“I’d like the Bridgehampton Cobb,” the woman said over the din of the lunch crowd, “but can I get that with avocado instead of bacon?”
Isabel scribbled something that she hoped would remind her of this on her small lined pad. “Uh, I’m not sure. I’ll find out.”
“Unless the bacon is nitrate-free,” the woman said, rearranging her bracelets. “In that case I’ll take the bacon. Do you know if it’s nitrate-free?”
“I don’t,” said Isabel, scribbling again. “I’ll check.”
“And I’d like some bread with that,” the woman went on, plucking at her diamond pendant necklace. “But only the pretzel bread. If you don’t have any, then nothing.”
Isabel flipped the page and scribbled the word pretzels. “Pretzels, okay.”
“No, pretzel bread,” the woman corrected, her smile beginning to wear thin. “And some more iced tea. What do you want, Penny?” she asked, turning to her friend.
“How is the pasta special done?” The woman’s friend was younger, in her thirties, and she had the sinewy, half-starved look of a serious Pilates fan. “Do they use chicken broth? Because I’m vegan.”
Isabel scribbled the word vegan on the pad. “Um, I’m not sure. I can find out.”
“I’ll have that but only if the chef can use veggie broth,” the friend said. “Otherwise I’ll have the garbanzo bean pancake. With no raita.”
“Ry-ta?” Isabel asked.
“Raita,” the woman said in a sharp voice. “The yogurt dressing that’s right here?” she said, pointing to the menu.
“Oh, sorry, it’s my first day,” Isabel said. “I’ll take care of it.”
The women traded looks. Isabel turned to leave.
“Excuse me?” the first woman said. “Don’t you want the menus?”
“Oh, right.” Isabel snatched them out of their hands. On her way to the kitchen she almost collided with a customer threading his way between tables. “Sorry,” she muttered. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 12:22. She’d been at work for less than an hour, but it already felt like three days. The other waitress who was supposed to work today had sprained her foot at a club the night before, which had left her, Evan, and the manager, Bill, to handle the crowd. This also meant that aside from the first ten minutes, during which Isabel followed Evan around as he took orders, there’d been no “shadowing.” Rory, it turned out, had been right about waitressing. She wasn’t prepared at all. This job was hell.
In her peripheral vision she spotted an arm frantically waving at her. It was attached to a middle-aged, balding man who looked vaguely familiar.
“Yes?” she asked, approaching his table.
“Where’s my French dip?” he demanded. “I ordered it twenty minutes ago.”
Had she taken an order for a French dip? None of this was ringing a bell. “Let me check,” she said.
“And another Arnold Palmer!” he yelled after her.
She raced toward the computer. On her way she passed Evan, who was bent over a table, taking an order. He glanced at her and raised his eyebrows. You doin’ all right? his look seemed to say. She smiled bravely and gave him a thumbs-up. She scanned the computer for the French dip, saw nothing, and typed it in. Then she flipped through her pad to add the two women’s lunch orders. But they’d had a lot of questions—hadn’t they? Now she couldn’t remember any of them. She flipped through her pad to see if anything jogged her memory. Phrases like tuna gluten-free and vegan avocado jumped out at her.
“How’s it going?” Bill asked. Somehow he’d sneaked up behind her, so close to her that she could smell his tobacco breath. “You got this under control?”
“Sure. Is our bacon nitrate-free?”
“Who the hell wants to know?” Bill asked.
Before Isabel could formulate an answer, Evan swooped in. “Those women at table twelve wanted me to tell you to forget the bacon, just do avocado,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “And the pretzel bread.”
Oh my god, I love you, she thought. “Oh,” she said casually. “Perfect.”
Bill grunted and stalked off toward the kitchen, leaving them alone.
“Um, did they say what their order was by any chance?”
“Cobb salad and the pasta special. Which is vegan, by the way.”
“Thank you,” she said, and let out a deep breath. “This is so crazy. I feel like I’m at war.”
“It’ll be over soon,” he said. He put a hand on Isabel’s shoulder, and she almost jumped from the electricity that shot down her arm. “And you’re doing great. My first day doing this I almost dropped a bowl of chili in somebody’s lap.”
Isabel laughed.
“As long as you don’t scorch anyone’s balls, I’d say you’re crushing this.”
“Thanks,” she said, still aware of his hand on her arm.
“What do you say to some ice cream when we’re done?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said. “Sounds good.”
Before she could say anything, he bolted in the direction of a table. She watched him check in on a couple of customers, feeling a new burst of energy. He likes me, she thought. He definitely likes me.
“Hey, Amelia,” Rory said, wheeling her chair far enough out of her cubicle so she could see Amelia huddled over her cell phone, furiously texting someone. A tall iced coffee sat on her desk, slowly creating a puddle. “Amelia. Hey.”
Amelia put down her phone and looked over her shoulder. “What’s up?”
“I just watched your short.”
Amelia’s quizzical face relaxed into a smile. “Yeah?”
“It’s really good.”
Amelia got up from her chair, took Rory’s arm, and walked her into an empty conference room down the hall. She shut the door. “You think so?” she asked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how you did that. The editing’s awesome.”
“It’s just Final Cut Pro.”
“I couldn’t make anything look that good on Final Cut Pro.”
“Sure you could.” She folded her arms. “Do you think I have a shot?”
“I would say you do. But I haven’t seen all of them.”
Rory didn’t want to say that she hadn’t expected much when she clicked on Amelia’s film a few minutes before. But almost as soon as Amelia’s film started, she found herself waking up—and forgetting the hour and a half of terrible, muddled, badly edited rip-offs of Godard and Scorsese and Spielberg and Rohmer that she’d just sat through.
“I love how simple the story is,” she said. “The little girl trying to find the flower she dropped in Central Park. It’s so cute. And so beautifully shot. And I love that you didn’t even need to use dialogue. So many of these other films are so cluttered with stuff. They’re hard to watch.”
“So you think I should say something?” Amelia asked breathlessly. “ ’Cause I’ve been trying to get up the guts for days.”
Rory thought for a moment. “Let me say something to Nina. That way you don’t have to speak for yourself.”
“Really?” Amelia exclaimed. “Oh my god. That would be so cool of you.”
“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think it was good.”
“And hey, if there’s anything I can do for you—”
“It’s really nothing,” Rory said. “Let me see what happens.”
Nina was alone in her office, going through a pile of what looked like gilt-edged invitations. Rory knocked on the door.
“Yes, Rory?” Nina said, smoothing her dark hair.
“Hope I’m not interrupting, but I just saw a short I really liked. I think it would be a great option for the last slot.”
Nina touched her fingers to her forehead, as if she were warding off a headache. “Yeah? Which one is it?”
“Flower Child by Amelia Daniels. She’s actually an intern here.”
Nina looked up. “She is?”
“She sits next to me. I think she’s Luis’s intern. But of all the ones I’ve seen, it’s definitely the best. I was really impressed.”
“Huh,” Nina said, playing with a gold bangle around her wrist. “I’ll have to look at it. And by the way, I have a question.” Nina cocked her head. “Do you think the Rules would be interested in being on our board?”
“The Rules?” she asked, slightly blindsided.
“Well, I know that they’re big supporters of the arts, and I’m thinking, what if we were to invite them to the opening night party? It’s going to be a very star-studded crowd. I can put them at Alec and Hilaria’s table.”
“Alec and Hilaria?” Rory asked.
“Alec Baldwin and his wife,” Nina said testily. “If they care about that sort of thing. I mean, I can seat them anywhere they like. And if they have a good time, then maybe they’d want to be involved with the festival on a more regular basis. What do you think?”
Rory hesitated. There was something manipulative about this. Now the comments Luis had made the day before about knowing the Rules made sense. “I’m not sure what sorts of… causes they’re into. But I can check.” As soon as she said it, she knew that it had been a mistake.
“Great,” Nina said. “And I’ll take a look at Amelia’s short. You did say it was Amelia’s, right?”
“Right.”
When Rory got back to her desk, Amelia was waiting for her with an expectant look on her face. “So? What’d she say?”
“She said she’d watch it.”
Amelia stood up and threw her arms around Rory. “Thank you!” she shrieked. “Oh my god. That’s amazing. Can I buy you lunch? Or anything you want?”
“All I did was say that I liked it,” Rory said. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up too high.”
“Oh please,” Amelia said, waving her off. “I’m just so happy I didn’t have to say something myself. I hate having to push myself onto people. The world’s most overpriced turkey sandwich is on me, ’kay?”
Rory shrugged. She felt uneasy, but she wasn’t sure why. “Sure.”
At three forty-five, the last two customers finally paid their check and walked out the door, and Isabel leaned against the bar, breathing a great sigh of relief. Her feet ached as if she’d run a marathon barefoot, and her arms felt rubbery from carrying so many trays. But the day had been a triumph. Only two people had complained about her to Bill, and to her enormous surprise she hadn’t dropped anything, except a leather checkbook holding several credit cards that had gone flying under different tables.
Bill ambled over to her. “So, you can’t take an order to save your life, and you seriously pissed off one of our best customers,” he said, shoving a stack of trays on the bar, “but all in all, you did okay.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“So, take this again,” he said, giving her the menu once more. “And actually look at it this time.”
“Okay.”
Bill shook his head at her apparent idiocy and walked away.
“Good job, rookie,” Evan said, his eyes lit up and smiling. “Not that I didn’t think you could handle it, but not having any time to actually train… I’m impressed.”
“I told you I was a quick study,” she said.
“Yeah, you definitely are.” He paused a moment, studying her face. “So. What’ll it be? Chocolate-chip ice cream or a shot of vodka?”
“What about both?” she joked. She flashed him her biggest smile. She wasn’t sure whether it was the way he was looking at her or the immense relief coursing through her body, but suddenly she wanted to grab Evan and kiss him right here and now.
“First, lemme show you how to clock out,” he said, taking her hand.
She slid her hand into his. “So someone is actually showing me how to do something around here?” she teased.
“Believe it or not.”
He pulled her toward the back of the restaurant, past the kitchen and the line cooks cleaning up. Bill seemed to be in his office with his door closed. A small room marked STAFF ONLY was right off the hall. They stepped inside. She’d been inside the staff room for a few minutes before the start of lunch service. It was a tiny room, only big enough to hold a narrow bench, a few lockers, and a clumsy-looking machine on the wall with an old-fashioned clock built into it.
“Which slip is yours?” Evan asked, gesturing to the row of slips slotted into tiny cubbies next to the machine.
Isabel leaned in close to him as she pulled out her slip. Her arm brushed his, sending a small shock through her system.
“Okay, you dip it into the machine,” he said. “Here, I’ll show you,” he said, taking it from her. As his fingers touched hers, she couldn’t resist holding on to the slip, allowing their hands to make contact for as long as possible. She looked up at him, holding her breath.
He smiled and leaned in closer to her. When his lips pressed against hers, soft and rough at the same time, she remembered all that she’d been missing these past nine months.
Dry spell officially over, she thought, as her hands circled his neck.