Page 3 of Notes About Vodka

But lately, even though the money is excellent, it has started to feel more like a gilded cage—a beautiful yet confining place where every night feels the same, and my ambitions are stifled by routine. The sense of freedom I once felt has gradually turned into a sense of entrapment, with every performance and every drink I serve becoming another lock on the cage. I can almost feel the weight of the invisible bars, hemming me in, keeping me from the dreams that used to light me up inside.

Dreams of when I thought I was learning how to have my own restaurant.

“BLYAT, eto ochen zharka! For the love of Karelia, why the fuck is it boiling in here?” I complain to the hostess, Isabella.

“Val, you are always sweating, even during the frigid winter wind,” she replies. She smirks, not even looking up from the reservation book. “Go stand in the freezer room for a few, you’ll be fine. Plus, I heard Dante needs you to redo some of the kegs. The new bar back fucked it up last night.”

“Great, pohui. Why do they keep hiring dumbasses who can’t read the fucking directions?” I complain as I walk away, my voice trailing off. I can feel Isabella's amused gaze following me, and I shake my head, half-smiling despite myself.

As I walk through the empty bar, heading to cool off in the back and fix the kegs, I hear someone playing the piano from the main dining room.

Being an upscale piano bar, it is normal for the wait staff to come in early to practice their pieces before we open for the evening. So, this is not unusual.

But…

The melody is completely different from the upbeat pop-tunes that Dante, the bar’s general manager, has everyone learning these days. This tune is rich and sultry, it’s laced withdesire. Capturing my attention immediately, I change course and walk towards the main dining room where there are two pianos on a stage set up for late night duets and duels.

As I draw closer, I hear her voice, raspy and full of soul. Full of longing.

I can’t see her yet, but her voice. She’s singingBlack Velvetas her fingers dance across the piano. It sends shivers down my spine.

The combination of her voice and the notes she plays feels almost hypnotic, pulling me in. I step closer, peeking into the main room to get a better glimpse at whoever is on the piano. There, sitting in front of our talent manager, Tony, is a new girl auditioning for a job.

He’s sitting on the other piano bench with a clipboard in hand. Making notes as this siren performs.

Head bobbing in time with the beat of the song, fiery red curls fall down her back, framing a black cocktail dress that exposes an open back that drops in a deep V-shaped all the way down to the top of her ass. Even in this dim light, I can make out the faint glow of a long scar running along her spine. The bright white line shimmers in stark contrast against her milky skin.

When she finishes the piece, she looks back at Tony. He gives her a nod. She glances my way. From this angle, I catch a glimpse of her bright blue, almost gray eyes. I swear she notices me in the archway as she begins a second piece.

I’m lost to her.

This girl’s presence is magnetic, and for a moment, I forget all about my frustrations. The daily grind, the homesickness, the feeling of being stuck—it all melts away as I listen to her sing her own soulful, bluesy rendition of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s,Have You Ever Seen the Rain.

The mesmerizing music causes me to think back to myjourney from Russia and how I got to New York City andPianissimo. It all feels so distant now, but in moments like this, I can almost trace the journey that brought me here, the path that has been both beautiful and painful.

At sixteen, I came to America as an exchange student. Planning to return back to Russia after high school graduation two years later, I moved from Florida to New Jersey with my host family.

Right before graduation, life had other plans, and suddenly, I couldn’t travel home and found myself stranded. Everything unraveled so quickly—visa issues, unexpected setbacks, and a host family that grew more distant as my problems piled up.

You know, what do they say here in America? When it rains, it pours. I had no visa, no ticket home, and a mountain of bills and credit card debt all by the time I was 19.

So, I stayed, went to community college, and financed my first two years by owning several gum-ball vending machines. You would be surprised at how many quarters you can collect and how much money that equals. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills, and there was a certain satisfaction that came from it. My little machines were scattered across local businesses, quietly earning me the quarters I needed to survive.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready for college then. Honestly, I’m not sure if I am now given that I can barely stay awake in my 8 a.m. classes and I’m almost never ready for the exams at NYU. I thought coming back to college being a bit older would be easy. Yeah, its not.

It doesn’t help that I have to translate the information from English to Russian, compose my answer mentally, and then translate that answer into English, all with the hopes I don’t forget the question by the time I have something of a response in my head. It’s exhausting, and sometimes I wonder if I’m just setting myself up for failure.

But I’m stubborn. I want to prove that I can do it, even if it takes everything I’ve got.

After working at several restaurants as a server in old Russian town near Brooklyn, I eventually landed a job here, atPianissimo. Dante, the owner of the piano bar, was one of my regulars in Brighton Beach and thought I had potential. Taking me under his wing, I started as a runner for the performers and gradually worked my way up to being the head bartender.

Dante has taught me every part of this business, beginning at the bottom. Now that I’m in control of my hours and behind the bar full time, the money is fucking fantastic and makes up for the long hours.

Especially in this damned heat.Not as hot as her though.

As my head bobs with hers, I realize that the real stars of the show are the wait staff who not only serve food and drinks but also sing and play piano during the long, busy shifts. The bad part is that we have a rotating door of talent and very few have made the long haul and have been here for more than a year or two.

But she’s different. She could make this place shine.

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