eyes fall to the table, to his elegant hands. His jacket cuff is pulled up, exposing a strange kind of scar or tattoo on his wrist. "Does that mean something special?" I ask, pointing to it.
He looks down, and quickly pulls his jacket to cover it. "Just a birthmark."
I flush and look away. "I'll just... find something for you to eat." I rush off, and hide in the back until I can slow my wild heart.
Es rushes by, hands full of plates, but she pauses when she sees me. "What's the matter with you, darlin'? You're not coming down with that flu that's going around, are you? Vomit is not a good look on me."
I shake my head. "I'm not sick. Just... flustered. I don't know. It's weird. I'm fine."
She raises a plucked eyebrow at me, then glances out to my table. "Oh, I see. Darlin', that man is a gift from the Universe. He is your birthday present, all wrapped up in silk and satin. You must give him your number!"
"No way. Definitely not my type."
"Really? Tall, dark, and sexy as sin isn't your type? Pray tell what is?" She leans closer to me, and I can smell her expensive perfume. "Look, honey. You are the closest thing to a virgin The Roxy has ever seen over the age of sixteen. You need to get some before you shrivel up."
I puff out my chest in mock offense. "I am not a virgin!"
She rolls her eyes. "High school boys behind the bleachers do not count. Now get that man something delicious to eat, and I'm not talking about anything from our menu."
Despite my bold words, I blush, because she's not wrong. For a waitress at The Roxy, I'm woefully inexperienced when it comes to men.
But right now, time is ticking, my other tables are filling up, and I need to figure out what to feed this strange man, when my eyes land on my birthday cake. I cut a slice and bring it out to him. His eyes crinkle when he sees it. "Good choice," he says.
"It's my birthday cake," I spurt out. Because I'm a five-year-old with her first kindergarten crush, apparently.
"Happy birthday," he says, taking a big bite out of the cake. "My brother would love this place. Just decadent enough for him."
"You don't enjoy decadence?" I ask.
"I prefer to stay on task, to not get distracted by temporary pleasures. What about you, Arianna? What do you enjoy?"
I narrow my eyes. "How do you know my name?" We don't wear name tags at The Roxy.
"I heard your coworker mention it," he says without pause. "But you didn't answer my question. What do you enjoy?"
"Customers who tip big," I say, turning on my heel to walk away. I hear him chuckle as I stop to take the order of my next table.
When I come back, he's gone, only one bite missing from his cake. But he left a stack of twenty-dollar bills under the water glass, with a business card. I stare at it in disbelief, then count it quickly. Three hundred dollars? For a slice of cake? My breath hitches. Was this on purpose? Who is this guy? I pick up the card and study it. It's heavy card stock with engraved silver writing. No name, just a phone number and a hand-written note that says, "See you soon," in a formal cursive style in thick black ink. I stick the card and money in my pocket as a drunken man across the diner kicks the juke box.
Es deals with him, explaining with hand on hip the appropriate Roxy behavior. I catch her eye and gesture to the back, then escape the customers.
She finds me hovering over the remains of my birthday cake, staring at the money.
"Oh my! Did that sexy thing leave that for you?"
I nod, still unable to speak.
"And did you give him your number? Tell me you gave him your number!"
I shake my head. "But he gave me his." I show her the card.
She whistles under her breath. "Girlfriend, you had better call him. If you don't, I will."
I peel off a few twenties and slip them in Es's hand. "For your fund."
Her eyes fill with tears and she sniffs as she delicately brushes them away. "What are you doing, girl? Do you know how long it takes me to do my face? You can't give me this. You need it too much."
I shake my head. "Es, you've been saving for your gender reassignment surgery