A Hand to Hold

Chapter two

~ Natalie

*

Thirty-three dollars. That was the balance of my checking account. To add insult to injury, I’d just pocketed a two-dollar tip left by a table of five, who’d kept me hopping for the past hour. Some people were too cheap to care if the poor waitress could pay her rent. As long as they get ketchup for their fries and their cup is promptly refilled, they’re happy. And as we all know, the customer is always right.

*

Once upon a time, I was thankful to have that job. It’d been just what I needed to get myself through college. I was fortunate to have earned a few small scholarships. In addition to a bit of help from Aunt Mel, my tuition was covered, but anything beyond that was on me. Tempted to sell an organ to pay for textbooks, landing the waitressing gig came as a massive relief. The Golden Spoon’s popularity amongst the locals guaranteed good income, even on slower shifts. Up until recently, that is.

*

Waiting on food, I took advantage of a rare free moment and visited the lady’s room. For several moments, I relaxed in quiet seclusion. The overhead speakers that blasted oldies music throughout the restaurant were broken in the women’s restroom. The female staff preferred it that way, which is why we never mentioned it to Gary.

*

The owner, Gary Galloway, used to be a fair employer. So long as the staff showed up on time and didn’t constantly screw up, he was a pleasant man to work for. Over the past year, however, he had changed. He wasn’t his calm and collected self but rather always on edge, disheveled in appearance, and left work early more and more frequently. He was there that night, though. Which meant I couldn’t afford to slack off despite him being cooped up in his office all through the dinner rush, something he used to rarely do. Only the cook and I knew what was going on with Gary. He was in debt.

*

Gary’s financial troubles led to my financial troubles. In the past year, he’d made changes around the diner in order to cut costs. As a result, the place wasn’t as busy as it used to be. Our cleaners were diluted, meaning the place wasn’t as clean. The food wasn’t the quality it once was, and he charged more for it. In only a few short months, our regulars had vanished, leaving me struggling to make ends meet. The job that was once my saving grace now had me feeling trapped.

*

I splashed cool water on my face and examined my reflection in the mirror, disappointed by the pitiful girl staring back at me. Her once soft and shiny blonde hair was weighed down by grease particles. Her once sparkling, light-green eyes were dull. And her once creamy porcelain complexion now sported a few pimples yet another side effect of prolonged exposure to the greasy atmosphere of The Golden Spoon.

*

With a defeated exhale, I let my long hair out of its ponytail and began twisting the stands into a braid in the hopes of better concealing its greasy texture. When I was finished, I washed my hands and left the room.

*

“Natalie!” I heard from the kitchen. “Your food is up for table six.”

“Thanks, Greg,” I called through the pick-up window.
“Anything for you, doll-face.” I rolled my eyes at the nickname.

*

The cook was a nice enough guy. He always covered for me on the rare occasions I messed up, and he respected my personal space. But two things irked me about Greg: the silly names he called me and his constant nagging about setting me up on a date with his son. I had nothing against Grant. I just wasn’t interested in dating. Men complicated things, and I liked simple.

*

I glanced at the clock, relieved to see only a half hour until closing. My stomach gurgled from missing lunch, and my feet ached from working a double shift— for all the good it did. I was still short on my rent that month. I carried the two plates over to table six, relieved the occupants were a pair of familiar faces.

*

“Here ya go, guys,” I said, putting the plates on the table. “A bacon burger for Jackson and the chicken wrap for Trina.” Katrina and I had been roommates all through college. I couldn’t love the girl more if she were my own sister. When she and her long-time boyfriend decided to move in together, I let them take the two-bedroom apartment Trina and I had shared, while I moved one floor up in the same building into a modest but cozy studio apartment.

*

“Thanks, hon. I’m starving,” Trina said as she tied back her light-brown hair. I motioned for her to scoot over in the booth as I sat down beside her with a sigh. “You look tired, Nat,” Jackson informed me. “Ow!” he exclaimed when Trina kicked him under the table.

“Never comment on a woman’s appearance unless it’s to tell her she’s beautiful,” she chastised before turning to me. “He’s right though, hon. You look dead on your feet.” Trina was my best friend for many reasons. What some saw as bluntness, I saw as honesty. There was nothing fake about Trina, and I’d rather have one real friend than twenty fake ones any day. She always told the truth and, even better, kept my secrets.

*

“Tired is not the right word for it,” I said. “I’m straight up burned out. Tips have been s**t this week. At the rate I’m going, I’ll have to sell something to make rent this month. Again.”

“Girl, I know you’ve worked here for years, and you’re loyal to Gary or whatever… but you can’t go on like this,” Trina insisted. “You didn’t suffer through three years of college, working your ass off to graduate early, only to work a job a monkey could do.”

“You think I’ve stayed out of loyalty? Hell no. Nobody is hiring right now. In the past four months, I’ve sent my resumé to at least two dozen companies without a single call back.”

*

With a mouthful of food, Jackson wiped his mouth with a napkin. Before taking another bite he, said, “Don’t give up, Natalie. You should follow up with everyone you submitted a resumé to. People like initiative.”

“I plan to,” I replied. “Just as soon as I can swing a day off.”

*

I took a fry from Trina’s plate and popped it into my mouth, savoring the salty flavor. I nearly choked when Trina suddenly exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot! Candace is pregnant!” Jackson and I stared at her in shock, oblivious to the meaning behind her outburst. Jackson recovered quicker and asked, “Who’s Candace? And why do we care that she’s pregnant?”

*

Trina directed her answer to me, saying, “Candace is the personal assistant to my boss’ business partner. She just told me today that she’ll be leaving in a few weeks and will be looking for her replacement.”

“She’s looking?” I questioned. “Don’t you mean her boss is looking for her replacement?”

“No, she is. She’s worked for him ever since he took over as CEO. She knows him and the job better than anyone and doesn’t want to leave him with just anybody. They’re childhood friends, you know, so she kinda feels like she’s abandoning him. But she’s wanted a baby for years, and now that it’s finally happening, she wants to be a stay-at-home mom.”

“Babe, you’re rambling,” Jackson pointed out as he took a massive bite of his burger. I was content letting Trina ramble as it distracted her from realizing I was eating most of her fries.

*

Again, Trina directed the answer to his question at me. “You could take her job, Nat!” She smiled excitedly, acting like she’d just solved all my problems. “Me?” I questioned, once again nearly choking on her French fries. “Yes, you. Candace hasn’t even posted the job listing yet. You could meet with her before any other applicant, who’d undoubtedly have half your skills.”

“You say that because you love me, Kat.”

*

She immediately glared, as I knew she would.

“You know I hate that nickname.”

“I know, but sometimes it’s the only way to get you to listen.” She rolled her eyes as I continued, “I am nowhere near experienced enough to be the PA to one of the most successful business magnates in Chicago, not to mention the country.”

“John’s business partner,” Jackson interjected, “isn’t that Ronan Ó Ceallaigh? The Irish billionaire?” Trina nodded and confirmed, “That’s him.”

*

Jackson’s expression shifted. Clearly, he didn’t think me working for the Irishman was a good idea either. He cleared his throat before continuing, “Trin, babe, don’t you think he has sort of a … you know… sketchy reputation? He never goes out with the same girl twice. He’s a well-known womanizer.”

“I’m not setting her up on a date with him. His business reputation is pristine. Everyone at OCE thinks highly of him. I’ve never heard a word against him, and that’s saying something, considering how much we all love to gossip.”

“It doesn’t change the fact I’m severely underqualified to be his PA,” I said firmly.

“You graduated at the top of our class. What the hell was all that work for, if not a job like this?”

“I don’t have any experience,” I rebutted. “I’m sure there’s a ton of better-qualified candidates. What makes you think I’d even get an interview?”

“Don’t you know what they say? It’s not what you know but who you know? All you need is someone to talk you up, and I’m your girl. I wouldn’t put my reputation on the line for just anybody, but I believe in you. I can get you an interview with Candace. And once she meets you, I know she’ll see you are the perfect fit.”

*

If I had half Trina’s confidence, I would’ve jumped at the opportunity to work for a thriving company such as OCE. However, confidence had never been my strongest asset. Despite completing a four-year degree in only three, I couldn’t help but see myself as average. I’m not down on myself, but I don’t think highly of myself either. There’s simply nothing exceptional about me. Katrina used to tell me if there ever came a day I truly believed in myself, that was the day I’d rule the business world. She’d never lie to me, but on this matter, she was just plain wrong.

*

“Katrina, why are you so insistent on throwing me straight into the deep end?” I asked. She dabbed her face with a napkin and replied, “Because if you don’t go into the deep end, you’ll never learn to swim. And continuing to work in this grease pit, making barely above minimum wage, is simply not sustainable.” I sighed in defeat, knowing she was right.

*

I gazed at Trina through my lashes and said, “If I promise to think about it, will you promise to back off?”

“Promise,” she replied. “But I’m still going to tell Candace to be expecting your resumé.” I thought about what she said. It couldn’t hurt, right? “Fine. Whatever. I’ve got to get back to work. All your fries are gone anyway.”

*

After they left, I switched the open sign to closed. I didn’t lock the door yet, as there was technically still five minutes left before closing. I wiped down the last table and carried the bus bin to the back. Just as I finished spraying and loading the last of the dirty dishes into the washer, I heard the doorbell chime. “Don’t these fuckers know how to tell time?” Greg said, pointing to the clock above the kitchen door. One minute past closing time. “Oh, thank the Lord!” I exclaimed. “At least I have a justifiable reason for sending them on their way.”

“You go tell ‘em off, sweet cheeks!”

*

I made my way from the kitchen to the front, half-expecting to see a group of teenagers too self-absorbed to notice the time. Instead, my eyes landed on three middle-aged men, each wearing a scowl and very expensive three-piece suits. They certainly didn’t look like they came in for the daily special.

*

“Um… I’m sorry, gentlemen,” I said politely, “but we’re closed.” They didn’t say anything in response. The two men, standing slightly behind the third in the middle, briefly glanced at each other before looking to the front man, as though awaiting further instruction. The man in charge, shorter and older than the other two, never took his eyes off me. The intensity of his gaze made my skin crawl. “We’re here for a chat with Mr. Galloway,” the front man said in a thick Russian accent. My blood ran cold as I completely froze, rendered utterly speechless by the sudden reemergence of a lifelong nightmare.

*

The man on the right spoke softly to his boss, “Do you want to come back later when the girl is gone?”

“No,” the boss replied. The guy on the left said, “I thought you said you didn’t want any witnesses?”

“We will merely have to give Galloway a friendlier reminder than I had intended. There will be nothing for her to witness.” They did not take care to lower their voices, likely due to the fact they weren’t speaking English. They assumed the chances I understood Russian were low. They were wrong.

*

I don’t know if I stood there for ten seconds or ten minutes when suddenly a hand grabbed my arm from behind, turning me around. Greg’s serious face met mine as he said, “Your shift is over, angel. Grab your stuff and get outta here,” before he practically shoved me into the kitchen.

*

Through the gap in the swinging doors, I heard Greg speak to the Russians. “Mr. Galloway is in the back, fellas. Just around the corner there, towards the bathrooms.” I heard footsteps moving away. A minute later, Greg returned to the kitchen.

*

The color must have vanished from my face because Greg looked at me with genuine concern. “You okay?” His question snapped me out of my daze, and anger quickly rose to the surface. “What the f**k are Russians doing here, Greg?” I asked in a hurried whisper.

“I dunno for sure,” he replied, “but I think Gary may have borrowed money from them.”

“So, they’re … bankers?” I knew they weren’t bankers, but I had hope. Until Greg squashed it with his reply. “They’re mob, Nat.”

“Jesus,” I muttered in shock.

*

My time at the Golden Spoon had just come to a very abrupt end. I couldn’t stay; the proximity to the Russian mob made it far too risky. Greg must’ve seen the resolution on my face. “Can I take you home?” he offered.

“No.” I met his eyes and assured, “Thank you, but no. I’ll be fine.” In response, he reached into his back pocket, retrieved his wallet, and proceeded to take out all the cash. “What are you doing?” I demanded to know when he stuffed the money into my apron pocket.

“Shut up and take it. There’s little over two hundred dollars there. Not what you would’ve made if you’d finished out your shifts for the week, but I’d feel better knowing you have it.”

“I can’t—”

“You can and you will,” he cut me off, “I know you’re short on rent, and finding a job that’s worthy of you may take time. I only wish I could do more.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you really going to stick around here, knowing the kind of people he’s involved with?”

“I’m going down with the ship, doll. However long it lasts.”

*

My throat grew tight with emotion as I did the unexpected. I hugged Greg as though he were a real friend rather than merely a coworker. “Alright, alright,” he said, gently pushing me away by the shoulders. “I know you love me. Now get outta here … and don’t look back.”

“Take care of yourself, Greg.”

“I always do, darlin’,” he replied with a flirty wink. I grabbed my bag and jacket hanging near the back door and left the diner, following Greg’s advice, without a backward glance.

*

My body still trembled from the frightening experience as I drove a roundabout way home, making sure I was not being followed. After I parked in my complex’s lot, I made a mad dash inside and up to the second floor. Breathing heavily, I banged on Trina’s door. Seconds later, I heard the chain slide across the metal lock. When the door jerked open, I was met with the worried face of my best friend.

*

“What the hell, Nat?” Trina asked. “Why didn’t you call or text? You can’t just go around banging on people’s doors after midnight. Do you want to get shot?” As she rambled, I entered her apartment, closed the door, and refastened all the locks. “I need a favor,” I declared, turning to face her.

“Anything,” she promptly replied, in true best-friend fashion.

“I need you to get me that job.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~