The bouncer points toward the back of the club. “Follow the hallway around back. It’s that way.”
I heed his directions and come to a frosted glass door that’s slightly ajar. I give a firm knock, and it opens farther.
“Come in,” an Italian male says. He gestures for me to join him in his office.
I step inside and close the door, the noise and boisterous music vanishing inside the room. “You have decent soundproofing in here,” I say.
“Can’t let myself get distracted.” He offers a fake smile. It’s all pleasantries. I don’t think he cares for me, or maybe he doesn’t care that I’m here.
“I don’t mean to come by unannounced. I was hoping to get an application for an opening at your establishment. I noticed you have an opening for a bartender. I have five years of bartending experience.”
“Is that your resume?” he asks.
I glance at his nameplate on the desk, Antonio Moretti. He has the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen, although it could be the dim lighting to blame.
“It is,” I say, and open the leather folder, handing him the thick ivory paper with my details.
“Why do you want to work here?” Antonio asks.
“The way I see it, you need me. Your bartender is busy, and I’m sure he’s not slow, but there’s a line, which means either aggravated customers who will leave, or they order fewer drinks, because he can’t keep up, and they go home.”
His jaw is firm, and he places the resume on the desk, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll have to check your references.”
“I would expect nothing less,” I say.
“You’ll have to work the rush shift every weekend. The customers tip well, but there go your Friday and Saturday nights.”
“I won’t miss them,” I say. It’ll be difficult not being with Allie in the evening, but I trust my daughter, and I’ll be home late at night. She won’t be entirely alone. I refrain from commenting on the fact that I have a daughter; it won’t land me this job, and I need it so I can keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.
Sure, I have a few dollars in savings but not enough to live off indefinitely. New York City is expensive.
“You start tomorrow night,” Antonio says. “Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.” It’s an odd choice of phrase, but I don’t make anything of it. Perhaps the business is family-owned, or he likes treating his employees like family.
Antonio gives me the basic scoop on what time I need to arrive tomorrow, base pay, and the rules. He’s not in the office often, and I’m to report up through another staff member. I thank him when I leave and walk back toward the subway.
It was dark when I left, but now the crowds have thinned on the streets.
I don’t mind walking alone, but I keep an eye on my surroundings as I approach the subway. It’s not overly crowded, but the trains run less often, and more people congregate by the platform as I wait for my train home.
A train pulls up at the station on the opposite side of the tracks. It’s heading in the wrong direction for me to go home. Passengers disembark, and I swear I catch sight of Dmitri heading up the escalator.
Where’s he going at this late hour?
I shouldn’t be curious.
It doesn’t matter.
I consider following him, but he’ll think I’m stalking him, and I’m not sure he’s wrong. Already, I’m arguing with myself over what happens if I’m caught.
My train pulls up.
I need to get in and head home. Get some sleep. And maybe steer clear of any more wine for the night.
* * *
The following day, I awaken to a text from Dmitri.