‘A woman who likes her movies but hates actors. That’s…that’s novel.’ He looked into my eyes and then down at my lips.
Lucia poked her head further round the kitchen door. ‘Hey Esther, it’s almost twelve. You locked up?’
‘Uh, just about to, Lu.’ I looked at Jack. He had the start of some wrinkles on his forehead that knitted together when there was something he didn’t understand. Attractive and on the brink of movie stardom, I reasoned he was unused to women showing any reluctance. But I was sure the curiosity my foot-dragging had sparked in him was only temporary.
‘Alright. I suppose I’m finished.’ Jack stood and pulled on his sodden suede jacket. Something about the way his hair hung forward as he did so roused an emptiness inside me. Maybe it was his accent reminding me of home or maybe I still had the words from the old man at Coney echoing in my ears but in that moment I wanted to be close to him. If only for one evanescent night. No consequences. No conversations. Just skin against skin. Of course, when I opened my mouth to speak no sound came out.
Jack noticed my attempt and seized on it anyway. ‘Do you want me to wait while you shut up shop and I’ll walk you home?’ His eyes were wider than before. Perhaps with hope or maybe he was just starting to sober.
‘No, but thanks,’ I said in a gentler tone. ‘It wouldn’t be worth your time. I just live around the corner. So…’
‘You say that but you managed to get mugged between here and there in broad daylight.’ He rested his hands on the counter, and flashed his roguish smile at me.
‘I’m not sure I have a sense of humour about that yet.’ I hung my head to one side and pursed my lips.
‘Wait, you have a sense of humour?’
I let out a quiet laugh in spite of myself.
‘So whereabouts do you live?’ he asked, edging towards me with the same caution an animal-control officer might exhibit whilst entrapping a mad dog.
‘If you must know, on Clinton Street.’ I took off my apron and folded it up on the counter. ‘The rent is so pricey I live largely on leftovers from this place but I wanted to be on that street. It’s mentioned in this Leonard Cohen record I’ve always loved.’
‘Oh. “Famous Blue Raincoat”.’
At this, I looked at him and now it was my turn to frown.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s right.’
‘It’s a powerful song.’ He smiled – not his charming, glitzy smile but a softer, subtler version that was somehow more appealing.
‘Yes. It, it is. I went through this phase when I was a teenager of listening to it every day. It’s sort of hauntingly beautiful for reasons I’ve never been able to articulate.’ He nodded as though he understood. ‘Anyway…’ I said, remembering myself, and Jack’s fist crashing at the wall just yesterday.
‘You sure you don’t want me to walk you home?’ he asked, and his hands, still resting on the counter, moved closer to mine. ‘I’d be glad of the company.’
‘Look. I … it’s kind of you to offer. But I’m fine.’
‘I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. Just to make sure you get home alright.’
My eyes widened.
He froze, understanding he’d said something he shouldn’t have – though he couldn’t have known what. In a split second the raw throb of all I wanted to forget came screaming back to me and, as a result, I all but screamed at him.
‘I don’t need your help, OK?’ My face had reddened. ‘I don’t need you to be nice to me or walk me home. Allow me to quench your unsolicited curiosity: I’m ordinary, alright? I’m nobody. I just want to do my job and live quietly. That’s all I want. So just… just sod off and leave me alone.’
Jack’s frown evolved into a scowl. He shook his head before pushing an exasperated hand through his hair. ‘Psycho,’ he muttered, his voice glacial. Something dark and unspoken weighed heavy across his brow. Creasing the skin.
I swallowed hard. Psycho was a bit unfair. I wasn’t running the Motel o’ Death, I just couldn’t be entrapped once again by a beautiful face. For all her mistakes, that one was mine. My weakness for a strong jawline was the lightning bolt that had birthed the late Mrs Delaney. I was her Frankenstein; she was my creature.
I opened my mouth to ask if he thought all the women uninterested in dating him were psychos but shame over my outburst kept me quiet. Jack fixed his eyes on the counter, laying down ten dollars in a slow, deliberate manner.
‘Keep the change,’ he said, not even looking at me before storming out into the rain.
‘See you’re all sunshine and light this mornin’,’ Mona had the audacity to say as she tied her apron strings. I glowered, dolloping vanilla ice cream into the blender to make some kid a milkshake. All night, I’d replayed my clash with Jack, resulting in little shuteye.
‘Well,’ I said, sticking my chin out, ‘I had a certain unwanted customer last night.’
‘Who?’ Mona knew who.
‘Patrick Swayze.’
Mona shrugged as though she still had no idea what I was talking about.
‘Jack. Jack Faber,’ I said, louder than I meant to. A woman in the corner wearing a red, hooded sweater looked over. Even from a distance, her green eyes pierced through me.
Mental note, Esther: lower your voice when ranting about budding actors who won’t take no for an answer.
‘So?’
‘So why’d you tell him I was working the late shift?’
‘All I said is that you was on later. He was a customer and he asked me a question. What you makin’ a big deal outta this for?’ Mona, put a hand on her hip.
‘A big deal? I –’
‘And I didn’t tell him anything,’ Walt piped up out of nowhere.
Turning, I scowled at the old man. ‘Walt? What did you say about me?’ I said, wishing I had something sharper than an ice cream scoop to shake at him.
‘Nothin’…’ He continued to cut his omelette into small pieces, looking at me over the top of his glasses.
I pressed my lips together and switched on the blender. The blades clattered and churned. Once pulverised, I delivered the milkshake to a sulky kid who didn’t even have the manners to say ‘thank you’.
‘Might’ve told him you like books but he could have guessed that for himself,’ Walt admitted once I was back behind the counter.
‘Look, I don’t interfere in your personal lives so I’d appreciate you paying me the same courtesy.’ I glanced between him and Mona.
‘Well, excuse us.’ Mona put her hands on my shoulders and gave me a little shake from side to side. ‘We were just concerned that if we didn’t interfere you might never have a personal life.’
I looked at her, fighting a smile. ‘The wall-punching egotist with no understanding of personal space, that’s your idea of boyfriend material?’
‘What makes you think he’s an egotist?’ said Mona.
‘All actors are egotists.’ Our resident lady in red glanced over again from her corner. She