Tommy woke up at one-thirty in the afternoon, still in his clothes. He wasn't due in till four—they were serving brunch today. He lit a cigarette and tossed the spent match into a beer can on the night table. The television was on with the volume down low, and Tommy searched around in the sheets for a remote. Unable to find it, he pulled himself out of bed, walked over to the set, and turned it off.
He finished his cigarette, cleared away the empty beer cans, picked up the phone, and called the restaurant.
Harvey answered.
"Harvey, it's Tommy," Tommy said, his voice constricting, "I'm not coming in today. I'm sick."
"What have you got, the flu?" asked Harvey. "You don't sound too good."
"I don't know. I just feel real sick."
"You should drink some tea. With lemon," said Harvey. "You throwing up?"
"I've been either hugging the bowl or shitting like a mink all night long," said Tommy.
"Well," said Harvey, "get some rest. I'll get Ricky or somebody to cover. My fucking luck it'll be slow tonight anyway. You just feel better. When do you think you'll be back in? You gonna be able to work tomorrow?"
"Yeah," said Tommy, "I'm sure I'll make it tomorrow. If there's any problem, I'll call you back."
"Okay. Feel better. Should you see a doctor? I can get you an appointment if you need."
"No, thanks anyway. I think I just ate something bad maybe."
"Not here?"
"No, no. I had something to eat over the Count's the day before. Maybe I ate something bad."
"That explains it," said Harvey. "That fuck poisoned you. They should close that place down. It's not safe."
"I don't know for sure, maybe it's the flu."
"I think it was something you ate over there. What did you have?"
"Please, Harvey. I'm gonna puke just thinking about that place. I gotta go."
"Okay, Tommy. Get well soon. Take care of yourself."
Tommy lay back in bed. After a while he peeled off his clothes; then, he took the longest shower of his life. He decided to try to forget the whole thing.
"I AM HAVING the worst fucking day of my life," said Harvey. He sat behind his desk, the sun streaming through the dirty Venetian blinds. Across from him two men in dark Brioni suits sat quietly sipping coffee. Harvey wiped his glasses with the end of his tie.
"My sous-chef isn't coming in today. I've got no porters till later and the garbage is piled up to the fucking ceiling down there. My chef is threatening to sue me 'cause somebody wrecked his knife and on top of all that it looks like it's gonna be busy. Look outside. First nice weekend we've had in I don't know how long and of course we get it today."
"That's the restaurant business for you," said the short coffee drinker.
"It's unpredictable," said the other coffee drinker, a big man with no neck.
"I've been in the restaurant business," said the short coffee drinker.
"Just when you think you know what to expect when you come in the door—" Harvey began.
"Somebody give you a good kick in the crotch," the bigger man finished.
"Listen, Harvey," said the smaller man, cheerfully, "we think we can be helpful. About what we talked about on the phone."
"That's great," said Harvey. "That's really great."
"We've spoken to our principals," said the smaller man, "and we think we can do something here."
"Well, that's great," said Harvey.
"It's a lot of money," said the larger man.
"But we think we can do the whole amount for you," said the smaller one.
"Twenty thousand?" asked Harvey.
"We just need to iron out a few things, schedule of repayments and all. You need it for six months?" asked the smaller man.
"Six months," said Harvey.
"That's no problem there. We can do that. That'll be when you pay the principal," said the smaller man, putting his empty coffee cup on the desk. "You know how this works. It's five points per week."
"Five points!" shrieked Harvey "Five points! That's completely unreasonable. Five fucking points? I can't pay that much. I won't pay that much! I don't pay the other guys that much, anywhere near that much! Two points. Two points I can do. I expected that. I can do two points. But five? Five points I may as well cut my own throat and fuckin' bleed to death right here. It's unreasonable."
"There's another thing," said the larger man.
"What other thing?" asked Harvey, patting down his hair on both sides and adjusting his tie. "What?"
"Your current lender," said the smaller one. "You're up to date with them?"
"Oh, yeah," said Harvey. "They fuckin' love me. They get theirs. Every week. If I'm short every once in a while, I have a bad week, it's no problem. They know I'll be there with the money. No problem. And two points."
"See, there's the political dimension," said the smaller man. "They lend you money, you have some understanding with them, it makes it uncomfortable if we come along and you know . . ."
"It's awkward," said the bigger man.
"So maybe, if we can work something out here, maybe it would be better if your current lender doesn't know what we do together," said the smaller one.
"We're not doing anything together at five fuckin' points, fellas," said Harvey.
"Harvey," said the smaller man, smiling again. "You're a first-time customer. And you're relatively new to the restaurant business. We understand that. We know how it is."
"So you know what it's like," said Harvey.
"It's hard. It's a hard business. We know that. So if we were to make it three points, we would expect you to make your interest payments on time. No knockdown. No excuses. You'll have to put our agreement first. What you do with the other guys we don't care so much, as long as it doesn't interfere with our business together."
"I can do three points. I can do that," said Harvey.
"When does Sally get his money?" asked the big man. "Tuesday?"
"Fridays," said Harvey.
"With us it'll be Tuesday, alright?" said the smaller man.
"No problem," said Harvey.
"Okay. We have a deal then," said the smaller man.
"Done," said Harvey. "How about a drink? I get you gentlemen a cognac? How about a nice cognac? I've got some Louis Treize'll knock your socks off. I'll buzz the girl, she'll bring it."
Harvey pressed the intercom button and shouted into the phone, "Barry, pick up! Pick up!"
Barry picked up the extension at the bar.
"Barry, send Cheryl in with three Louis Treizes. Use the big snifters. Is she here? She's here, isn't she? Tell her to hurry up, I wanna smell hair burn."
Harvey put the phone down and rubbed his hands together. Immediately there was a knock on the door.
"That was fast," said the big man.
The door opened quickly. It was the chef.
"Do you have a minute?" he asked.
"Michael, I'm busy with these people right now," said Harvey. "What is it?"
"It's about my knife," said the chef.
"Michael, I told you before about that. If you can't fix it I'll buy you another one."
"It's custom made," said the chef. "It takes weeks."
"We'll order you another knife. You can use the house knives until then, can't you?"
The chef rolled his eyes and looked pained.
"I'm sorry about the knife. I don't know what or who. But, I don't know what I can be expected to do about it right now. Especially now. I'm busy. We'll get you another, that's all I can do."
"Somebody deliberately fucked it up," said the chef. "Look at that," he said, holding up a piece of mangled steel. "Somebody did that deliberately."
"Michael, you can see I'm busy here. We'll talk about it later," said Harvey.
The chef turned on his heels and stalked off to the kitchen. Harvey smiled at the two men. "He takes his job very seriously."
Cheryl came through the door holding a tray with three brandy snifters.
"You can put that right here on the desk," said Harvey. "Thanks, sweetheart."
Cheryl gave a fake curtsy and left the room. The three men raised their glasses.
"Cheers," said Harvey.
"Salud," said the smaller man.
"Here's looking up your assets," said the big man.