts about if we’d ever be able to communicate well.
But now that we’d had our blowup, we’d better know what to expect and how to handle it later.
“Hell of a meeting, eh?” Biggie said with something resembling a nervous laugh. “Wouldn’t want our first Monday meeting to have ended in a fight quite like that, but…”
“You got nothing to worry about, Biggie. Sometimes, family just has to fight it out.”
And sometimes, it’s not just family that you need to see again after a shitty period.
It’s Christine.
I pulled out my phone as Biggie made some comment to himself about how he hoped the fight stayed verbal since he knew he was too big to fight fair physically. I sighed as I looked at the last text I’d sent Christine, telling her I’d call after my club meeting ended. I was due to do so.
The dial tone only went to one ring before she answered.
“Hey.”
Her voice sounded… different. Flat, almost. Like she didn’t have the same enthusiasm as before. I guess that was what I got for being so distant the day before and for pushing her away, but I hadn’t anticipated she would sound so bored.
“Hey, just got out of the meeting. How was your day?”
“Interesting, to say the least.”
I waited for her to elaborate but quickly realized how stupid that was. She never elaborated, and even when she did, it took four or five conversations in which she didn’t say anything before she finally did say something.
“I can imagine. Well, the club is throwing a party this Friday again. I know you’re not a big drinker, but—”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m down.”
Just… just like that, huh?
“OK, great,”
I said with a laugh. “Then we’ll make plans to next hang then?”
“Yes.”
There was something that wasn’t sitting right with this. Something about her voice, her energy levels, and the quickness with which she agreed to the party left me more than a little suspicious something had happened in the last thirty-six hours I just didn’t know about.
But I was getting to see her again. I wouldn’t have to wonder if my brusque actions had ended us. I’d still have a chance.
“OK, great. Guess I’ll see you then.”
I hung up right after. I felt a little happy to be sure.
But I had my suspicions that there was something amiss.
Chapter 16: Christine
The thing about a week like the one that I had was that despite nothing happening from an outsider’s perspective, on the inside, some major shifts were occurring.
Perhaps the biggest one of all was that I truly came around to believing I could drink and, therefore, almost certainly would drink on Friday night.
It went against everything that AA taught me, and I knew that my sponsor in AA would murder me if she found out the truth. But I hid it from her, not out of a fear that she would judge me, but because she just didn’t get it. AA had people who were on the verge of death from the alcohol they drank or from being completely cut off and isolated from the world. I was not such a person, and I never would be.
Alcohol, I realized, had happened concurrently with things like losing my job and losing my ex. It had not caused them, though admittedly it probably did not help them. Now, being with Marcel, not drinking alcohol was probably going to be a bigger problem than actually drinking it. Joining the world of MC bikers meant going to a world where the only vice was lying or betrayal.
Last I checked, having a can of Natural Light or a shot of Grey Goose fell under neither of those categories.
In a way, it felt entirely liberating. Even in moments when I’d fully committed to AA, the prospect of having to follow its code for the rest of my life—not for a few months, not for a year, not even “for a while, but with an end in sight”—was just too damn daunting. Moderation in all things, right?
