Chapter Two
1031 Words
The lunch rush had finally died, and the diner had gone quiet. That slow middle part of the afternoon when the customers thinned out and the staff could actually breathe for a second.
Imani was at the back counter rolling silverware into napkins. Mindless work. Her feet were already done with the day and it wasn't even two yet.
Josh came and stood next to her and grabbed a stack of napkins without being asked. They worked like that sometimes, just falling into the same task without talking about it. She didn't know Josh like that, but they were cool enough. He covered her tables when she needed it. She did the same for him, nobody made it weird.
"Yo," he said. "You looking for extra work?"
"When am I not?"
"Moretti Grand is taking on temp staff." He was still rolling napkins, not even looking at her. "My boy works over there, he put me on. They need waitstaff, some hosting, cleaning, all of that. Limited time thing, not permanent. But…"
"How much they paying?"
He told her thirty-eight dollars an hour.
Imani put down the silverware.
"Per hour?" she said.
"Per hour."
She didn't say anything for a second. She was doing the math and the math was loud. Thirty-eight dollars an hour at the Moretti Grand versus the eleven something she was making here, plus whatever tips decided to show up that day. One shift over there was more than she made in three full days here.
She thought about the drawer in her nightstand. The one she didn't open unless she had to. The bill inside it that had been inside it for too long.
"When do they need people?" she asked.
"Starting next week. My boy said they got some big VIP thing happening so they need more hands than usual. It's not forever but…"
"What's the number?"
Josh looked at her then. "You don't want to know more about it first?"
"I know enough. What's the number?"
He smiled a little and pulled out his phone. She had the number saved in her contacts before he finished reading it out.
"You going for it?" she asked.
"Already applied this morning. Figured I'd tell you since you're always picking up extra anyway."
"Good looking out, Josh."
"Don't worry about it."
Sandra came through the kitchen door and they both automatically picked up the pace on the silverware. Sandra looked at the pile, looked at both of them, didn't say anything and went back through the door.
They both let out a breath at the same time.
"She does that on purpose," Josh muttered.
"Every single time," Imani said.
She texted Nico while walking to the coffee shop that afternoon for her next shift.
Imani🙄🥰: I might have found something
Nico💅🖕: WHAT!
Nico💅🖕: found what?
Nico💅🖕: Imani don't play with me 😑
She put her phone in her pocket and kept walking.
She called him on her break, standing in the back alley behind the coffee shop where all the staff went to rest and stare at the wall for ten minutes.
"Moretti Grand," she said when he picked up.
Nothing.
"Nico."
"I'm here, I just…" he stopped. "Wait. THE Moretti Grand?"
"How many are there?"
"Okay but Imani. You know what that place is right. That is not a regular hotel situation. They have a casino there. A whole casino. I saw pictures of the lobby one time and the chandeliers alone probably cost more than this entire block."
"I don't care about the chandeliers."
"I'm just saying it's not…"
"Nico. Thirty-eight dollars an hour."
Silence.
"Hello?" she said.
"I'm here." His voice was different now. "Say that again."
"Thirty. Eight. Dollars. An hour."
"At the Moretti Grand."
"At the Moretti Grand."
She could hear him breathing. Then … "Okay, so what do you need to do?"
That was the thing about Nico. He could be dramatic about everything right up until it actually mattered, and then he just switched. No more performance, just … okay, what do we need to do?
"I need to call the number, get on the list. And I need to get the days off from the coffee shop since the shifts overlap."
"And if they say no?"
"Then I'll deal with it."
"Imani…"
"Nico, thirty-eight dollars an hour. If the coffee shop wants to be funny about one day off, then that's information I needed anyway."
He went quiet for a second. She could hear his TV in the background, some reality show he watched religiously and refused to be embarrassed about.
"Okay," he said finally. "Call the number tonight. Not tomorrow. Tonight."
"I know."
"And call me after."
"I always do."
"I know I just like saying it." A pause. "This could actually be good, you know. Like genuinely good."
Imani leaned against the wall. Above her the sky was doing that thing it sometimes did in New York summer evenings, going this deep kind of orange between the buildings.
"Yeah," she said. "Maybe."
"Not maybe. Actually."
She smiled a little. "I'll call you after."
She went back inside.
She made the call that night sitting on her bed, back against the headboard, the window fan going because the AC was still dead courtesy of her landlord and not taking things seriously.
The woman who answered sounded busy but efficient. Name, availability, experience, references. Imani answered everything cleanly and quickly. The woman told her she'd have confirmation by the end of the week.
She hung up and sat there for a minute.
The Moretti Grand. She'd walked past that building once, maybe two years ago. Had looked up at it for a second the way you look at things that don't belong to your world. All dark stone and glass and a door that a man in a suit stood outside of like his whole job was to make sure the wrong people didn't walk in.
She wasn't thinking about any of that right now though.
Thirty-eight dollars an hour.
That was all she needed to think about.
She set her alarm, actually set it this time, checked it twice , turned the fan up and went to sleep.
- Writer
