Page 1 of His Passerotta

1

BAILEY

There’s a buzz in my fingertips as I slide bills from one hand to the other, a telltale sign of my blood sugar being low.

It has been for the last half hour, and normally I would pause right away to inhale a granola bar, but it’s my first day waitressing at La Divina, and there’s no way I was going to fuck up by asking for a snack break in the middle of a lunch rush.

And, judging by the stack of cash in my hand, it’s a good thing I didn’t. My shift ended a minute ago, and I raced into the backroom where the lockers are to count the wad of tips I’d stashed in my apron.

Two-twenty… Two-thirty… Two-sixty… Two-eighty…

Three hundred dollars all for four hours serving overpriced food to business executives on their lunch breaks.

Hell. Yes.

“Good first day?” the busgirl, Rainey, asks inches from my ear.

I startle at her voice and turn my head to face her hovering by my shoulder. Her sunken cheeks become even more pronounced as she sucks on the lollipop she holds between two fingers like it’s a cigarette she’s puffing on.

She tucks a piece of greasy blonde hair behind her ear while flicking her beady eyes between me and the cash.

“Uh, yeah.” I pluck two twenties and a ten from the stack before handing them to her. “This job is a lifesaver,” I say, my voice low enough it makes me wonder if I’m talking to myself.

An image of an apartment on the South side of Las Vegas, or even just anywhere that isn’t Naked City, enters my mind, and I have to put the thought away before I get my hopes up too high. It’s only my first day. I have plenty of time to screw all this up before I can afford a nicer place.

I’m so caught up in my fantasy that I almost miss how wide Rainey’s eyes go when she takes the money.

Was fifty too much?

Not enough?

I don’t know; I’ve never waitressed before. I’ll have to remember to Google the proper share for a busser when I get home.

She clears her throat and shoves the bills into her back pocket. “Thanks,” she murmurs. She turns to her open locker while I dig my phone from my purse. There’s a text from my brother, Corey, asking how my first day went.

I send a thumbs up emoji back while my lips twitch with a smile.

“Tanner won’t let me wait tables,” Rainey mumbles, pulling the sucker from her mouth and tucking it neatly into a sandwich bag, which is … weird.

I frown for the sake of solidarity but can’t help but see the problem. She needs to chill out on the dark eyeshadow, and her overall somber mood could be improved upon. It’s surprising a stuffy place like this lets her on the floor at all.

But she seems nice, and I’ve only known her a day. So maybe I shouldn’t judge, even if it's only in my head.

“That sucks,” I say, my voice low and full of sympathy.

She shrugs just as my cell dings.

I pick it up to read Corey’s message telling me he can’t make it to dinner tonight. We were going to celebrate my new job with burgers at a joint down the street from our apartment complex. We live one floor from each other.

This time, my lips sink with no help needed from my willpower, and I type out a reply asking what came up. I shouldn’t ask. I probably don’t want to know. My brother and his friends aren’t exactly model citizens.

Still, I’m disappointed and secretly want to know if it’s something I can ask him to back out of. I really want to tell him in person how my first day went.

He’s the one who encouraged me to apply for this job, and I couldn’t love him more right now. I resisted it. Literally waiting on rich people hand and foot? No thanks. I’m more of the sit back and observe type. The only reason I applied for this gig is because he convinced me that this was the first step to getting behind the bar, which is my ultimate goal.

Before last month, I was a bartender for six years, and I loved it more than most people would understand. There’s a beauty to it that goes beyond pouring tequila into shot glasses for bachelorette parties. It’s mixing flavors, creating your own concoctions that deliver just the right blend of tangy paradise. It’s … art.

And this artist needs a new studio.

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