Page 5 of Where There's A Will
I held up my hand. “Don’t bother. We’re done.”
Then, I grabbed the bags of food and sashayed towards the exit, not looking back to see the look on his face as the waitress handed him the check.
2
Will
It had been around a month since I’d served her those two shots and watched as she initiated what was possibly the classiest breakup exit with the biggest sting.
I’d heard the cad’s bill was something close to three hundred dollars after she’d ordered a rare bottle of wine, a half-dozen appetisers, almost all the sides, a massive steak, and several desserts.
She was actually my hero.
And since then I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I knew she lived in my apartment block, only a few doors away from me, although we’d never exchanged more than a nod of vague recognition.
That night after she’d waltzed out with her food bags, her boyfriend demanded to see the manager, Mitch, and I watched their exchange with interest.
“Surely she can’t get away with it! Ordering up almost the entire menu and then leaving. That’s got to be theft,” the guy pleaded.
“You had a tab running; she put it on there. There’s no theft. You’re paying.” Mitch folded his arms in an action I knew meant ‘don’t-mess-with-me-there’s-no-way-you’re-getting-out-of-this’. Unfortunately, I knew the action too well.
“But it’s over three hundred dollars!”
“Which, had you and your girlfriend actually eaten dinner, would likely have been the total bill in any case, right?”
“Hardly, she ordered practically the entire menu,” he protested.
Mitch wasn’t backing down and stood there, immoveable, his glare boring into the supposedly wronged man.
It was followed by a shrug as he fiddled with his phone, avoiding looking directly at Mitch. He knew he was in the wrong. “I guess,” he said, at last.
Mitch then leaned down and whispered something into the guy’s ear. His face paled, and he reached into his pocket for his wallet, thrusting a credit card in the manager’s direction. The bill was settled and the guy scurried out of the restaurant without saying another word.
Mitch came back to the bar and tucked the slip into the till. “He got off easy.” His gaze wandered towards the hostess and he motioned his chin in her direction. “He’s been sleeping with her. I hope she enjoys her last shift.”
My mouth fell open.
He wasn’t known as a ruthless boss, so Mitch’s attitude toward the hostess came as a surprise to me. I wondered if he had been seeing her as well, but didn’t dare ask.
And seemingly, that was the end of it.
Until one Sunday.
I’d been trying to engineer a proper conversation with her on account of that night, each time I saw her in the lobby of the apartment building. But the timing was never right. She was always rushing in or out or had a female friend with her.
Staff meetings were every Sunday at four o’clock sharp, before the restaurant opened for the evening. Mitch insisted everyone come along, even those who didn’t work Sundays. Unfortunately I fell into that category, which made it nigh on impossible to make plans, and I usually felt as if it were a wasted day. Having worked the late Saturday shift the night before, I’d spent the following day lounging around my apartment with my best friend, Roman, playing video games, eating takeout and drinking sodas.
“When was the last time you had a date? A proper date, not a hook-up,” he asked, not taking his eyes off the screen. We were playing some shoot-em-up game. It wasn’t my favourite and I wasn’t giving it my full attention.
I racked my brains. Dating in this city was a minefield. Roman thought I ought to use the British-guy-in-New-York card, but it wasn’t my style. With his devastatingly dark good looks, all Roman had to do was look in the direction of a female and they dropped their panties. I often felt like the ugly best mate, even though he wouldn’t agree with me. Short, blond hair, baby-blue eyes, and a body honed by running around a hot bar rather than a gym, I had the classic preppy look Americans loved. Team that with a British accent and I ought to have been a walking dating advert. Maybe I was looking for something a little more serious than the conquests Roman preferred. Someone I could actually have a conversation with, a future even. I shook my head. Where had that thought come from?
“Didn’t you say you were going to get the number of the model you met at one of your auditions a couple of weeks ago? Aren’t you with the same casting agent?”
“Mmm, I thought about it—not my type.”
The wages from the restaurant paid the bills while I worked on my modelling-slash-acting career. I was over the job, but the tips were great. Mitch was an okay boss and the rest of the team were friendly. Long term, I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to do.
