Writers & Lovers - Lily King Page 0,37

doing that,’ I tell him. ‘It’s like ice, even though it’s the opposite. Made from heat not cold.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, lifting out a jagged shard and trying to look at me through it.

I realize I’m just standing there, hovering. ‘Can I get you all anything else?’ I say, back in my waitress voice. It seems to startle all three of them. They shake their heads.

I stay in the wait station, drying the rack of clean glasses Alejandro brought out, embarrassed that I hovered. I have a problem with that sometimes, getting attached. Other people’s families are a weakness of mine.

When Mary Hand’s big table leaves I help her clear it. Oscar signals for the check. I print it out but put it in my pocket. It was $87.50. I pull out the wad of cash John gave me. It’s mostly ones: $24. Two of the tables in the club bar tipped me in cash so I can cover it easily.

I bring over one of our small check trays with three chocolate mints. ‘Your sons paid in advance. Happy birthday.’

‘What?’ he says, but I’m already walking away.

I watch him haggle with them. The boys are grinning. Jasper’s legs are swinging below the table. Oscar stands and John stands and Jasper stays in his chair. His brother pokes him, and he tries to poke back and misses. Oscar signals for John to step away, and he bends down and scoops Jasper up and drapes him on his shoulder as easily as cloth. Oscar turns and looks toward the wait station. I’m over near the far windows, working on roll-ups, and he doesn’t turn far enough to see me. Then they’re gone.

I clear the table: the martini glass scraped clean, the burnt-down sparkler laid among cookie crumbs, the basil-lavender crème brûlée nearly perfectly intact, minus its sheet of sugar ice. Iván, the brunch busboy, comes and helps me take away everything else, the salt and pepper and sugars and vase of flowers. We pull off the pink top cloth so that only the white one remains. I bring the dishes to Alejandro, and when I come back out Mary Hand says, ‘Looks like Marcus’s having a little dustup with your fellow.’ A dustup down at the gazebo. I feel the memory fall through my body like a stone.

Oscar’s back in the doorway, pointing at me. Marcus is clearly trying to intervene, but Oscar pats him on the arm and moves past him. I meet him halfway. All the tables are gone now and the room is stripped and Craig has left and no music is playing. I can hear his boys thumping on the stairs below. He’s breathing heavily through his nose. I would have thought something awful had happened, except I know it’s just about the money.

‘Hey,’ he says, out of breath. It feels like we’re alone in a narrow corridor instead of an enormous dining room. He stands close and plunges his hands deep in pockets, bunching up his shoulders. He looks younger without his kids, nearly boyish. ‘So, they pulled a fast one on you, didn’t they?’

‘They didn’t mean to.’

‘I’m not so sure. John’s pretty good at math.’

‘The prices are in tiny font, way over to the side. No dollar signs. He might not have seen or understood.’

He nods reluctantly. ‘And you let him get away with it.’

‘He was wearing a bow tie.’

He looks at his feet, fighting a grin. He has on beat-up hiking boots with red laces. He lifts his eyes up to me but not his head, and his eyes are even greener now because light from the deck is coming in over my shoulder. ‘I suppose I’d rather think of him as unperceptive than unethical. At any rate, I owe you sixty-three fifty, plus tip.’

‘I already cashed out.’

He holds out a stack of twenties, fresh from the ATM. ‘You have to take it.’

I shake my head. ‘Happy birthday.’

‘I’m not leaving till you take it.’

I step back. ‘Your boys wanted to treat you. I just helped them out a bit. I’ve got to get back to my side work.’

‘Then I’m just going to leave it right here.’ He drops the bills on the floor. They fan out. Four twenties.

‘I’m not picking that up.’ I turn around and walk through the wait station into the kitchen.

After a while Marcus finds me. He’s holding a pink envelope with a white iris in the corner.

‘Just let the customers pay for their own meals, okay? Even if they look like Kevin