I RODE the L train, back and forth. Back and forth. In the beginning, I made eye contact with everyone. I applied mascara, I counted my cash tips on my lap, I wrote myself notes, ate bagels, redistributed the cream cheese with my fingers, moved my shoulders to music, stretched out on the seats, smiled at flashes of my reflection in the train windows.
“Your self-awareness is lacking,” Simone said to me one day as I was leaving. “Without an ability to see yourself, you can’t protect yourself. Do you understand? It’s crucial to your survival that you pause the imaginary sound track in your head. Don’t isolate your senses—you’re interacting with an environment.”
I learned how to sit still and look at nothing and no one. When someone next to me on the train started talking to themselves, I was embarrassed for them.
—
I WAS WORKING the dining room the first day Mrs. Neely didn’t have her wallet. I was replenishing the silver and I heard her exclaim. She threw her purse up on the table with her needle-thin arms and her knife fell to the floor. It sounded like an alarm. The surrounding tables turned. She pulled out slips of paper, crumpled Kleenex, several tubes of lipstick, her MetroCard.
Simone picked up the knife and put her hand on her shoulder. Mrs. Neely sat back down but her hands continued to flap in front of her face. “Well I…well I…Well.”
“You know, I believe we found it,” Simone said, catching one of Mrs. Neely’s erratic hands. “You are all set. I noticed you didn’t finish your lamb today, was it all right?”
“Oh it was underdone. I don’t know what you pay that chef for if he’s not able to cook a lamb. I attended a dinner with Julia Child once, and we had lamb. James Beard, he could cook a lamb, my dear.”
“Thank you for telling me. I will pass it along.” Simone picked up the check. I hadn’t seen Zoe come up next to me. Simone approached us.
“There’s no wallet,” she said and sighed. “I’ll go ahead and comp it.”
“I should check with Howard first,” Zoe said carefully.
“Excuse me?” Simone turned to her. I backed up.
“The situation is entirely out of control. It deserves a conversation. Chef is completely fed up—double orders of soup, lamb sent back three times? It’s getting worse.”
Simone stiffened, I felt it from a few feet away. Zoe kept her hands clasped behind her back, enforcing composure. A silence bubbled between them and I knew Zoe would break it first.
“You can’t just comp entire meals every week, Simone. That’s not your call. And it’s gone beyond the restaurant’s responsibility. Do you remember when she fell? That’s on us. Where is the line? Where is her family?”
She engrossed me. She flickered.
“Every week, Zoe. For twenty fucking years. You’re looking at her family. I’m taking care of the meal.”
There was now a small orbit of us around the hutch and when Simone turned we scattered. I ran into the kitchen and Ariel had wide eyes.
“Shit,” she said. “Queen Bee is getting written up for that. Picking up!”
—
WHEN I WOULD finally get to taste the wine at the end of our lessons, I would say idiotic things like, Oh I get it now. Simone would shake her head.
“You’re only beginning to learn what you don’t know. First you must relearn your senses. Your senses are never inaccurate—it’s your ideas that can be false.”
—
I DIDN’T KNOW what a date was and I wasn’t an anomaly. Most of the girls I knew didn’t get asked out on dates. People got together through alcohol and a process of elimination. If they had anything in common beyond that they would go out and have a conversation. When Will asked me to get a drink in the late afternoon on my day off, I thought that placed us firmly in the friend arena, like getting coffee.
We met at a tiny space called Big Bar, four booths and a few stools doused in red light. When he opened the door for me and he put his hand on the small of my back I thought, Oh fucking fuck shit fuck, is this what a date is?
“Kansas,” he said. I smiled. It wasn’t awful, being somewhere besides the restaurant and my room. To be talking to another human without doing fifteen other things at once. Not awful at all.
“It all makes sense.”
“Does it? You were getting the Midwest vibe?”
“I wasn’t actually. My radar is all off—everyone seems like they were born and raised in the restaurant. But now it makes sense.”
“Because of my charm?”
“No, because of your manners.”
“Charming manners?”
“Utterly,” I said and drank my beer. It is a strange pressure to be across from a man who wants something that you don’t want to give. It’s like standing in a forceful current, which at first you think is not too strong, but the longer you stand, the more tired you become, the harder it is to stay upright.
“How long have you been here?”
“I came for film school like, god, five years ago? That’s depressing. I promised my mom I would move back as soon as school was over, and I feel like I’m running against the clock. She’s livid.”
“Is she? It’s so impressive that you got out, that you’re doing what you want.”
“She thinks family is impressive.”
I swallowed. “Maybe she’s right.”
“Your parents know you’re here?”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. You give off this runaway vibe, like you’re all huddled up inside yourself.”
“I’m flattered. I’m pretty sure my dad knows.”
“Pretty sure? What about your mom? Her little baby girl in the big city?”
“My mom doesn’t exist.”
“Doesn’t exist? What does that mean?”
“That means I don’t want to talk about it.”
Will’s eyes became concerned and I thought, Don’t do that. That’s not why I told you. It’s not something to fix.
“What happened to film school?” I asked.
“You come here for one thing, you end up absorbed by another. I have all these ideas, it’s just…Well. It’s hard to retain the original vision, which is usually the most pure, you know?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t.
“You really came here for nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say for nothing.”
“What did you do in school?”
“I read.”
“Any particular subjects? Are you always this difficult?”
I sighed. It wasn’t as intense as Howard’s interview. “I majored in Lit. And I came here to start my life.”
“How’s it going? Your life?”
I paused. He seemed like he really wanted to know. I thought about it. “It’s kind of fucking amazing.”
He laughed. “You remind me of the girls back home.”
“Oh yeah? I’m vaguely insulted.”
“Don’t be. You’re not jaded.”
I thought, You don’t know me, but I smiled politely. “I’ll catch up soon. Just let Chef scream at me a few more times and I will go completely numb.”
“He’s got a hard job.”
“Really? The only thing I see him do is yell. I’ve never even seen him cook!”
“It’s different at that level. He’s not a line cook anymore, he’s running the whole fucking business. I know he misses cooking every single day.”
“The other day he told me to stab my fucking tickets or he’d stab me. I mean, how is that allowed?”
“He didn’t say that to you.”
“He did! I cried by the ice machines.”
“You’re a little sensitive.”
“He’s a monster.”
Will put his hands up, surrendering, smiling. I liked him. The truth was that he reminded me of people back home too—nice, open-book people. Thinking of Chef reminded me of the restaurant and that I could talk freely because I wasn’t in it.
“You know, Simone is kind of helping me with wine.”
“Ugh.” He scrunched up his face. “I would be careful with Simone’s help.”
“Why? She’s so smart. She’s so fucking good at her job. You ask her questions all the time.”
“Yeah, when I’m desperate. Owing Simone a favor is like being owned by the mafia. Her help is a double-edged sword.”
“Are you being serious right now?”