“Nothing for you?” I asked, already starting to pick at the fries from the small basket.
“Nah, I’m good. I may grab a fry or two, though,” he said.
“My Edel-fries are your Edel-fries,” I joked and pushed them closer to him so that the plate resided evenly between the two of us.
“Danke,” he said with a grin and punctuated his gratitude by snagging a crispy fry from the top of the pile. “So, I can give you Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays for now. As you know, weekends are the most desirable shifts, so I don’t have any Saturday or Sunday slots at the moment, but that’ll most likely change in the spring.”
“I’ll take as many shifts as you can give me. And feel free to pass my number to the other servers in case they need any last-minute coverage. I’m in hustler mode,” I joked with a half-hearted chuckle, flexing my wannabe muscle from my pathetic excuse for a bicep.
He narrowed his eyes, catching the anxiety in my voice. “Everything okay, BrAvery?”
“Just trying to rebuild my life, that’s all.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s all? Six years ago, it seemed like you had it all figured out.”
“I guess I was a better actress back then.”
Charlie laughed. “Yeah, what happened? You were so good. Why’d you give it up?”
“I didn’t mean to give it up, but the longer I stayed away, the harder it felt to jump back in. So instead, I threw myself into a new life and ended up playing a part I didn’t realize I’d even auditioned for. But it feels like maybe the universe is giving me a second chance to get it all right this time.”
“I’m not sure I’m totally following,” he said.
“Right, sure, sorry. I just . . . I’ve been having a hard time keeping all my thoughts straight lately. This is going to sound crazy, I know, but I just have to tell someone about this thing that happened to me a few weeks ago that I’m still trying to make some sense of?”
“Yeah sure, lay it on me,” he said in a way that I couldn’t tell if he was concerned, curious, or just playing it cool.
I leaned in closer to him and lowered my voice. “For reasons too complicated to explain right now, I found myself fresh out of spending a few awful hours in a holding cell . . . in jail . . .”
His expression darkened and concern loomed in his eyes. He drew closer, so close his voice turned into only breath, and asked, “Murder one?”
I barked out a laugh, delightfully surprised at how off guard the joke caught me. “Funny, it wasn’t for murder, but I’d be lying if I said the thought hasn’t crossed my mind a few times since that night . . . Anyway, so I was outside the um . . . the jail”—I whispered the word and then resumed a normal volume—“in need of a ride home . . . mind you, it was Christmas Day, so there were no cabs in sight and I didn’t have a dime on me. So, I went to ask for some help at a nearby security booth, and this guard, who incidentally I later discovered may or may not have been dead for the last fifty years, directed me to the very last phone booth in New York.”
“Wait? The guard was a ghost guard?” he said, his eyebrows halfway to his hairline.
“Yes, I think so. Well, maybe, I don’t know, but that’s not even the strangest thing, if you can believe it.”
“Oh, I can believe it.”
“I picked up the receiver, and this voice on the other end gives me an address. Only it wasn’t to a cab company like I’d expected. When I knocked on the door, Gabe answered. My college boyfriend Gabe. The same Gabe I hadn’t spoken to in seven years. On the same night my life fell apart landing me in that holding cell, some mysterious ghost lady sent me to a phone booth, which directed me straight to my ex-boyfriend. That’s weird, right?”
“Yeah, I would categorize that as weird. Maybe not like Twilight Zone or The X-Files weird, but definitely strange. So was that it? The one chance encounter with Gabe?”
“Well, actually, he invited me to meet him for coffee the other day and you know, he was just . . . so different. I mean, the same in all the best ways, but grown up, more mature. As much as I loved him and I know he loved me, he always put his work first, and I knew we’d never land on the same page. But there was still something there between us. I think he felt it too.”
“Look, I don’t know about ghosts and phone booths, but I do believe that the universe has a way of setting things right that need to be set right. Call it karma or spirituality, whatever you want. I don’t think you’re crazy. I think we’re given signs and clues all the time, but we’re not always in a place to pay enough attention and recognize them. Sounds like on that particular day, you were.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that. Thanks for the perspective . . . and for not calling to have me carted away.”
He tilted his head to the side, his light-blue eyes flashing with a devilish smirk. “I would never.”
I laughed. “I should probably get going soon. I’m checking out a sublet on the Lower East Side. I have to be out of my apartment soon, and I’m freaking out. I can’t find anything in my price range or that wouldn’t double as a set for American Horror Story. For example, the ad for the apartment I’m headed to now describes the place as ‘subterranean,’ but I’ve learned that’s probably shorthand for ‘dungeon,’ right? I don’t know if I can take any more of these showings. Each one’s been worse than the last, and trust me, my standards have come down. Waaaaaay down.”
“You’re looking for a place to live?” Charlie asked. “What about that friend you used to live with . . . what was her name? Melody? Monica?”
“Marisol, Gabe’s sister, actually,” I corrected, amazed he’d even remembered her at all.
“That’s it! Yes, Marisol. You two were thick as thieves. Can’t you bunk with her or another friend for a few weeks ’til you find something? Or what about your parents?”
“Marisol and I lost touch a while ago, and my parents are in the throes of planning their big retirement and move to Florida.”
Charlie nodded in understanding and graciously shifted the conversation. “Well, you know Lyla, the bottle dancer from earlier? She’s been looking for a roommate. I’m pretty sure she lives above ground in Bushwick.”
“How far ‘above ground’？” I asked skeptically, my mind jumping back to the ninth-floor walk-up I trekked with poor Mindy, who almost didn’t make it.
“Not sure? But I’m happy to tell her you’re interested.”
“Oh, um . . . wow, yeah. Actually, that’d be great. The sooner, the better,” I said.
“I’ll go text her now, which is good timing because I have to finish making up tomorrow’s set list schedule.” He motioned to my plate. “But take your time, and you can clock out when you’re done. You did great today.”
“Thanks.” I held up a fry. “And thanks for dinner and the talk. See you Friday.”
I sank my teeth into a corner of one of the neat triangles of the turkey sandwich, the tomato juice dripping down my chin, and sighed as I chewed gratefully and grabbed for a napkin. I’d been so hungry that I almost forgot how hungry I was until the first bite hit.