Submit (Songs of Submission #3)(27)

Angie, another waitress, came by with a ticket, and I poured her drinks. Then Tanya. Then the new girl, whose name I’d forgotten. They were all working harder because I wasn’t on the floor, and Robert was making less, so I tried hard to pull my weight. By the time I turned around, Darren was gone, and two hundred-dollar bills sat under his empty bottle. Robert went for them, but I snatched them first.

“What the f**k, Monica?”

Not being able to talk was getting on my last nerve. I showed him the money and grabbed him by the back of the neck, whispering as clearly as I could, “Paying back a loan.” I looked him in the eye with all the intensity I had. I wasn’t taking an argument for an answer. I pushed him away.

Then I saw Jonathan at the end of the bar. It was the same seat he’d occupied the night I’d kissed him overlooking the Valley on Mulholland and again at the food truck lot. He leaned on both elbows, talking on the phone and watching me. I hadn’t seen him at the Stock since the day he’d left me hungry and begging for him on Sam’s desk. I assumed he was intentionally and respectfully avoiding my shifts. I approached him. He opened his hand, and I took it just as he finished his call.

“Hello, goddess.”

I mouthed, Hello, king.

“Still not talking?”

I shook my head, just staring at him. I was used to him, the curve of his jaw and the color of his hair. He was a familiar thing I was getting to know deeply, line by gorgeous line. I wanted to crawl over the bar and drop into his arms.

“When do you record with that guy?”

Thursday, I mouthed. He watched my lips move with an unnerving intensity.

“And what were you intending to do about this problem?”

I shrugged. I was anxious about the non-talking. I didn’t think about much else, but I didn’t have a cure. I knew it wasn’t physical; fear that kept my vocal cords from connecting.

“Do you have plans after work?”

I shook my head again. Yesterday, I would have been able to answer, but this thing had been getting worse. His concerned look told me he noticed. I caught sight of Sam approaching and slipped my fingers from Jonathan’s and went back to the service bar.

Jonathan didn’t make an appearance at the bar again, which was just as well. The dinner crowd was larger than usual, and we were busy enough for me to get a few grateful looks from Robert. My shift seemed to end in no time at all, but it was dark, and the heat lamps had just been turned on when relief arrived.

Debbie handed Robert and me our envelopes. “Nice night,” she said. “Thank you both for working together. You—” She pointed at me. “—get that throat looked at. You did fine, but we don’t need you at the service bar. We need you on the floor, acting witty and charming.”

I nodded, mouthing okay while keeping my eyes downcast. She’d been very kind not to send me home as soon as she realized I couldn’t talk, and I was grateful.

At my locker, I got out my clothes and stuffed my envelope in my pocket. I felt it then, a hard piece that was too rigid to be cash. I tore open the envelope. There was far less than I was used to, as seemed just under the circumstances, and a key card for one of the rooms in the Stock hotel.

My phone blooped right then

—room 522 be naked—

A ripple of electricity coursed between my legs. Despite the fact that he and I had so much to discuss, despite the fact that I couldn’t speak and should go see a doctor, despite everything, I wanted him immediately. I grabbed my bag and shuffled to the elevator, texting on the way.

—Honestly, why bother if I can’t scream your name?—

—You’ll scream—

—I think I’ll just go home and wash my socks—

I was getting out on the fifth floor when I realized the one thing that should get me home right away. I cursed myself. I should have put him off with an honest rescheduling, if for even an hour. But now my jokey, sarcastic texts meant I was on my way up, and my diamond navel ring was on my piano. Fuck.

I stood outside the elevator, staring at my phone. I had to just do it.

—Actually, can I...

I never finished the text. Everything I considered typing sounded like a complete fabrication. I’d already told him I didn’t have any plans. He’d already seen I wasn’t sick or otherwise indisposed. I was just going to have to put on my big girl panties and deal.

CHAPTER 19

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was supposed to be getting undressed and waiting for him naked, but I couldn’t stand before him in all my nude, diamond-less glory. He’d see the missing jewel at some point, of course, but I’d rather it not be in the first three seconds, with him clothed and me squirming and naked.

So I paced the room, looked out the window at the disputable glories of Downtown, and waited with an anticipation that lacked sex in its tension. When the door clicked open, I wanted to run out, but Jonathan blocked the way.

He looked me up and down, in my black jeans and T-shirt, then tilted his head as if trying to figure me out. “Something’s not adding up here,” he said, dropping his keycard on the dresser. He didn’t seem angry, just stern. Even when I smiled and shrugged, with a finger in my cheek like a pure innocent, he didn’t crack. He stepped so close to me I felt his breath on my cheek. “Naked, Monica.”

I shuddered. I wanted to obey. My hands twitched for my buttons and snaps, but I held them down and looked into his eyes. There was a smile there, buried under the rigidity. I couldn’t tell if it was humor or enjoyment, but there was pleasure. If I could get him to take my clothes off so fast or messily he didn’t notice, I’d consider this a success.