Aftermath of Dreaming(22)

And he wanted to help me. Oh, my God. I couldn’t even imagine what he wanted to do, how he meant to, but just that phrase—“I want to help you”—was so astonishing, so extraordinary, so giving me a ring. “I want to help you.” It was all I could do not to scream in exhilaration.

Then I realized that Andrew would have to come through the lobby again to leave. He must have arrived while I was on break, so that would mean the end of his meal should be soon and I’d get to see him again! One more time until…Tomorrow, maybe? It felt like we had a date. Him telling me to call, but also something else. Oh, my God, just to see his face again looking at me and mine at him.

But what if Lily Creed or that other woman was with him? Oh, no. Well, even so, they were probably just friends. They’d have to be or he wouldn’t have come down to see me. Okay, so it didn’t matter if they were with him or not. I hoped. I wished time would jump to either Sunday, when I could call him, or back to forty minutes ago, when he was standing there. Either one, but just me and him.

After almost an hour of alternately wondering why Andrew hadn’t appeared and envisioning all kinds of dreamy scenarios between us, another host came downstairs to the coat room.

“Seamus wants you up at the stand,” Tommy said. He was from Queens and was working his way through John Jay College studying criminal law. “Had a good time in here?” He nudged me hard on the arm as I tried to walk by.

“No,” I said, pushing my way past. “It was boring, like it always is.”

“Yeah, a certain someone boring into you,” he said, and leered at me.

Oh, God, of all people to know about Andrew. Tommy was the weird little brother my parents thankfully never had. He was constantly making homoerotic jokes with two waiters from Yugoslavia, and I found that odd since his girlfriend waited for him every weekend night after work. I hoped he wouldn’t include this in his repertoire.

Up the same stairs where Andrew had walked, I walked—if my body being propelled forward by sheer ecstasy could be called that—into the bar dining room where I took my place against the wall next to the ma?tre d’ stand. Another hostess was there waiting to transport customers to their table like some benevolent version of the boat in that Greek myth, ferrying people to the Kingdom of the Dead. She was new and looked overwhelmed. It was her first Saturday night, and I remembered what it was like in the beginning, trying to quickly figure out the system and how it all worked. Seamus probably had her taking as many tables as possible to get her broken in, so maybe only Tommy might blab. But then again, even if he did, who cared? Surely none of them. Andrew was just some Hollywood actor, for Christ’s sake. What was I worrying about?

But it was all I could do to stay still and not dance around the large room. It was as if a group of fourteen-year-old girls had taken over my insides. They were giggling, whispering, and screaming their swooning delight. Maybe Andrew was about to come through! Would he look at me again? Smile? Transmit a secret message to me with his eyes? Andrew, please walk by.

The cavernous wood-paneled barroom was dimly lit, like a stage whose main spotlight had been left off. Seamus hadn’t looked at me once—just kept his head bowed, looking down. He was built like a boxer beyond his prime, with a face that wasn’t handsome but one you were glad to look at. Usually he was flirty in an avuncular way, so I figured he was having one of his wretched nights. Seamus would have Henry, the Scottish bartender, fix him “tea” in a glass that was mostly whiskey, then keep it just inside the kitchen door to sip on with a few fast puffs off a cigarette in between arriving customers. A wretched night was one that allowed little opportunity for that.

Footsteps were approaching down the long marble hall that led from the main dining room to the bar. Maybe Andrew! I kept my head turned away so I wouldn’t be looking straight at him, but could turn, see him, and pretend to be surprised. Oh, you hadn’t left yet?

Closer and closer the footsteps came until the last tattooing on the hard marble floor was heard, then steps were taken on the barroom’s deep carpeted plush. I turned to look, ready to catch his eye, but an elderly couple had emerged into the shallow light. Goddammit. The fourteen-year-old girls inside me were silenced as the couple bid good night to Seamus, and he sputtered a goodbye to them with his Irish charm. So where was Andrew? He must still be in the dining room, having some marathon meal. Okay, at least he’s still near, still able to be seen again. I’ll just be sure to ferry the next party into the dining room so that I can.

A party of four came up the stairs; the men in dark suits, the women wearing Chanel. It was clear that only one of the couples had eaten in the restaurant before. One of the women was looking around as the other kept a running commentary in her ear. The taller man walked with authority up to the ma?tre d’ stand and gave Seamus his name, while the other stood back but away from the wives, who were admiring the large brass mobile hanging over the bar, a waterfall of shimmer dripping in the low light.

I practically jumped forward to get in place to take them, almost bumped Seamus’s arm as he checked the slip of paper that was prepared for each party—table number, number of persons, if they were VIP, birthday cake, anything the captain needed to know—but Seamus deliberately handed the slip to the new hostess, signaling her to take the foursome away. My face openly fell, but Seamus was too busy heightening his accent to the realm of leprechauns (he got bigger tips that way), as he told the party to enjoy their meal, to notice my expression.