Though the dining room was empty, the bar was still busy. A large group from Long Island was arguing loudly at the corner of the zinc bar. A drunk, one of the bar regulars, in a Yankee warm-up jacket slouched over his scotch, tearing little pieces off of the cocktail napkin under his drink. He rolled them into little balls and tossed them one after the other into the trash can under the register on the other side of the bar. Two lovers, both overweight and overdressed, groped each other at the other end. The woman had her tongue in the man's ear, and he was perspiring heavily and wriggling in his seat. Hector, the busboy, was on the pay phone, speaking to his family in Mexico on a stolen credit card number. He had been on over an hour, and Tommy watched him in the mirror from his place at the crowded bar. Tommy was drinking vodka, half sitting, half standing, one buttock perched on the tall bar stool. He felt something slide onto the other half of the bar stool and turned to face Stephanie. She had changed into her street clothes and taken her hair out of the clip, and she smelled of perfume. She leaned her long mane of wavy brown hair on his shoulder and sighed.
"Hey, Steph," said Tommy. "How'd you do tonight?"
"I would have done okay if it wasn't for those Canadians," she said.
"They stiff you?" Tommy asked.
"Just about," said Stephanie. "Five dollars on an eighty-dollar check."
"You still shoulda had a pretty good night."
Stephanie just shrugged innocently and called the bartender over for a drink. She ordered a Stoli Sea Breeze. When the drink arrived, she took a long sip, turned to Tommy, and giggled conspiratorially. "So, Tommy, I hear you're fucking Cheryl. Is that right?"
Tommy's ears turned red. "Who said that?"
"I heard from somebody," said Stephanie with a smile.
"A gentleman doesn't tell," said Tommy.
"So you are fucking her," said Stephanie, flashing an even bigger smile through abundant lips. She took another long hit on her drink. "So how long has this been going on, you dog?"
"I still want to know who's been talking to you," said Tommy. "You tell me and I'll tell you. Was it the chef?"
"Michael?" exclaimed Stephanie. "Michael knew—and didn't tell me? I'll kill him! I tell him everything that goes on on the floor . . . everything. And he's been holding out on me with something like this? Ooooh, I'm gonna kill him!" She finished her drink and ordered another. Tommy ordered another vodka for himself.
"No, it wasn't Michael," she said. "It was Harvey."
"Harvey?" said Tommy. "What the hell does he know?"
"He called me in the office yesterday and asked me if you and Cheryl were bing-bonging," said Stephanie. "He didn't tell me. He asked. But that got me thinking about things."
"That's how he said it? Bing-bonging? He said that?" asked Tommy.
"Nah," said Stephanie. "He asked if you were seeing each other. Harvey's got serious hots for Cheryl."
"You are fucking shitting me," said Tommy.
"Nope. He loves her. He wants to get in her pants so bad it's not even funny. He's always mooning over her. Why do you think she gets all the good shifts? He's totally in love with her. Gonzo. Why do you think he had them put the cappuccino machine so low on that shelf? So every time Cheryl's steaming milk, he can look at her ass.
"She does have a nice ass," said Tommy, lighting a cigarette. He was looking down Stephanie's leotard . . .
"Can I get one of those?" asked Stephanie. "The whole place was bummin' off me all night, I don't have any left."
"Sure," said Tommy. He gave her a cigarette and lit it for her. He leaned toward her and cupped his hand around the match. "Thanks," said Stephanie.
"So, you have to tell me now. I told you. How long have you been seeing Cheryl?" she asked.
"Why don't you ask her. I admit I've been seeing her, okay? Anything else you want to know, why don't you ask her," said Tommy.
"Oh, I can't do that," said Stephanie. "I ask her that, she'll think I want to fuck you."
"Stephanie," said Tommy, "you already did fuck me."
"Oh, that," said Stephanie. "A blow job in the bathroom isn't exactly a torrid weekend in the Poconos."
"Maybe not," said Tommy. He looked up at the bartender, who was hovering near them, and said, "Stop listening in on my fucking conversation, alright?"
The bartender smiled. "Sure, Tommy, sure. Sorry."
"He's the biggest gossip in the place. Like an old woman," said Stephanie. She leaned close to Tommy and whispered in his ear, "I hear he's hung like a hamster."
The bartender moved away, shaking his head. Tommy took a sip of his drink. "So Harvey's got hots for Cheryl," he said, beginning to feel the effects of the vodka.
"I told her to take advantage. She should get her teeth bonded. You know Rachel?"
"That's the short one with the nose ring?"
"Yeah. She had all her teeth capped and a couple a root canals and it cost her like fifty bucks," said Stephanie.
"But, he's not practicing anymore," said Tommy.
"He isn't. It's his partner who does it. Harvey can set it up. Rachel had a couple a drinks with him and bingo—movie star teeth."
"That's really fucking squalid, man," said Tommy.
"I wouldn't do it," said Stephanie. "Not for that."
"You'd just tell Cheryl to do it," said Tommy.
"I was kidding," she replied.
Tommy finished his drink and ordered another. Stephanie snuggled closer to him. "Soooo," she said. "How long have you been seeing her?"
"A couple months, alright. Happy now? I didn't want everybody in the place to know," said Tommy.
"I think that's so cute," said Stephanie. "Restaurant Romance. Secret Affair. And nobody knew."
"It's nobody's business," said Tommy.
Stephanie ran her finger around the top of her glass. "I hear Harvey's going to bring in some musicians for brunch," she said.
"I heard that too," said Tommy.
"What do you think?"
"I think I don't like it. Our paychecks are bouncing and he's hiring a bunch of musicians. I don't get it."
"You see the fish tank in the window? What do you think of that?"
"Oh, god," said Tommy. "That's a fucking abortion. I can't believe he spent money on that. That costs a lot of money. He's gotta pay somebody to come in and clean it, there's the chemicals, the pumps, the filters, the little bubblers. And it looks like shit."
"It's hard to keep tropicals," said Stephanie. "I had a fish once. The water's got to be just right, you gotta check the pH all the time. It's a lot of work."
"Business sucks, he's having a hard time making the nut, and he goes out and spends all this money on a bunch of fuckin' fish. Then he's gotta pay some fuckin mook to come in and clean it. I just don't see where we get any return on it."
"He says it'll bring people in," said Stephanie.
"That's what he says about every stupid idea he gets. 'It'll bring 'em in.' Buncha dead fish floating in a tank in the window, that'll really bring 'em in," said Tommy bitterly.
"I don't mind them. I think they're pretty," said Stephanie.
"The chef wants to poison them when nobody's looking," said Tommy. "He hates that tank worse than I do."
Stephanie looked concerned. "He wouldn't really do that, would he? It's not their fault. The fish didn't do anything."
"He says it reminds him of those seafood joints with the lobster tanks. You know, 'See 'Em Swim. Pick Your Lobster.' He hates it."
Stephanie shuddered. Tommy could feel it travel through his body. "But, he wouldn't hurt the fish?" she asked.
"No, he wouldn't do that," said Tommy.
" 'Cause if he's gonna do that, let me know first. Maybe I can get Harvey to get rid of it. Maybe he'll let me have them. I'll take care of them," said Stephanie.
"Stephanie, you're such a softie. This is a side of you I've never seen," said Tommy.
"There's lots of sides of me you haven't seen yet," said Stephanie. "So, where's Cheryl? Waiting for you back at your place like the little woman?"
"Yeah, right. Can you see that?" said Tommy. "She's out visiting her folks in Rhode Island."
"Mmmm," said Stephanie thoughtfully. "How fortuitous." She slid her hand down Tommy's legs and squeezed his inner thigh.
"Cut it out," said Tommy, not too convincingly.
"You're blushing!" said a delighted Stephanie. She moved her hand up into his crotch and squeezed.
She led Tommy across the empty dining room and through the waiter station. They stumbled drunkenly down the stairs and through the swinging kitchen doors. The cooks were all gone. Big Mohammed was the only person in the kitchen. He was mopping behind the line, listening to Egyptian pop songs on the cassette player.
"Will he keep his mouth shut?" she asked.
"Big Mo'?" said Tommy. "I think so."
Tommy and Stephanie passed through the kitchen and down the hall to the dry goods area. Stephanie got up on tiptoe and unscrewed the lightbulb over the baking supplies. She grinned at Tommy and pulled a pair of sky blue panties with little pink stars down around her knees. She kissed Tommy briefly, just brushing her lips across his, then she turned her back to him, hiked up her skirt and bent over, resting her elbows on a pile of fifty-pound flour sacks. Tommy put his hand up between her legs and dropped his pants.