Sweetbitter(32)

“I’m not crying. I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, no shit, that’s life,” he said, exasperated. He started scooping ice. He hurt my feelings all the time but was open about my stupidity, so I loved him.

“But I’m tired all the time.”

“You want a disco-nap, pumpkin?”

I shook my head. He shrugged.

“Don’t worry, Baby Monster. You still innocent.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, what you think it means? When the trial comes, you will be not guilty.”

“That’s what you think innocent means?”

“It’s not purity, sweetheart, if that’s what you thinking.” He blinked twice like he knew everything about me.

“I don’t know that I’m innocent exactly, but…”

“But what? You wanna be the victim too? When you grow up you gonna own all that mess. That’s being an adult, pumpkin-face. You got the booze, the sex, the drugs. You got your under-eye concealer. Maybe you’re tired ’cause you lying to yourself all day. Or you just fucking Jake all night like a little slut?”

He looked at me and waited, smiling. As if he expected me to answer. I started giggling. He slid toward me, conspiratorial.

“Oh yeah, like you such a good girl.”

—

MY EYES FULL OF kinetic energy, my skin sensitized to anticipating motion. Specks of dust taking off from bottles, shadows darting onto the floor, glasses listing over the edges of counters and caught just in time. I knew exactly when someone was going to appear from a blind corner. The Owner called it the Excellence Reflex. The reflex was to see beyond my line of vision, to see around and behind myself. The breath between consciousness and action collapsed. No hesitations, no projections, no order. I became a verb.





III


“WHAT TIME is it?”

I leaned toward the touch-screen terminal where Simone was breaking down an order. Her hand shot out and covered my eyes.

“Never look! Once you look it stops moving altogether. It’s best to be surprised when it comes.”

“It’s only seven twenty!”

“You’re a silly, rebellious thing, aren’t you? Is it so difficult to accept the present tense?”

“Seven twenty. I’m not going to make it.”

“We will turn at eight and be so busy you’ll forget who you are. One of the many joys of this profession.”

“No, Simone, really. I’ve already had three coffees and I’m sleeping behind my eyes. I can’t do it.”

“Do you think you’re here as a favor to us?” She reviewed her order and tapped her fingers. She sent it through and I heard the phantom sounds of a ticket being printed. Mechanically I started toward it and she shook my shoulder.

“You are paid to be here. It’s your job. Look alive.”

I pushed through the kitchen doors, my arms leaden.

“Pick up,” said Scott. He squinted at the tickets. The funny thing about Scott expediting was that he couldn’t see that well, had probably needed glasses for years.

“Picking up.” When I approached I said in a quieter voice, “Oh man, I’m not going to make it.”

“You don’t have a choice. Table 49: calamari 1, Gruyère SOS 2, and I need a follow.”

“I’ll come back for it, 49 is quick.”

“We’re cutting into a new wheel of Parmesan later. If that makes you feel better.”

“Oh goody, I have something to live for.”

“Okay bitch, I just uninvited you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so tired.”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” he said as I took the plates away.

I approached table 49. They were the hungry sort of guests who had spotted me from across the room and were beckoning me with their anxiety. I tried to smile Calm down, I have your fucking food, you’re not going to fucking starve to death, it is a restaurant for fuck’s sake. When we laid plates down we were to say the full names of the dishes. I usually sang them to myself all the way to the table. As I swung in to the left, open-armed, I said, “Seat 1 calamari, seat 2 Gruyère SOS, and a follow. Table 49. Enjoy.”

I looked at them expectantly. I waited for the gratifying looks the guests gave when they knew they could eat. It’s their version of applause. But the two guests looked at their plates confused, like I had spoken another language, which I realized with a bolt of shame up my middle that I had.

“Oh my god! I’m sorry!” I laughed and their faces eased up. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

The woman seated closest to me at position 1 nodded and patted me on the wrist.

“I’m new,” I said.

The man at position 4 looked at me and said, “What about the food for seats 3 and 4?”

“Yes sir, absolutely, it should be coming right now.”

I ran up to Ariel at the barista station.

“Jesus, Ariel, help me god, I need a treat and a coffee.”

“I’m five deep, it’s the end of the first turn.” She moved erratically between tickets and cups, trying to line her drinks up, but then turning back to the tickets. I had tried to show her my way of organizing coffees for a rush, but nobody listened to me.