Page 76 of The Player in New Zealand
“Good thing I’m sleeping with someone who owns a... a range.” The crinkled skin around Tane’s smile was like a magnet to my fingers and I poked his cheek. “Sober me won’t tell you this, but drunk me wants you to buy me a plane ticket for that visit.”
We’d already talked about visiting each other. My schedule at McGraves’ would be irregular because they were open every day. It made a lot more sense for Tane to come visit me because Haft & Hops was closed on Mondays, and he and Nina had a regular schedule. He had two consecutive days off every week, whereas I had random days off.
And if I did get two days in a row off, I didn’t want to spend them on a slow, twelve-hour-each-way bus trip. Either that or I’d spend twice as much on a flight, which countered my struggle to save money.
“I’m supposed to fold my laundry,” I said, halfway to sleep in Tane’s bed.
“I’ll fold it for you and pack it in the suitcase.”
“You just want to touch my black thongs again,” I mumbled into the covers, and passed out.
Tane woke me up an indeterminable amount of time later, and wrapped my hands around a mug of coffee. I was still humming with a buzz, but when I hit the bottom of the coffee, it had faded to a manageable tipsy.
“Let me drive you back to your hostel,” he said.
Tane carried my bag down the stairs and through the main room, which was significantly quieter. It must have been after the evening rush now, the back windows revealing the deck, illuminated by the floodlights.
I had already hugged Nina about thirty billion times that day, but she came around for one more anyway. Tane drove me to my hostel, where I gave him a thorough goodbye and finished packing. Six hours later, me, my headache, and my new rolling suitcase were on our way to Auckland.
* * *
Two weekslater I was settling into my new job and Auckland. As expected, the “big city” was noisier and more crowded than Wellington.
As much as I didn’t like some aspects of it, I realized this was a really great learning experience for me. I was working with sommeliers and world-class mixologists, and regularly heard the banging and cursing from a celebrity chef coming from the kitchen.
Tane was due to come up in a few weeks to visit. I had a Tuesday off and an evening shift the following day, so I could spend a majority of the visit with him.
My new hostel was nice, but much more expensive than Wellington. I was becoming informed enough about New Zealand politics to understand that property values were a big issue here.Not unlike Boston, I thought.
Tane and I talked all the time. It was weird to have what was, essentially, a long-distance boyfriend. Part of me worried that Tane would think of this as a trial run for when my visa ran out.
Part of me worried I would think that way too.
“My drinks done yet?” Kira, one of the servers, asked.
It was possibly the first words that had been directed at me in twenty minutes. It was a busy Wednesday night, and the bar was packed. Standing room only.
At Haft & Hops, I’d chatted directly with the customers. Sure, when it was busy, I’d gotten my to-do list via the ticket machines that printed out orders, but most of the time I worked with the customers. Here, I was low woman on the totem pole. The machine spitith the drink orders, and the servers taketh them away. Over and over again.
“Right here, Kira,” I said, putting the last Matakana bottle on the tray. Another order spit out of the machine and I dug right back into the fray. I had to duck and weave through the team of bartenders who were fulfilling drink orders—usually the more complex stuff, too—for the suited men and women at the bar.
One thing I was really happy about, though, was the tips. I had honestly forgotten about tipping. It was not common in New Zealand, but I guess in the busiest area of Auckland, we got enough Americans for there to be tips. I understood: it felt like you were a shitty person when you didn’t leave a tip behind, as ingrained as it was in my American heart. It was pocket change to most, but every little bit helped me.
But I had sent a thousand dollars to Iris. I might actually pay her back by the time I left New Zealand.
* * *
While I talkedto Tane every day, he had given me no clue that his mom was going to stop by. My surprise—and pleasure—at seeing her was genuine when she stopped in mid-afternoon and took a seat at the bar with four other women.
“Emily! It’s good to see you.” I came around the bar to give her a hug, which she returned, and it made my heart pang with how much it reminded me of Nina.
“Aw, thank you, hun,” Emily said when she pulled back. “These are my girlfriends: Nina—yes, this is the woman my daughter is named after—Julie, Kiri, and Shivani. This is Tane’s girlfriend, Claire.”
I flushed at the introduction, but didn’t argue. Going around to the back side of the bar, I asked, “What can I get you ladies to drink?”
“I don’t suppose you could make us one of your own cocktails?”
I winced. “Not one of the ones that I served at Haft & Hops,” I said regretfully.
