by TL Gehr
My expression must convey how that thought makes me feel ill because he puts a hand on my shoulder. “It will be fine.”
His touch is electricity and I shut my eyes before he can read how badly I want him as easily as he read my fear.
“I work Mondays and Wednesdays—day shift,” Philip says. “And Saturday nights, but not every week. I come in to do wages, which is every Saturday at five. Four-thirty to five is the weekly team meeting. That okay?”
My expression must have clouded again. Dammit. I need to master the poker face. I’d been under the impression that Philip would be here every day, which was stupid, but now I’ve got to hide my disappointment.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“Sorry, is this too much information?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good. So when would you want me to work?”
“Depends. How many shifts can you take?”
“As many as you need. I don’t exactly have a lot going on. Literally the only people I know in Manhattan are you, Mom and Cynthia. Not exactly what you’d call a social circle. Although Cynthia keeps inviting me for tea, so I guess she counts?”
Out loud, that sounds real pathetic, but Philip laughs. He has a strange expression again when he asks, “No girlfriend?”
My tongue tangles in my mouth. For a fleeting moment, I want to say no boyfriend, with an emphasis on the boy, to test the waters, but then I chicken out in case underneath this lovely exterior there’s a lurking homophobe. You just never know. And now I have a job I’m not going to lose it over something like that. At least losing it over pressing Philip against the bathroom wall and kissing him would have been fun.
He reads my expression again, but reads it wrong this time. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.” He picks up a stack of papers lying next to the register. “These are for you.”
It’s a pile of infographics. I leaf through them. The top one illustrates different types of coffee by how much of each ingredient you should put in. There’s my nemesis, the flat (not frappe) white (made with espresso and steamed milk, apparently). The next page is the same thing but with alcoholic drinks.
“You don’t have to learn them by heart,” Philip says. “You’re welcome to keep those pages here for reference.”
Is this their usual training manual? Or did he make these just for me because I said I didn’t handle lists well? “This is great, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I won’t show you the register because I won’t be putting you there and if anyone else tries, you have a decent excuse—Philip hasn’t given you a login and you don’t know how to use it.”
A way to say no without admitting to my broken brain. He’s really thought of everything.
“Could you manage five days a week? If I can put you on all the weekdays, I can make sure you have weekends and Friday nights free. You know, to explore the city. No point being in NYC if you’re holed up in the basement of an old cotton exchange all the time.”
“Wow, yeah, that would be good.” Maybe I can even go visit Dad some weekends since I might have the cash.
“Great. I’ll confirm it with Imana and Max, but I don’t foresee there being a problem.”
A silence falls between us and I want to tell him that I don’t have a girlfriend, but now it would be weird.
“I’m, uh, going to go check on the customers and make sure everything’s okay. Why don’t you familiarize yourself with where everything is behind here?”
I spend a few quiet hours doing just that and watching Philip as he goes about his business. He disappears into the office for long periods of time, but when he comes out he always talks to everyone individually—staff and clientele alike—to make sure all’s well. I have to serve a few drinks for tables and Bonny the waitress comes to fetch them. She helps me find the right ones and introduces herself as part of the “old guard” that’s worked here for years. She’s curious about me at first, but when I say I’m Malena’s son, she doesn’t have any more questions. Either because that answers the main question—what I’m doing here—or because she doesn’t get along with Mom and would rather not have anything to do with me as a result.
At about four, I get my first drinks order from someone off the street. I consult the infographic and mix the drinks fine, but then they want to pay and I panic. Before I can even call for him, Philip swoops in to ring the man up.
Not long after, the night shift manager, Imana, arrives. She’s wearing the obligatory black shirt, but it’s low cut, showing swathes of brown skin. The rest of her ensemble is a riot of color from her long yellow skirt, to her orange turban, to the pink bangles up her arms.
“Babe! You finally did it! You got me help,” she exclaims when she sees me. I have a mini heart attack at the endearment, but Philip emerges from the office and doesn’t kiss her cheek or offer any return affection. A few minutes later, she calls me Babe too.
She’s bubbly and warm and we fall into an easy rhythm with her working the register and me making drinks. The place fills—first with tourists, then with bankers. It’s about seven when I realize that Philip must have left while we were busy. I try not to feel disappointed that he didn’t get to say goodbye.
13
Brian
I’m late.
It’s only my second day and I’m freaking late. I stumble out of bed and am on the way out the door, still pulling on my shirt, before I’m even fully awake. Cynthia is in the hall outside with Murdock. She’s lecturing him about marauding around the neighborhood, and she gets another eyeful of my flesh.
“We have got to stop meeting like this,” she says, with a smile. At this stage, she’s seen more of my skin than some of my boyfriends.
“I’ve fucking messed it up, just like I always do.” My fingers tremble as I try to lock my door and the keys slip out of my grip. I curse again.
Cynthia picks up the keys. “Deep breath. Tell me what happened.” She takes over locking my door. I don’t have time to chat. I feel like I’m going to shake apart.
“Philip said I could work five days a week. Four day shifts, two night shifts, weekends off and everything. Today’s my first day shift and I’ve overslept and he’s going to regret hiring me.”
She presses the keys into my palm.
“And I’ll bet the day shift manager is back today and she’s going to make Philip fire me.”
Just the thought of that scene playing out makes me want to hurl.
“How late are we talking?” Cynthia asks.
“I was supposed to be there an hour ago. It’s morning rush.” I scrub my face with my hands. This can’t be happening.
“Okay, okay, you just get there as fast as you can. These things happen, especially when you’re not in a routine yet. I doubt they’ll fire you over a trifle like this. You can always offer to work in the extra hour some time.”
I nod. My muscles are starting to stiffen with fear.
“Go on, then.” Cynthia prompts. “If you run, you should still make the 8:06 to Downtown.”
I nod again, then turn on my heel and take off.
When I stumble into The Spindle at 8:30, it’s as packed with Wall Street’s finest as it was on Monday. I’m hot and gasping for breath. I don’t see Philip anywhere. There’s a strange woman at the bar and my stomach turns liquid. That must be Maxine. She has brown skin and an afro, a nose ring and tattoos. In any other reality she looks just like the sort of person I’d like to be friends with, but I haven’t even met her and I’ve already let her down.
I approach the bar with my heart drumming in my ears and my legs wobbling with strain. I’m not at all sure how to handle this.
“Oh hey, Brian I presume?” she says.
She takes a Coke out of the fridge by her knees and plonks it onto the bar. When I don’t take it, she pushes it towards me. “Go on, you look like you’re about to fall over.” Then she turns back to the line of customers.
I crack open the can and gratefully down th
e cold liquid. I don’t understand what’s happening, but she’s not wrong about the falling over.
“Your neighbor called,” she says as she passes a banker a latte. “She said you were running late but you were on your way.” Maxine smirks. “She pleaded with me not to fire you.”
“I can’t believe she did that.” Gratitude wars with humiliation in my chest.
“If you can charm customers the same way you’ve charmed your neighbor, you’re going to be an asset. Can you get me three Americanos?”
“Oh! Sure!” I set down the Coke behind the bar and hurry to the coffee machine. Then I realize, staring at the gleaming piece of modern machinery, that I have no idea how to use it. “Oh, I, um, I’m not sure—”
She swings around and points out how the thing works and where to get the beans. I panic because there are a lot of steps.
“You got it?”
I’m really not sure.
Then Philip is there, miraculously, out of nowhere (probably out of his office). “It’s okay, Max, I’ve got this. You see to the hordes.”
“Philip, I’m so sorry I’m late.”
He’s wearing an aquamarine shirt today, with long sleeves. The fabric looks soft, and it makes his eyes pop. He stands at my shoulder and reaches for a cup overhead. “I think you mentioned that trouble keeping track of time was part of your disorder?”
He doesn’t sound angry, even though he has every right to be. “It wasn’t that. I… I took a sleeping pill.” I don’t want to be that person who’s always full of excuses. “I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it.”
He sets a hand on my shoulder. “It’s fine. You’re here now.”
“I’ll make up the time.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
I’m driven to distraction by his touch. He doesn’t move his hand as he takes me through how to use the machine, demonstrating how to pack the coffee into the filter and then which buttons to press. I need to remember this. It’s important that I remember this. But all I can think of is how badly I want him.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says low near my ear. “I told Maxine. As your manager, it’s important she knows.”
About my limitations. Right. I have a bigger problem now. I’m getting hard. I can feel myself thickening in response to Philip’s proximity. God, could this day just stop messing with me already?
“You think you’re ready to try a few by yourself?” he asks.
I nod, even though I’m not really. If he doesn’t leave soon…
He moves away. Thank the Lord.
But it’s only to get the list of new orders from Maxine, and then he’s back. “All right, give it a try.”
A test. He’s testing me. Why does that make me more horny? I need to focus. I suck in a breath. The first person wants a lungo, using the Ethiopian coffee blend. I feel Philip’s eyes on me as I fill the portafilter and attach it. He passes me a cup. I scan the machine for the right setting. Even though he said I didn’t need to, I did study the coffee types last night so I remember a lungo is pure espresso. I find the espresso setting. Then… then what? Philip reaches over me and tightens the handle on the portafilter so it clicks. Then he presses the espresso button again and the machine roars to life. Okay, not that many steps. Maybe I can do this after all.
Philip watches me making the second order, which is a bit more complicated. It’s a cappuccino, which means I have to use the milk frother. I jump when it makes an incredibly loud noise and Philip laughs at me. I laugh too. I’m clearly on edge.
After that, it’s easier. I manage to find a rhythm and Philip leaves me to it. The trick is just taking it one cup at a time and not getting overwhelmed or distracted. I don’t let my mind drift, so when the rush passes my shoulders are tense, my hands are aching and there’s a splash of coffee down my one good shirt. But I’m also no longer tent-poling my jeans, so it’s safe to turn around for the first time in two hours.
Day shift ends at four, but I insist on staying for an extra hour to show how contrite I am about this morning. I offer to do the cleaning duties that I’d usually share with Bonny and Mom. The two of them are thrilled. Maxine counts out the day’s takings and does paperwork while I sweep the floor, clean the coffee machine and make sure all the sauce bottles are full.
Philip emerges from his office at about ten to five and seems surprised to see me. “I didn’t think I gave you a double shift today.”
“You didn’t,” Maxine says before I can respond. “This here is a sucker for punishment.”
“I told you I’d work in the time I missed this morning.”
Philip’s smile sets my heart ablaze. This is bad. This is so bad. No matter what Dad says, this isn’t the right place for me to nurture a crush. I need to focus on the job. Not only will it be great to have the cash, but once I have this experience on my CV, and if I can get good references, it will make everything else so much easier.
Still, pleasant heat races to my stomach when Philip says, “I’m leaving in ten, if you want company to the station?”
The weather’s starting to get colder and I’m grateful for my jacket as we walk up Williams Street.
“I never asked where you stay?” Philip is wearing one of those typical New Yorker trench coats and a messenger bag. He blends in seamlessly with the financial types sharing the sidewalk with us.
“Midtown. I think I’m supposed to say Clinton.”
He chuckles. “I heard that’s a trendy area now.”
“Yeah, I heard so too.”
“Isn’t it a long commute?”
“It is. But rent control.”
I think I’m doing well at casual Manhattan small talk for someone who hates both Manhattan and small talk, but the conversation dies.
“Whereabouts do you live?” I ask and it feels like stoking the embers of a dying campfire with wet wood.
“Also Midtown, actually, but on the East Side. I guess we were bound to run into each other in Central Park eventually.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I did.” I cringe inwardly. Which probably reflects on my face as everything seems to. “I mean because I’m grateful for the job.” Too late I realize that the job had nothing to do with our first meeting. I clear my throat. “Isn’t it a long commute for you too, then?”
He shifts his weight, like he’s uncomfortable. “Yes and no.”
Have I made him uncomfortable? He’s been so good at reading me, but I can’t read him at all.
“I, uh, don’t go straight home after work.”
“Oh.” He’s trying to tell me he’s got someone, because he’s aware of my crush. That’s fine. That will make things easier.
He lets out a breath. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yes, of course.”
He plays with the button of his coat and doesn’t look at me. He’s fidgety, like when I got in yesterday. “I’ve been secretly taking classes at BMCC. It’s the community college up on Harrison. Night classes.”
“Oh, that’s great.” Definitely not what I was expecting. “What are you studying?”
Probably business science or something on how to run a restaurant. Maybe he’s embarrassed because he feels under qualified to run the pub.
“Nursing.” He glances at me as if to gauge my reaction, then looks back down.
My heart beats a little faster. Philip, a nurse. Am I dreaming? Was this whole day a dream? As if he wasn’t perfect already, he’s clearly smart and he’s going to be a nurse. Images fly through my brain of his large, gentle hands caring for me, of him in one of those blue uniforms, of the kindness in his eyes and in his heart. This is rapidly tipping over from crush to something stronger and I don’t know if I can stop it.
“Why’s it a secret?” I ask.
“My parents wouldn’t approve.”
“I thought every parent wanted their kid to go into medicine?”
“Not mine.” He kicks at some leaves that are piled on the
sidewalk. “They think it’s beneath me. How’s that for being a stuck-up dickhead? No, if I want to have a career it’s owning things, sitting on boards of directors or using their contacts to get into art or design, which I have no talent for by the way, but that wouldn’t stop them. They want me to do something they can brag to their friends about.”
“And saving lives doesn’t count?”
“Nope.”
I’m not really good at guessing ages—numbers, you know?—but I’d put Philip as older than me. Not much, but a few years at least. “Why do they get a say? Can’t you just do it without their approval?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He smiles again, but without any warmth this time, which makes it look pained. “You haven’t even heard the most ridiculous part. Get ready to feel sick to your stomach. You know what I had to do to ensure I could be downtown two nights a week and every Saturday?”
He doesn’t wait for me to hazard a guess.
“I bought The Spindle.”
14
Philip
He’s staring at me like I’m every bit the douche he thought I was, but it feels so good to get this off my chest that I can’t stop.
“Something you should know about the wealthy elite, Brian, is that they’re big fans of capitalism. So, owning a business, especially a trendy one downtown, that’s fine. Sure, it took a little convincing. My mother was fine with me owning the business, but she didn’t want me wasting my time running it. You need to understand, in my world, businesses are like hobbies. You pick them up and discard them when you get bored. Take Jones and her horse-riding school. Sure, she’s into it now. As soon as it gets difficult? She’ll close it down and move on to something else. My mother was all for me playing at being a restaurateur. She wanted me to hire a world-renowned chef. She even set up interviews, can you believe it? I mean, it’s a pub. What are we going to do with the winner of Masterchef? But my dad… he’s always fancied himself a businessman and he convinced her it would be good for me to learn the value of a hard day’s work.”
