Escape (Part Three) (8 page)

“There has to be some distinction.” Richard, the manager of the bar told me. “Between those who are allowed behind the bar and those who aren’t.”

Bartender was a coveted position, one my sister sweat over for months before she was promoted. The tips were better, you could make a living wage, and you didn’t go home doused in grease and ketchup and salt and smelling like the kitchen.

I didn’t envy her, or the other bartenders, like the rest of the new server girls. The ones who’d hopped off the train at Grand Central a few weeks ago, with years of serving experience at their local Denny’s, and were stunned to find out that no one would treat them like a superstar here. They had to start from the bottom, again. We were all called variations of our physical traits: Blondie, Brown Eyes, Lips, Hips, Girl-with-the-Rack. Except for me.

My name was “Laura’s Sister”. Or sometimes just “Sister”. It didn’t bother me as much as it would’ve months ago, before I screwed up with Chace, lost my job, and had to beg my sister to let me work with her.

I loved being called “Laura’s Sister” because every time Laura heard it made her scowl a little less. When our eyes met across the bar the corner of her mouth would tug into a grin, especially when I managed to complete an order without spilling beer on a customer’s arm, or dousing their plate of food with a twenty dollar glass of Gin Martini.

I was absolutely shitty at my job. Richard told me so after every shift but the longer I worked there the more he said, “But you’re getting better,” which was better than staying the same.

Working for seven hours straight kept me busy. I rarely thought of Chace and the incident with Jennifer, even when Evie was blowing up my phone with text messages. She kept her promise and visited every other weekend, staying in Manhattan in a pricy hotel room she begged me to share, the two of us pigging out on room service and overpriced bottles of champagne, drinking until we were tipsy and confident enough to order an entire cake.

Much like Chace she was good with kids. My niece and nephew flocked to her like lambs. When my sister and I had to work, Evie gave the babysitter a break and spent the day with them at the park or the museum, whispering lines of French in their ears, planting dreams of Parisian secondary schools and universities.

She visited last week and told me she wasn’t going to see me for a while. “I’m going to France,” she said with a smile.

“For what?” I asked, popping a chocolate covered strawberry in my mouth.

“My mom’s selling the estate and moving into a smaller house. It’s something she’s always wanted to do and now that my father’s gone,” Evie cleared her throat. “Tyler’s moving to Los Angeles --”

“To do what?”

She shrugged. “Jonah’s back in the city. Mom’s finally immersing herself in her art and I thought, it’s time to make a change. Do something exciting.”

“There’s nothing more exciting than moving overseas without a plan.”

Evie laughed. “You’re trying to be my voice of reason.
You
?”

Evie was the only one who could joke about the Jennifer event without making me clam up.

“I know. No one should take any advice from me.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she said, plucking a sandwich from the silver tray. “Chace is back in town too.”

“Oh, yeah?” I tried to look uninterested.

“Yes. Have you been keeping tabs on him?”

“No.”

Part of forgetting Chace was letting him go completely. That meant deleting his name from my Google alerts, ignoring all e-mails that pertained to him, and avoiding the magazine stands on my way to work, hand shielding the left side so I wasn’t tempted to look for news about him and Jennifer.

“Huh,” she said. “Well I’m not going to press the issue.”

As much as I tried to keep the thoughts of Chace at bay, there were moments where an image of Jennifer popped into my head - her belly swollen over her hips, her manicured hands massaging her stomach as she laid in bed. My stomach twisted with an obscene jealousy but I swallowed it and tucked it away.

I thought dating might do the trick but it only seemed to make things worse. Most of the men reminded me of the worst facets of Chace. The ones who didn’t remind me of him were uncomfortable in their skin and spoke with a fledging confidence, always checking my eyes to make sure I was paying attention, watching every tick of my face.
Should I change the conversation, is she laughing loud enough, is she going to call me again?

“Sis,” one of the hostess’, Julie said, swatting me on my shoulder. I was standing in the small hallway between the floor and the kitchen with three other girls, waiting to be called for a table. “You’ve got booth number three.” She grinned and winked.

Julie liked me because she liked my sister. She was always giving me tables full of good-looking men. I was still in that awkward stage of serving where I didn’t know what to do with them. The other girls worked guys like a pro, flirting enough that they left a tip but not a string of phone numbers they felt obligated to call. I was nice, but didn’t lather it on thick. I flirted but never to the point of touching their arm or running my hand through their hair (some of the girls did and they were always the ones grinning at the end of the night).

I straightened my shoulders and stuck out my chest, balancing my tray between two fingers as I wandered over to booth number three. Five heads of hair stood over the brown leather booth, laughter pouring from the circular space.

“You guys seem to be having a good time,” I said, plastering on my customer service voice, pitchy and bright. “But I think a pitcher of beer might make it better.”

The man in the middle looked up from his phone and my breath caught in my chest. I should’ve recognized him from the familiar top of his head. Chace was wearing a plaid shirt, opened at the top to reveal a t-shirt underneath, like something he stole out of Tyler’s closet. Gone were his pressed suits and slicked back hair, his hair was shorter and combed neatly to the side. He let his stubble grow in, cool, casual, and attractive amongst a group of four men who were mirror images. He caught my eye and the light in his eyes flickered off.

“How about two pitchers of Sam Adams?” the man closest to me said, wrapping his hand around my arm.

I plastered on a smile. Handsy customers were always good tippers. “Two pitchers,” I said, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. My eyes glazed over Chace as I looked around the group. “Celebrating anything tonight?”

The man on Chace’s left whistled. “We sure are,” he said, throwing his arm around Chace’s shoulder. He was staring at me, his eyes burning holes into the bridge of my nose and the space between my eyes but I wouldn’t look at him. His friend gleefully patted his chest. “We just found out my friend here is
not
going to be a father.”

The rest of the men cheered and something like regret tightened in my stomach. Did something happen to Jennifer and the baby?

“Congratulations?” I said, my smile wavering.

“Honey,” said the red-head, “you have no idea the bullet my friend just missed.”

I punched in their order before rushing towards the hall near the bathrooms, needing a moment to think.

My breath was caught in my chest, refusing to move through my body, trapping me as I leaned against the brick wall. I told myself to breathe.

I hated Jennifer, that much was true, but I didn’t want them to lose their baby. And for Chace to be here celebrating about it? The mere thought made a sliver of vomit crawl up my throat.

Laura’s footsteps squeaked against the black tile floor as she rushed towards me. “I just saw him,” she said, hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

It was the first time she’d willingly touched me since I got back from the estate. I melted into it, leaning into her side as I placed my head on her shoulder. She threw her arm around my waist, pulling me in as I said, “Chace isn’t going to be a father.”

She pulled away, eyes wide. “What happened?”

“I don’t know but I think Jennifer may have lost the baby.”

“Shit,” she said. Then, “Wait. They’re not here…celebrating are they?”

I nodded.

Her face scrunched up in disgust. “
Jesus
, he’s a bigger asshole than I thought.”

A few months ago I would’ve fought on her that –
No, Chace isn’t that bad really
. – But I agreed.

“I’m going to get another girl on that table,” she said, turning away from me.

“No. I can handle it.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I handled him for months when he was hurling obscenities at me. I can handle a few of his friends, no matter how sick they are.”

It was less awkward than I thought it would be, bringing the table their beers, pouring them their first round, checking on them throughout their meal. I smiled whenever I was touched, laughed at their jokes and expertly ignored Chace’s stares. He was watching me wherever I went, his eyes on my back as I served the tables around him, glancing occasionally behind the bar to my sister. Laura didn’t try to avoid him. She made eye contact and openly scowled, Chace quickly looking away.

His friends didn’t seem like the type to celebrate something as horrendous as losing a child but they did three rounds of shots, cheering to the absence of fatherhood. Chace only drank two, passing the third to his friend.

They left a mess of hot wing sauce and blue cheese dressing but also a hefty tip in the middle of the table.

“Three hundred dollars?” one of the servers said, looking over my shoulder. She kicked the back of my leg with her heel. “Good for you.”

I stuffed the money in my apron and tried not to think about how much of it was from Chace. Was it guilt money? For firing me and not having the balls to tell me himself? Or were his friends, who sported equally expensive watches and jeans, the generous ones and Chace refused to tip, remembering the moments where I lied to him, luring him into a false relationship like the jezebel I was.

The money burned a hole in my apron throughout my shift. I clocked out and tipped the bar and waited in the booth for my sister to close out. She grabbed her jacket from the back and swung it around her shoulders.

“You ready?” she asked.

The winter air was crisp, like walking into a freezer, unescapable no matter how warm the bar was. Laura tightened her jacket and I stuffed my hands in the pocket of my coat.

“It’s going to snow soon,” she said. “I’m going to have to take a day off and take the kids to the park. You know how much they love making snow angels.”

“Let’s both take a day off. I rarely see them unless they’re sleeping.”

She smiled. “I would like that.”

We were steps away from the bar when the door of a black car opened. Out stepped Chace, sporting a long tweed coat and black leather gloves.

My sister stepped in front of me. “What the fuck do you want?”

He held up his hands. “I wanted to apologize.” He leaned to the side, looking at me behind my sister. “To the both of you.”

Laura crossed her arms. “For what?”

Chace resisted rolling his eyes. “First, for stealing your sister away without asking. And then for firing her.” He looked at me. “For firing
you
without giving a reason.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, turning on the ice, heading down the street.

Laura followed me and the car door closed. Chace ran to catch up.

“Please,” he said, his breath forming white clouds in the air. “I need to talk to you.”

“She already said no,” said Laura.

“Actually, she didn’t,” said Chace.

“You know I could scream,” Laura said, “and in seconds a couple of bouncers will come running to slug your ass in the jaw. You might crack your head on the pavement and we both know you don’t want that to happen again.”

I looked down the sidewalk. Two of the bouncers from the bar were watching us cautiously, their gaze pinned on Chace who backed away from my sister. He stuffed his hands back in his pockets.

“Alright,” he said.

He turned away, shoulders hunched forward as he ambled down the sidewalk.

“Let’s go,” Laura said, grabbing my arm.

I planted my feet against the ground. “Wait,” I called out.

Chace stopped and threw me a look over his shoulder, his signature eyebrow raised.

“What are you doing?” said Laura, her hand tightening around my arm.

“I just want to hear what he has to say.”

The wind kicked up, scratching at our cheeks and ears.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” she said, though there was less malice in her words and more – pity, regret?

“I know,” I said, fixing a smile to my mouth. “But you have to let me be one.”

She threw her hands in the air. “I’ll meet you at home,” she said, turning on her feet.

Laura disappeared around the corner.

Chace waited, his eyes cast over me as if he couldn’t believe I’d agreed to talk to him.

“I’m not having this conversation outside,” I said, eyeing the red tip of his nose.

He glanced towards the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, but not there.”

We went to a little bar down the road, where the exterior wall was made of glass and everyone sat at small circular tables and tall barstools with white curved seats. The bartenders were beautiful and fit, wearing sleek black suits or dresses, mixing drinks to a constant thump of house music, low so you could hear yourself speak. Chace and I took a seat in the center of the room, the purple lights flashing across his face as he ordered a vodka soda. I did the same.

“I never thought you would work in a place like that,” he said.

I shrugged. “Haven’t you heard? You can’t get a job in print if you don’t have an MFA.”

“
I
don’t have an MFA.”

“But you had enough money to live off of while you traveled and wrote your first book.”

Chace ducked his head. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. I didn’t want to make him feel bad for having money – I hated people who did that – but my inch of jealousy slipped.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You don’t have to apologize.”