Twenty Grand (3 page)

It wasn't. But I went up to my room, opened my tip box, and piled up my tips. When nothing was left, I brought the pile down. Mr. Serrano stared at the stack and said he'd been expecting a check. Then he said he'd make do. He took the pile and went back to the sunroom, where he'd been eating a peach cobbler, to count. I walked down to the beach. The twins were resting on it. Their long brown bodies were shimmering on one huge purple towel and the gold ends of their dark hair were flicking at their chins. I sat down and stuck my hands in the sand. I said I hadn't known I was paying rent.

You weren't, Jean said. I mean, we didn't want you to. But when we were presenting the idea to our parents, of you living with us, we threw it in, like, to sweeten the pot.

Jessica's eyes were wide. To make the pot a little sweeter! she said.

They must have seen a sour look on my face. Not only would I not make a killing, I realized, I might not break even. And then I realized something that shocked me: the twins would become investment bankers, after all.

Jean touched my shoulder. You would have paid rent anywhere else, she said.

So, Jean said. Do you want us to help you a little bit, with the rent?

We didn't know it would be a problem, Jessica said.

Jean poured some oil on her stomach and rubbed it in firmly. Maybe we can talk to our parents, she said. To get them to lower the rate a bit, for the second half. She looked at me. How about that? she said.

 

I
STARTED WORKING
lunch shifts in addition to dinner ones. This meant I spent my days with Dina. I didn't mind working lunch, because Dina refilled my customers' waters and bussed my tables. I told her not to, but she did it anyway. I'd realized she wore the same black shorts every day. They said “Tiger Wear” in a red triangular logo on the back, and had pleats in the front that accentuated her hips. When I asked how she kept them clean, she said she washed them at night in her bathroom sink. But I didn't feel bad for her, because she liked her job and was good at it. She had a lot of regulars, old people who tipped her ten percent. Her favorite was a Swedish couple. They must have been seventy-five, but they came in every day at noon, ordered six scotches and two prime ribs with pilaf, and ate the whole thing. Occasionally they ordered veal as a third dish, and offered Dina the chunk left, and Dina said she looked forward to eating it. They tipped her five dollars no matter what. I thought that was good, until I found out what their bill was. Then I thought it sucked.

Dina shrugged. They're old, she said.

But they drive a Mercedes, I said.

She stared at me. They're my customers, she said.

The next day Dina called in sick. I served all the regulars. They all seemed to know Dina well, and they all made me stand at their table while they talked about her: how she was so nice, how her son was ill, and how she had huge hospital bills because she didn't have health insurance. The Swedish couple gave me a lecture about America that ended with the conclusion that Sweden was superior because in Sweden the streets were sparkling clean and everyone had health insurance, and I nodded because I thought if I did they'd tip me well. They left me two dollars and fifty cents.

 

I
WAS WORRIED
about money, but my waitressing did not improve. No matter how fast I ran through the restaurant, I couldn't manage to get my parties what they needed when they needed it. One night Boris said he wanted to talk to me in the bar after work. In the bar he made me a drink. Then he said I was no good in the restaurant.

I told him I'd do better. I said I'd been memorizing the menu. But he shook his head. He said some people didn't have the brains to waitress. He said his restaurant was a dining establishment. He said he himself had seen me hold up a steak dinner and ask a table of twelve to hand it down the table to the person who'd ordered it.

Okay, I said. I'll stop doing that.

He shook his head again, and put his arm around my back. I like you, he said. He had a habit of smiling like he'd just heard a secret. He was doing it now, and his teeth were narrow and long. I think his gums had receded.

I like you too, I said.

The twins, he said—they're brats. Spoiled rotten. I don't even want them here next summer in fact.

I said I thought they had some internships lined up.

He didn't seem to hear what I'd said. He said the twins were vicious girls. Then he squeezed my shoulder hard and said that the twins had started life on third base and no one would ever look at me twice, the way people looked at them.

Maybe if there were two of me, I said. I was kidding, but I guess he didn't realize that, because he said, No, they still wouldn't. Then he said he needed a cocktail waitress. Dina had been doing it. Between me and him, she was better in the dining room. He finished his beer. God love her, he said, but she's too old to wear a bow in her hair.

I said I didn't want to take Dina's job. Boris stared. He said I wasn't taking her job, because he was giving it to me. He said I was lucky to have a job, the way I sucked in the dining room, and that Dina wasn't my concern, she was his.

Anyway, he added, she needs to spend time with her kids.

 

I
N THE BAR
I did well. It was easy—all I had to do was write down the drink orders, carry the drinks over, collect the empties, and get my tips. The bar's triptych of glass walls faced the lake, its dark expanse and the pine-studded islands in its gray distance, and even though I often arrived before the sun had set, somehow the bar was always dim and I moved through it with the buoyancy and power of dreams. When I got home the first night, it was two a.m., and the twins were watching TV.

I wouldn't want to cocktail waitress, Jessica said.

No offense, Jean said.

He asked us if we'd work in the bar, you know, Jessica said. But it seems gross.

Anyway, Jean said, we knew
you
needed it.

 

T
HE NEXT NIGHT
I saw Dina in the bathroom at the restaurant. It was nine o'clock, time for me to start work and for her to go home, but she wasn't dressed to go home. She was wearing a shiny purple shirt and a tight black skirt, and was leaning across the counter and putting on purple lipstick. I thought maybe no one had told her she'd been fired from the bar. I felt embarrassed. Before I could back out, she waved me in.

The purple lipstick was smeared above her lip, and her right hand was shaking a bit. She said she had a date—her first in eight years. She said the guy wore silver chains on his neck and worked at the dog track, but that other than that, he seemed nice. He'd told her she looked a bit like this Italian film star, one people used to tell her she looked like sometimes. She brushed a hand through her hair and repeated the star's name. I'd never heard it before. She added that the woman had been in a famous Western with Charles Bronson once, and I pretended to know who Charles Bronson was.

Good luck on the date, I said.

She thanked me. Then she shoved her stuff in her purse and asked me if I was working in the bar. I said I was. Whatever Boris had told me, she said, it wasn't true. I apologized, but before I could finish, she said to forget it. I was just a kid, she said, anyway. I didn't decide shit.

 

W
ITHOUT ANY SHIFTS
in common, the twins and I barely talked. I wandered through their house during dinner hours, when the twins were at the restaurant, feeling like a thief or a guest. I looked through their closets, tried on their clothes, and ate tiny bites of their food. Then I smoked cigarettes and watched TV, until it was time for me to leave for the restaurant, and for them to come home and watch TV.

In mid-July the twins drove to the mall in the southern part of the state, near the college, and spent a few thousand dollars on clothes for the fall. When they got home, they brought the clothes to their room, laid them out on their beds, and told me to come see. I particularly admired one sweater, a gray cashmere one with a soft turtleneck, and I was rubbing the fabric between my fingers, pretending the sweater was about to go over my head, when I saw the price tag.

I said something stupid.

Jean looked annoyed. She explained that the clothes were an investment because they could wear them to work at their internships. She added that it was worth it to spend money on clothes you loved. If you wear a two-hundred-dollar sweater ten times, Jean said, that's twenty bucks a wear. But if you buy a crappy sweater for forty dollars and you only wear it once, that's forty bucks a wear. So expensive sweaters are cheaper than crappy ones.

I fingered the sweater. Its incredible loveliness reminded me I didn't have tuition money for the fall. I wasn't good at college—the social part, the academic part, any of it—but I wanted to go back.

Hey, I said. Did you ever ask your dad about reducing the rent?

The twins looked at each other.

Now is not a good time, Jean said.

Timing is everything, Jessica said.

We didn't want to tell you this, Jean said, but our dad's stocks are not doing well.

He got bum advice.

That's why he didn't stay up here this summer, because he really needs to concentrate on his stocks.

Nothing is certain, Jessica said.

We're not getting our new car this summer, Jean said. That's certain.

We've been cutting corners, Jessica said.

We're working hard, Jean said. We're really shopping for bargains.

Jessica took the sweater from me and held it against her breasts. Worrying about money is awful. I can't wait until we're bankers! We're going to help people invest!

Jean tapped my shoulder. There's no better way to help people, she said, than to help them invest.

 

I
ASKED
Boris to give me more shifts, and he said that as a favor, he'd let me work dinners again. One night dinner was slow, and the twins, Dina, and I spent most of the night on the back step smoking cigarettes. We worked up a good feeling talking about how hard the work at the restaurant was. When the good feeling wore out, the twins stared pensively into the dark. Eventually, Jessica touched Dina's hair.

I can't believe you've been waitressing fifteen years, she said.

Dina said it wasn't bad.

It's kind of bad, Jessica said. I mean, we only get two dollars and twenty-five cents an hour.

Plus tips, Dina said.

Yeah, Jean said. But we have to sing happy birthday to doofuses, and the benefits suck.

There are no benefits, Jessica said.

Dina shrugged. Once I got a Christmas bonus, she said.

How much? Jessica said.

Jean poked her.

Ow, Jessica said.

Dina's elbows were on her knees. It was generous, she said.

Later that night, when the twins and I were watching TV, I told the twins about Dina's kid being sick. I told them about her hospital bills and how she'd been angry when I'd taken her place in the bar.

I'm sorry, Jean said, but if someone wants health benefits, they should really work at Vollman's Mart, because Vollman's Mart gives health benefits.

I like Dina a lot, Jessica said, but no one's forcing her to be a waitress.

What do they get paid at Vollman's Mart? I said. Don't they get like five dollars an hour?

Jessica changed the channel to the late show.

Everyone has to start somewhere, Jean said.

 

I'
D BEEN WORKING
in the bar a few weeks when Boris said he wanted to talk to me after work. The carpet had needed vacuuming that night, and I wasn't done until two thirty. When I was done I was tired and hoped he'd forgotten about our talk, but he came in once I finished and stood at the bar.

I've been thinking, he said.

He sat down next to me. I felt nervous, though I didn't know why.

What I thought is this, he said. He put his hand on my leg. You could spend the night on my boat with me, he said, tomorrow night. He said, looking away from me, that it wouldn't have to be a big deal. It would be a relaxed time, and he'd bring champagne. He looked at me. His white curls were damp, and his face was hot pink.

I could use the company, he said. And I'd give you something for it. I know you could use extra cash.

I don't know, I said. What I meant was no. The glass in my hand felt slippery. I wanted extra cash. But I didn't think I could do it.

I'll pay you a thousand dollars, he said.

Oh, I said. The money was staggering. But there was no way I would do it.

All right, I said.

 

T
HE NEXT NIGHT
at ten o'clock I was folding napkins in the waitress station when Boris came up behind me, pressed his stomach against my back, and wrapped his arms around my chest. It seemed unfair, as we weren't on the boat. The twins had left to go home—I'd told them I had a date with a guy I'd met, and they'd stared, and then shrugged, and left—but Dina was still in the kitchen, cleaning the machines that the twins had supposedly cleaned. Boris whispered something about us both having a really good time. When he whispered, I turned around and saw the white hairs tufted on the pads of fat beneath his chin. He was smiling gently, his mouth half open. His breath smelled like peppermints and soured milk.

Excuse me, I said. I walked to the bathroom. I locked the door and sat on the toilet. On the toilet I tried to think about the thousand dollars. Thousand dollars, I thought, thousand dollars. But it didn't work. I didn't want to go on his boat. I knew I was behaving badly. I'd been taught not to back out of commitments. But I also wasn't sure why I'd said yes in the first place. It seemed stupid. If I didn't go back to school this fall, I could go back the next. I bit my nails. I recounted the tips I'd made at dinner. I counted three times. It wasn't much. But I felt sure I was getting better as a waitress. I put my tips in my apron and went out to the dining room. Boris was sitting at a table.