“Lola,” he said, and smiled.
“I don’t think…I mean, can we not?”
“Of course,” said Alex, sitting back, pulling away, adjusting the rumpled lapels of his jacket. “I’m sorry, I just thought that…”
“It’s really fine,” I said. “It’s not like—not like I don’t want to. But…”
“Huh?” said Alex. “But what?”
“But this isn’t right.”
“Isn’t this what you want?”
“It’s what part of me wants. But another part knows, you see? That it isn’t good when…” I put one hand towards me and the other towards him. I couldn’t say it out loud—the very thought of it would only inflame my desire more.
“Oh,” said Alex. “I see.”
“So I was thinking, maybe we should just stay friends. After all, you’re my boss.”
“Well, can I see you again? Like this?”
“Maybe that’s not a good idea either.”
“You didn’t have a nice time?”
“No,” I said, “I’m not saying that.”Will you…just…listen?I thought for a moment, though I didn’t say it. I didn’t want to be cruel. Not to him. Not even after everything that had happened between us.
“I just think we need to keep things in perspective,” I said.
“And the perspective you want is one in which we don’t see each other like this anymore?”
“Yeah. I think we should just be…well, not friends, friends see each other. Friendly co-workers, let’s say. Colleagues.”
I hated this. Hated to disappoint him, hated to do this to him. Even though I was well within my rights. In Bali, in the restaurant that time, my head had said no, and my heart said yes.
Well, this time,I told myself,my head will win out.
I wasn’t going to let myself get dragged into everything again.
“Is that okay?” I said.
Alex looked up. I could see his cheeks redden a bit. He looked embarrassed. I realized how tough this must be for him, but he couldn’t see what I could see.
He might look at me and see a woman from his past, a beautiful woman who he’d let down, with whom he wanted to make it right.
But I saw someone different. I saw someone who was off limits for me, for whom our sexual relationship, while joyful and incredible in the moment, was only going to cause us pain.
And I couldn’t do it. Not to him, and not to Macy.
“I’ll see you round, okay?” I said.
“Okay,” said Alex. I could tell he was angry, but he was holding it in. He was trying to be nice. Trying not to be a jerk. And I tried to remember that as I got out of the car.
“Just like I said,” muttered Alex. “First they say one thing, then they do another.”
He shut the door and drove off, leaving me on the sidewalk. Confused, angry, and alone again.
It was good to get home, good to see Macy. But the thought lingered long after I’d put my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. In front of me, I saw the city below, the gorgeous map of Manhattan under my eyes. The beautiful dinner. The warm, kind man who’d charmed me. Who’d betrayed me. Who’d delighted me. Who’d scorned me.Had I made the right choice?
***
The next week I went back to work with a light heart. And for a while it seemed like things were going to be okay. The next few days passed in a blistering fury of work—the hard work that only servers and cooks know. I took orders, ran plates, made cocktails, let wines breathe. And before long I was lost in my work.
Alex still came by almost every day, but we didn’t make eye contact when he did. I’d smile at him when I saw him, but he fixed me with a blank stare. And if I felt sad that I’d lost him, I knew that I’d done the right thing. I had that, at least, to comfort me.
“Is it me,” said Andy, “or does Mr. Lowe seem like he’s even more charming today?” Andy said to me, after a particularly sour-faced Alex had instructed the entire floor on how napkins ought to be folded one afternoon.
I wanted to giggle, wanted to laugh at him. But I couldn’t. I’d poked behind the curtain and seen the truly kind and caring person Alex could be. And worse, I’d shut him out.
But I knew better than to feel sad or let myself get down about him. I was lucky. I had a job, I had Macy at home, and I’d begun to win the respect of my colleagues. I was promoted to Shift Manager at the end of the week by Zeke, and stood, a little shyly, while the other waitresses and Andy applauded one evening before service.
We went back to work, and I was busy mixing my first drink of the night when a cab pulled up outside, and a short man with graying hair stepped into the restaurant.
“Who’s the supervisor here?” he said, as he came up to the bar. He had a reedy voice and an officious tone.
“Just a minute,” I said.
“Actually, ma’am, can you put that bottle down?” The guy pulled up his briefcase and slammed it on the bar. He unclipped it and reached inside.
“Bottle?” I said, holding the whiskey in my hand. “What, you mean this one?”
“Yes. That drink is for a customer, isn’t it?”
“Well, sure,” I said. “Who’d you think it was for? And who are you, anyhow?”
“I’m Gerald Bone. Industry Operations Investigator, ATF,” said the guy, straightening himself up to his full height. Which was still about three inches shorter than me. “And I’m here to hand you a Section 12-B Notice on behalf of the state of New York, prohibiting the service of alcohol.”
He pulled out a sheet of paper from his bag and handed it towards me. I looked at the paper. Surely he was just a crank from off the street.
“Wait just a damn minute,” said Andy, pushing past me and grabbing the sheet of paper Bone had just produced from his briefcase. “What the hell is this? You’re telling us we can’t serve drinks? Says who?”
“Says the law, sir. I’m afraid your liquor license has just been revoked.”