My shift was over, so I went to the office to get my purse. Henry sat behind the desk, staring at a computer screen and shaking his head. He looked at Charles, who sat across from him. “How are we going to get enough beer in time for St. Patrick’s Day? This is a disaster!”
“Dad said he took care of that.” Charles buried his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” I said. Walking in on them talking about family politics was awkward. Even though Henry was a good friend, the tone of the conversation felt private and probably not meant for people outside of the family to hear. “I just wanted to get my purse.”
Henry stood up and stepped aside so I could open the drawer.
“We’ll talk about Dad later,” Charles said, standing. “I’ll make a phone call about the beer. I might know somebody who could help us.” He left the room with shoulders slumped.
“Amber, I was going to talk to you on your break, but I saw how busy you were.”
“This pub certainly does good business,” I said. “We could talk now, if you want.”
“Okay, have a seat.”
I sat down.
Henry said, “My dad is starting to show signs of dementia. Charles has been watching over him. He wanted me to work here, since Dad is only going to get worse.”
“I’m so sorry, Henry.” My heart sank. I wished he wasn’t dealing with such a horrible situation. He must fear the day his father wouldn’t know who he was. “That’s awful.”
“Thanks. He’s been forgetful and will ask you the same thing more than twice.” He put his head down and rubbed his temples. “I think his working days are numbered.”
“I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“I know you will.” He leaned back and smiled. “I told everyone, including you, that I was moving to New York to start my own restaurant. It was a necessary lie. My family business—my dad’s condition—wasn’t something I wanted everyone to know. They were my coworkers, not close friends. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry about me. You’re like family to me.”
“Oh, Henry!” I put my hand over my heart. “I feel the same.”
“When you told me about how Jack broke your heart, I wanted to punch the guy’s lights out. I’m glad you took my offer to work here and start over. I knew that meant you finding out about my dad’s condition, but I was all right with that since you’re like family. Plus, you’d worry less knowing about the dementia if you were here to help.”
“So true.” I nodded.
“Eventually, the restaurant will belong to Charles. Charles and I might have to take turns living with Dad until we find a new home for him. I’ll probably be asking for you to work a lot of hours until then.”
“No problem.” I got up, and so did he. I hugged him.
“I’ll walk you out.”
I put my hand in my pocket and felt the note with Bugiardini’s name written on it. When I got home, I planned on investigating.
Chapter 3
Iarrived home exhausted after the long shift, but I wanted to do research, so sleeping would have to wait. I grabbed my laptop and flopped onto the bed. The name Bugiardini must be associated with something bad, and I wondered if I really wanted to be enlightened. The implications that Teresa had made about the Bugiardini family left me doubting the credibility of the pub.
I was worried about Henry. A few months before, he had moved from California to New York to work with his brother, and I contemplated whether he knew the Bugiardini family’s reputation. When he was a teenager, he moved to California with his mom, so I had a feeling he could not know all the details of his father’s business relationships. I needed to be enlightened, maybe for both of our sakes. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I worried that what I was about to find out could ruin my new job, but I typed “Bugiardini New York” and hit enter. Scanning the links that came up, I found none were good. Words such as “arrest,” “mafia,” and “criminal” were frequent. Shit! I work for a pub with mobster connections. They reserve our basement room. What the hell?
I clicked on one of the links about the head of their family being arrested. The old man was in prison, along with some other family members. I recognized one of the handcuffed men in the photos. He’s the one who had his friend manhandle me to get his drink at the pub. His name was Alberto Bugiardini, and the article said he was the eldest son of the boss. I figured he got out of serious jail time with an expensive lawyer.
There were many disturbing things about Alberto, but the most dismaying was that he seemed to hold a powerful position within the mafia. He wasn’t someone to cross. If the pub was in debt to him in any way, it could put Henry in danger, especially if he didn’t pay them back.
I closed my eyes and rolled my neck, trying to relax. I hadn’t talk to Henry about any of this yet. Imaging the worst-case scenario had taken me down a dark path. I wanted to make New York my home, and I wasn’t sure that I could work for a pub that had connections to the mob. It might cause me to become bitter and hate the city. Would I want to move back to California, rather than try to survive in Manhattan?
First, I needed to talk to Henry. Maybe the Bugiardini family and their friends hung out at the pub but didn’t do business there. Letting them reserve the basement did seem like a favor, though. Does Henry realize that his father does favors for the mob? I doubted it. What will happen when Henry’s father’s dementia kicks in? Will the mob force Henry to do something illegal?
I shut my laptop and shook it off. It wasn’t my family business. It was where I worked. Henry needed to know about it, if he didn’t already. He was an upstanding citizen, and I hoped he could remain one in the face of criminals who might strong-arm him. I’d speak with him later.
∞ ∞ ∞
The next day, Fiona and I walked to Socialite, a clothing boutique in Manhattan. In the front window were two mannequins wearing cocktail dresses, posed in front of a sheer curtain. I stopped and stood close to it, trying to stay out of the way of the other pedestrians.
The mannequins stood as if having a conversation. One wore an emerald-and-gold dress and stood with her arm at an angle, as if she were pouring a martini into her friend’s glass. The green lace embroidered on the gold fabric went from the bottom hemline up to the high waistband, where it continued at an angle until it covered the left breast and extended to the single shoulder strap. The top was snug. Below the waist, the dress had an elegant A-line shape.
In my imagination, I wore that dress as a handsome man wearing a tux twirled me on the dance floor, the graceful movement accentuated by the flowing of the green lace around my long legs. I spun into his arms. He pulled me deeper into his embrace, his soft lips about to melt into mine.
The scent of vanilla came from the store as a woman opened the door. I sighed, wishing I had an occasion to wear the gown, and turned to say something to Fiona, but she was gone.
I went inside to find her. The soft lighting and soothing classical music was relaxing compared to the high energy of the street. Elegant cocktail dresses hung on tall metal racks. I couldn’t resist turning over the price tag of the green one I admired in the widow. Gasping, I stepped away from it.
As much as I loved the dress, I couldn’t bring myself to buy it when it was over a grand. Maybe after I get a bigger place in the city, if I have any savings left, then I can come back and splurge on a gown.
I heard Fiona talking in the back. Making my way to her, I passed leather handbags on tall pedestals. Pants and shirts were in a separate area, close to the walls and lit by overhead lights. Mannequins wearing skirts and shirts perfect for a night out on the town stood above the shelving display with the items they modeled. Sizes were limited. There was a sign by the register. Ask our sales associates about ordering garments in your size.
A young woman stood by the sign. “May I help you?”
“My friend is getting fitted. I think she’s in the back.”
“Follow me.” She led the way.
&
nbsp; We stepped into the back room and found Fiona standing on a small platform in front of three mirrors, turning and inspecting her outfit.
“It fits you perfectly,” a different woman said. Fiona blocked my view of her.
“It looks great,” I agreed, admiring the tailoring.
“Amber!” Daisy, my friend from high school, walked around Fiona and embraced me. “I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been years!”
The last time I saw Daisy was when she left to study at the Fashion Institute in New York. Her older sister, Darlene, was my best friend in high school. “I live here now.” I smiled. Stepping out of her warm hug, I admired her outfit, which mimicked the high-end fashion of the boutique. “You look wonderful! Love the clothes. It’s so you.”
“Thanks.” An ear-to-ear grin spread across her face. “I can’t believe we ran into each other in a city of millions. How have you been all these years?”
“I’ve been good. I moved here from California. Fiona’s my roommate. And you?”
“I’ve been working here ever since I graduated from college.”
“Does Darlene still live with you?”
“No, she moved to Westchester. All of us should get together sometime.”
Admiring herself from all angles in the mirrors, Fiona said, “I don’t know what’s more amazing: these pants or the fact that you know each other.”
I smiled, glad to have another friend in the city. Fiona jumped down from the platform and headed toward the changing area.
“I’ll give you my card. It has my number on it,” Daisy said, looking at me. “Wait till sis hears you live here!”
She pulled out a business card and wrote a number on the back. She handed it over. “Now you have Darlene’s number and mine.”
“I’ll call her soon.” I tucked the card into my back pocket. “We’ll definitely get together.”
Fiona came over carrying her outfit on a hanger. Daisy took it from her and wrapped it up in tissue paper before gently placing it into a shiny white bag. “Darlene and I will be at Fiona’s band’s release party. Are you going?” Daisy asked, looking my way.
“Yes,” I answered.
Fiona got out her Visa and paid. “The band is getting together next weekend. You guys want to join us for dinner?” she asked, looking back and forth between us.
“I think I can,” Daisy said.
“I would love to,” I said.
Fiona took her bag and looked at Daisy. “I’ll call you later.”
Daisy smiled.
Fiona slung the bag over a shoulder and moved toward the exit. Because she walked faster than me, as usual, I struggled to keep up. “C’mon,” she called back to me. “I’m hungry.”
∞ ∞ ∞
We took the subway to Brooklyn. A short walk later we entered what Fiona proclaimed was “the best pizzeria.” The aroma of tomato, prosciutto, and smoked mozzarella filled the air as the worker slid a fresh pizza with bubbling cheese out of the brick oven. The warmth radiated over us. We stepped into the long line to order. I could feel the ceiling fans cooling my backside as I leaned toward a row of delicious choices.
“I can’t decide,” I said to Fiona, trying to talk above the noise generated by the growing line of customers who barked out their orders with no hesitation. “Just order me one of whichever you get,” I said, trying not to hold up the queue.
Fiona pointed at a pizza in front of her. “Give me two slices of this and two waters.”
I stepped ahead of her and paid the cashier. “I got this one.”
“Thanks,” she said as I took the water she handed over.
We claimed two bar stools to sit and eat our dinner. She put our plate of food on the long counter that faced the window. She grabbed a slice. I barely fit the end of my piece in my mouth when I noticed Fiona looking at me with raised eyebrows.
She shook her head, folded her slice over, and took a giant bite.
Looking around, I saw how everyone was eating. I did the same, trying to fit in. I savored every bite of the mouthwatering slice, which hit the spot and calmed my growling stomach. It was so large that I wondered if I could finish it. Just a few minutes later, Fiona had devoured hers, but I was still working on mine.
Everything she did was fast. She walked fast and ate fast. Her pace was set to hyperspeed, probably from living in the city. I chewed my last bite and wondered if I would ever catch up to the momentum of everyone else. If I was going to make New York my home, I would need to adjust.
Chapter 4
On the way to work, my new coat kept me warm. Almost too warm, but it was better than being underdressed for the cool March air, which is exactly what I had done earlier. Thanks to picking up my new coat yesterday, after tasting the best pizza in Brooklyn, I’d never have to be too cold in the city again.
At work, it was hectic because two waitresses called in sick.
“I can help by having my own tables instead of sharing a section,” I said to Teresa, who looked at the seating chart.
“If you’re sure, then I suppose I can’t turn down the help, especially today!”
“I’m sure. Which section will be mine?”
“You can have Becky’s. It’s small.” She wiped Becky’s name off of the chart then put mine on it. “It’s perfect for your first day by yourself.”
“Why is it so small compared to the others?”
“That’s all she can handle. The boss can’t afford to let the customers get slow service. If they did, they would take a few steps outside and go somewhere else.”
She was right. There were numerous other restaurants within walking distance. Looking at the chart, I noticed the size of her section. “Your section is big. Wow!”
“Yeah, well I’ve got this waitress thing down to a science. I’ve got my regulars, and they tip well. When you’ve done this as long as I have, you get really good at it. If you have any questions, just ask.”
“Thanks, I will.”
∞ ∞ ∞
The night flew by. I had few problems keeping up with the orders in my small section and delivered the customers’ food promptly. It was nonstop action until thirty minutes before my shift ended. Then the food orders began to wind down. Since it was getting late, it was mostly drink orders. For a brief moment, I could pause and take a breath.
A group of girls got up from a table and left. I went over to it and gathered up their empty glasses. After dropping the glasses at the bar, I went back to wipe down the table.
Standing by it was a man so gorgeous he took my breath away. His muscles flexed as he stood with his hands on his hips. There was a coat on the chair in front of him. He used the coat as a deterrent to keep other customers from sitting there. He seemed to be guarding the table, wanting to take it the moment it was cleaned. His broad shoulders made his black T-shirt fit snugly against him. The shirt tapered down toward his trim waist. Although the lower section of the material wasn’t as tight, I’d be willing to bet he had a six-pack under there.
When my gaze met his, his deep stare captivated me. The closer I got, the more mesmerized I became. Wiping the table down in slow circular strokes, I locked eyes with him. His were hunter green on the outer rim of the irises, with yellow bursts around his pupils.
He pulled his chair out and grumbled as I moved out of his way. “Let’s hope you deliver food faster than you wipe tables,” he said in a deep, sexy voice as he sat down.
“Faster than I wipe tables” was uncalled for.
“I’ll have the small stew and a tall—”
If he’s in that much of a hurry, why doesn’t he eat at home? Besides, he’s being rude to the person serving his food. That’s bold. Not that I would spit in his food, but he didn’t know me. He didn’t know if I was that type.
I walked away. Looking down at the order, I realized it didn’t make any sense. Stew and a tall what? The order ended with “tall.” I’d have to go back and get his order again. Damn, he’s going to hate this!
I
went up to his table. “I’m sorry, sir, but could you confirm your order?” I focused on my notepad so I wouldn’t be distracted by his intense gaze. “I want to make sure I got it right. It was a ste—”
“A stew, yes,” he snapped, looking at his watch, “and a tall Guinness. I already told you.”
The people nearby looked over, and New Yorkers don’t pay attention unless it’s worthy of turning their heads. My face flushed from being scolded loudly enough to cause them to notice.
I averted my eyes back to my pad of paper as the chatter from customers returned to normal volumes. “I’ve got it. I’m sorry, sir.” I briefly looked at him then turned away. “I’ll get that right out to you.” What an asshole! But why does he have to be such a handsome one?
When his order was ready, I delivered his food, avoiding eye contact. From time to time, I checked on his table from a distance to see if he needed anything. He inhaled his dinner. When he was done, he practically chugged his beer. He had gone from a sexy young stud to a boorish jerk in a matter of minutes.
What a waste! At least it looks like he won’t need anything else.
I promptly delivered his tab, and he put cash down.
“I’ll get your change,” I said, but he waved it off.
“Keep it,” he mumbled, concentrating on his cell phone screen, scanning a text message.
I got an order of six beers from the bartender and loaded up my tray. Unfortunately, they were for the customers sitting next to him. I thought he was in a hurry. Why is he still here?
His head was down as he stared at his phone. At least he already paid his bill. Hopefully, I won’t have to speak with him again.
“Son of a bitch!” he blurted out.
He jumped up, started typing furiously on his phone, and walked my way without looking. I stepped to the side trying to avoid him, but he bumped into the tray. Its hard plastic smacked my chin as Guinness splashed onto my shirt. I stood in a daze from being showered with alcohol. He didn’t even stop to apologize.
Bastard.
City in the Middle Page 3
