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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.”
Chapter 12
Alex
“Charged?”Isaid.
“I’m afraid so,” said Zeke sadly. He and my lawyer were sitting, looking at the piece of paper on my desk. Not only had our liquor license been revoked, but I’d been sued in court. And Section 12-Bs were being issued for all my businesses across the company.
It turned out that Gerald Bone had been all around town that morning, issuing the notices to close my clubs and bars. Without the ability to serve alcohol, my bars were shut until further notice. And until we removed all the alcohol from the ground floor ofThe Blue Orchid, we’d have to stay closed.
“But how could they do this?” I said. “What the hell? Wealwaysget our license renewed on time.”
“I think I can answer that,” said my lawyer, Jeff Reinhart. “If you look at the liquor license, you’ll find that Luca Desilva’s the signatory for the property.”
“Luca?” I groaned.
Of course. It was Luca who’d got the liquor licenses for our businesses. He’d had them processed at an alarming rate. I hadn’t even thought about it at the time. But since he’d done all the paperwork himself (or gotten his lawyer to do it), it would be his name and mine on the license. No doubt he’d spitefully informed them of the change in license-holder, first thing after leaving the company.
And with Luca gone from the company, that meant the license would have to be renewed.
“It’ll take a few days,” I said, “but I’m sure we can get a special order done given the circumstances. After all, it’sThe Blue Orchid, not a nightclub. We don’t even serve alcohol after 11pm. Besides, I’m the signatory for the other places. There’s been a mistake.”
“I’m sorry, Alex,” said Jeff. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
