Carson’s expression at the door and wonder exactly what it all means. Why? How? I want so much to know. To hear him recount all the sordid details until his words make my ears bleed.
But I won’t ask him. I won’t belittle myself. I won’t allow his honeyed barbs to flay my skin. Ardeo is Latin for blaze, according to the internet. I certainly feel like I’ve been burned. Head down. Plough on. That’s the tone of my life from now on.
I remember when I didn’t want to move out of the maid’s quarters. I’d experienced a sense of not belonging on the fancy side of the apartment. That I’d be left with a bill I couldn’t pay. That feeling seems almost prophetic now.
There are small signs of improvement in Lulu’s mood, though they mostly occur when Sophia helps me out by doing the school pick-up. It means I’ve been able to go straight to Marta’s brother’s bar for my five-hour shift. I’d agreed to work Tuesday through to Thursday, and the same the following week. Only, when Friday comes along, I find myself rostered on again.
So here I am; day four of working a thirteen-hour day.
I remember vividly now what I hated about working in bars. The sticky floors, the drunk customers, the requirement to be nice to people who really don’t deserve it.
“What do you mean you’re not serving food now?”
I sigh and fix the man on the other side of the bar with the kind of look I ordinarily reserve for Lulu when she’s on the brink of a meltdown.
“Just what I said. As of ten minutes ago,’ I glance behind me to encourage him to see the time for himself, “the kitchen closed.”
“This is not fuckin’ acceptable,” he snarls, pointing a menacing finger my way. Or maybe he thinks it’s menacing. Personally, I think it makes him look like a colossal prick. “I want to see your fuckin’ line manager.”
“Hmm. Me too.”
“What?”
“I’d like to see her, too.” Mostly to help me load the mountain of glasses into the machine but unfortunately, she seems to be a little work shy and has buggered off home. I’m not sure she’s living up to her job title of supervisor, unless she’s doing it remotely. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow. She’s what you might call indisposed.”
She was also indisposed yesterday when her boyfriend turned up halfway through her shift. She skulked off early then, too. Either the security cameras are just bits of plastic or she’s counting on no one ever looking at the footage. But I’m not going to be here long enough to let any of this concern me. Just like I’m not going to let this cockhead spoil my cast iron cultivated zen, either.
Think of the tips, I tell myself. Obviously, not from him.
“I am a fucking regular!”
“And I’m Meghan Markle.”
“What?” For a minute, he looks almost to be considering the truth in this. But really, would she be working in some crummy bar on the Upper East Side? In a blonde wig, faking an English accent?
No, I don’t think so either.
“Listen mate, you are a grown man who doesn’t even have the excuse of being drunk to cover his rudeness.” Because the rock star has been drinking soda all night. “And you’re throwing a temper tantrum over a Reuben. Sort your flippin’ life out.” And with that, I walk to the opposite end of the bar.
Zen. Zen. I am so motherfluffin zen.
“Has anyone ever told you you have beautiful eyes?”
And . . . there goes my zen.
I stifle a sigh not bothering to look up, choosing instead to tidy the tray of cocktail shakers, citrus juicers, and muddlers sitting beneath the two feet of mahogany separating me and my smooth-talking compliment-er.
Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll realise this compliment-ee wants no part of his bullshizzery.
“Are they, like, gold or something?”
“Or something,” I mutter. It was probably a lucky guess. I doubt he can tell the colour in the dim lighting. I’m also far from flattered given he’s the third man to say something similar tonight. Also, it’s strange how they all seem to think my beautiful eyes are glued to the front of my T-shirt. Anyway, I’m pleased the crowd has thinned out, maybe thanks to an earlier deluge of rain of almost biblical proportions.
Maybe there’s something in the Manhattan water supply that makes beer goggles super effective.
“Gold, definitely. I can tell you’re a little shy, too. So why don’t I break the