Checkmate

Leah “More. There’s more. More to life…just beyond all this.” I whisper to myself as I gaze at the dark ceiling. I’d been searching for meaning in the city’s chaos, but I just couldn’t grasp a thing till I bumped into a glimpse of a life I did not know. “Griiiiinnggg!!!”, my annoying alarm forces me out of bed as I stretch to hit it. It’s 6:00 am. “Wake up. We have only fifteen minutes to get to the gym. I wouldn’t want us to finish the workout late.” “‘Cause ‘time is pre–cious’, yeah?” Jane yawns as she makes the quotation sign using her fingers with a sarcastic look on her face. “Exactly!” “Oh my God!” Jane squeals. “Not again.” “What is it this time?” I ask. “My gloves, my work…okay. I’ve seen it.” Jane chuckles as she puts them into her backpack. I get my socks. Put them on. Grab my blue sneakers from the wardrobe. And wrap my blue towel around my neck. Then I check to ensure that I’ve taken everything I’ll need in the gym. “Oh, water,” I reach for my water bottle in my small fridge. “Done?” Jane asks. “Done.” We jog to the gym. Just five minutes away. Brooklyn feels different in the early morning hours. The sidewalks are usually empty compared to late hours. “Psychos,” I break the silence between me and Jane, who is on her headphones. “Don’t call them that.” Jane adjusts her headphones to expose part of her little ears. “They’re prolly just takin’ a walk, okay?” “By this time?” I ask as I watch neighbors who seem strange walk past us. “Like you don’t know early morning walks are great.” Jane snorts. “Stop being childish.” “Hey hey hey, don’t you dare call me that!” “Then don’t act like it!” Jane snaps back. A weird silence ensues as we approach the entrance to the gym. “Jane I’m…I’m…look, I didn’t mean to overreac…” “That’s enough. Let me pass. You’ll do it again.” Jane interrupts my apology. “I promise I won’t. I’m sorry, Jay.” “Let me pass.” Jane insists. “Nobody’s goin’ in without a hug.” I persist as Jane reluctantly smiles. We both hug and get to work out for the day—three sets of squats, three sets of deadlifts, and some stretches. “I’ll get you some dumbbells,” I tell Jane. “Light weights, please, no powerlifting.” We both laugh. An hour later I’m sweaty, limber, and relaxed. I empty my water bottle on the way out. The streets are just slightly busier on our way home. By the time we reach our apartment my body temperature feels like it’s back to normal. “Did you buy your Greek yogurt yesterday?” Jane asks. “Of all things, why would I forget that?” “You never miss it. What of cashew nuts?” Jane asks curiously. “Yeah, I got ‘em.” “And your protein powder hasn’t finished yet?” “Pffft, I’m no child, Jay. Please stop.” I chuckle. “No, it hasn’t.” I hang my backpack on its hook by the door before I toss my post-workout smoothie together in the blender. It’s a creamy blend of my Greek yogurt, nuts and a single spoonful of my protein powder. I set it to blend and strip out of my gym clothes on my way to the tiny cubicle that is my shower. I wash and condition my straight, blonde hair, taking time to comb through it. I use a body scrub that smells like fresh lemon leaves, which complements my soap. I rinse everything off and wrap up in a pair of towels — one turbaned on my head and the other wrapped around my torso. I turn my smoothie into a glass and drink it sitting on the edge of my bed. I get dressed - a pair of black trousers with a plain white blouse, and a grey jacket over the top. “Are you ready?” I ask. “Not yet. I wonder if I should use the black or the white leotard.” “You’re free to use any for your dance lessons?” I ask. “I thought black was compulsory.” “No, it never was.” “The white looks good on you.” I compliment. “Let me give it a try,” Jane responds. “Bye then, see you later.” I wave as I head to work. The journey to the hotel from my small, shared apartment in Brooklyn involves a reasonable amount of time when walking. ‘Cause like most New Yorkers, I don’t own a car. I get to the changing room and strip out of my street clothes. I lace up my shoes, finishing right as a waitress comes in. “Hi Bella!” I greet. “Hi, I trust you’re doing great.” She responds. “The director wants to meet you.” Shit! What could have possibly called for that? “Uhmm…okay? Do you…Do you know why?” I ask. “Obviously not. But he seemed happy, though I wouldn’t really count on that as it’s not so easy to read him,” Bella retorts, wearing a weird smile. “Good luck.” “Good luck, too,” I respond. “You know if I had not known you before now, I would think you’re not nervous.” Bella acknowledges. “You’re good.” “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I snap. “Appreciate for once, Leah. It isn’t that difficult.” Bella mutters as she exits the dressing room. “Whoooooff” The Dua DuPonte hotel is a big one. Not just in terms of its concrete size, but in terms of its management. With many layers of management, it is not so common to have a manager send for you by name, which explains why I am scared. “Whooooooff.” I take a deep breath as I rinse my face, looking in the mirror. What could I have done? Was it good or bad? There’s only one way to find out. “Knock knock!” “Yes, who’s it?” Asks a masculine voice behind the door. “It’s Leah Russo.” A prolonged silence ensues, which is very weird and further scares the s**t out of me. Crickets Crickets The door mysteriously opens. “You can come in now.” When I look up, all I see is a tall, dark-haired middle manager who can stall my livelihood with only words. “Good morning, sir.” I greet him. “Call me Luca.” He says. “Good morning, Mr. Luca.” “Do you know why I called you here?” “No, sir,” I answer calmly, trying to keep him from noticing the sweat already gathering on my forehead. “A loyal customer reported you to me yesterday. And it was not a good report.” He blurts. Shit! It should be that son of a b***h called Bill. I’ll be damned. “Tell me. What happened between you and Bill Shepherd yesterday? No lies.” He asks with a stern look on his face. “You can’t talk, right?” A period of what seemed like thirty days of silence follows for about ten seconds, before I begin to speak. “He asked for a cocktail, Tequila Sunrise to be precise,” I explain. “Which I prepared and served him.” “Surprisingly,” I continue, “He said he didn’t ask for tequila, that he wanted tea.” “Then what?” Luca asks. “I got pissed. It was then that I noticed a bottle of Vodka on his table. He must have been drunk, which made me even more pissed that he blamed me.” I blurt. “So you couldn’t be kind to a customer because he was drunk?” Luca asks. “It’s not like that, sir,” I plead. “You are not kind. And I can’t risk unkind staff attending to my revered customers,” Luca continues. “You’re fired.” What??