Luck on the Line (30 page)

“Mickey,” the old man says to me, holding out his hand. I shake it and feel a little bad when he winces.

“Nice to meet you. Are you guys coming to the grand opening?”

The Murphy men glance at each other. Michael leans in close and lowers his voice. “Is Frankie making some of that tiny green food?”

“Fuck no,” I shout. I point a thumb at my chest. “Guess who convinced him not to.”

Michael busts out laughing and Mickey just shakes his head.

“Oh, come on,” I say. “You have to come. James would never say it but he wants you there. Listen, it’s been a crazy week. I know if my dad were alive, I’d want him to be there for me.”

Mickey turns around and starts cleaning glasses. Michael pours a shot of whiskey for an old lady on the other side of the bar. Baby Dee crawls along the bar and sits directly in front of me. She grabs some of my hair and starts chewing on it.

“Oh, my girl,” Mickey says. When it comes to her, he’s a different man. Sure, I don’t know him from a hole in the wall. Only what James has told me. But when he talks to her, his whole face lights up. “We don’t chew on strange people’s hair.”

Just then, James comes out of the kitchen with a long tray of fried things. I see hush puppies and fish and chips.

James and his dad nod a greeting at each other.

“Did you just
cook
?” I ask James. I grab a piping hot and flaky piece of fish and start eating. Dee grabs for a fry but it’s too hot to eat yet, so Michael breaks it in half and blows the steam away.

He slides a hand around my shoulder. “Pa, this is Lucky. Lucky, my dad.”

“We already did that, James,” I say, which makes the old man grumble.

“She’s Frankie’s boss, Pa.”

“No I’m not. I’m kind of the manager at The Star, not the kitchen.”

Mickey looks at me and chews on his inner lip. “Now I see why you don’t want to come work here. Why’d you spend your days with me when you can look at something prettier. Not that I wasn’t pretty in my day. Better looking than you fucks.”

“Pa,” James says, hiding a smile. “I just wanted you to meet her. That’s all.”

“I see.” Mickey and James make the same face when they’re thinking really hard. It’s like their inner struggle is trying to force its way through their foreheads. “Lucky, now be honest with me. I really need you to be honest with me.”

“I’ll be Honest. Who will you be?”

Mickey stares at me for a little bit. Behind him, Michael looks like he’s about to piss his pants laughing. Still, the old man wags his finger in my direction. He looks at James and says, “Oh, oh, I like her.”

James wraps his arms around me and says, “So do I.”

I down three more beers. Guinness is a meal on its own. I feel fuzzy and warm on the way back to James’s apartment. I change into the t-shirt he’s wearing and breathe him in. “I love the way you smell,” I tell him.

He climbs into bed and my skin prickles as our legs are entwined. “Is this part of that truth-telling you were talking about?”

“Yeah, why not.”

I curl up on his chest and he strokes the length of my hair. I trace the lines of his muscles. His chest is so defined, skin so soft. “Do you moisturize?”

“Oh no, it’s my turn.” He presses my hand on my belly and turns me so I’m lying on my back and he hovers over me. He keeps his leg pressed between my legs. I can feel him get hard against my hip. I run my nails up and down his arm. “What’s your favorite song?”

I laugh, turning my face to the side, but he follows me. “Really? That’s what you want to go with?”

“I think that music says a lot about a person. There’s something about that is so specific. For instance, mine is ‘Interstate Love Song.’ I hate new music. When the boys play their own stuff in the kitchen, it drives me bat shit.”

“Then why do you let them do it?”

“I figure I yell at them enough. Music tames the wild beasts.”

“‘Gypsy,’ Fleetwood Mac.” I take his bottom lip and suck on it. “My turn. If you could eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“I thought we were going to get serious here, Lucky.” His sea-green eyes are so intense I turn my head to the side to give myself a break. If I keep looking at them, I’ll melt on his hands, and then where will I be.

“Well, food really says a lot about a person. There’s something about it that is
so
specific.”

“Okay, wiseass. Lobster roll. On a bun, warm, with drawn butter.”

My stomach grumbles. The plus side about being in bed with a chef is that if I ask, he’d probably just go make me something to eat. But I’m too warm, too comfortable, too much of everything. “Is that why you never leave Boston? For the lobster rolls?”

His hand is under my shirt, traces patterns I can’t see across my skin. “No.”

“That’s it?”

“I answered honestly.”

I make a face and he bites my lip, sending a quiver down my spine. He traces the hem of my thong playfully, but then goes back to touching my belly.

“Where are you going, Lucky?” he whispers in my ear. His tongue brushes against my neck. I press my body against his, but he gently pulls me off. “Answer me. Please.”

I grunt. The Guinness has worn off and now I’m fully aware of how close we are. The realization that I could be in his bed and not want to move startles me. My heart beats faster. My skin prickles. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“You were the one that was talking about honesty.”

“Yeah, to get Clarissa off your back, not for you to trick me into saying something I can’t say.”

He jerks up. The moment is long gone. “I’m trying to trick you? So it’s okay if I tell everyone
my
delinquent story, but if I ask you one simple question, then you go fucking crazy?”

Something inside of me clicks. “You don’t know me. Let me go blackmail you or run over your bike. That’s how crazy I am.” I get off the bed, take off his shirt and throw it across the room at his face.

I fumble in the dark for my clothes, something is caught in my chest and won’t get out. The mattress sighs as he gets up and comes towards me. His hands touch my shoulders softly. I try to brush him off, but that’s not what I want. He sits on his bed and pulls me towards him so I’m standing between his legs looking down at his face. He takes my hands in his.

“Lucky, I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Every single time I wanted to run away, but I was too scared to just leave everything behind. I’m the kind of person that likes having something familiar. I’m not brave like you.”

I scoff. “I’m not brave.”

“You take more chances than anyone I’ve ever met. You were on my street. You see how nothing really changes. That was me when I was Dee’s age. It’s a fucking cycle that I don’t know how to break. No one in my family does. Maybe my sister if she can get through four years of college. You’re not afraid to just go.”

“Yes, I am,” I say. He holds my hips and presses his face to my stomach. “I’m always afraid. I never know what’s waiting for me because I don’t know what I want. My mom told me that The Star is for me. That’s it’s mine if I want it. And a big part of me wants to take it, because it’s the only thing that I have that 100% comes from both my parents. But I’m scared that I’ll fuck up. That every day something terrible is going to happen.”

James kisses my palm, my wrist. I cup his face with my hand. I’ve never been this exposed with another person and I’m shocked that I haven’t just taken my clothes and run out. On second thought, I started to, but unlike with others, James actually stopped me from going. That’s the difference.

“Lucky, I’m right here. I’m going to be
here
. I’m going to be at The Star. Fuck it if something goes wrong. We’ll deal. This right here is waiting for you. You have to know that. No excuses.”

I take his face in my hands and kiss him, pushing him back with my weight. I straddle him and press my hands on either side of him on the mattress. His hands hold my waist, then move up, cupping my breasts. He presses me down and takes my nipples in his mouth one at a time.

He lifts me up, I move my thong to the side and he enters me. I slide all the way down his shaft, pressing my hands on his chest to anchor me. I lean forward and moan into his ear. He wraps his arms around me and squeezes the breath out of my lungs. I gasp and feel him move faster and faster. I grab at his hair and tug. He tugs right back. He’s not afraid to explore my body, to touch every part of me. When I’m with James, sex is so much better, partially because I come every time. But mostly because he knows just where to touch me. He knows when to kiss me when I want it, he knows when to slow down, go faster and my body responds to every inch of him.

I may not know a lot of things, but if a man feels this good, I probably shouldn’t let him go.

“You’re leaving?” Stella shouts, running down the loft steps two at a time in her silk robe. “
Today
of all days?”

I have a giant bag slung over my shoulder. I’m in my pajamas. My hair is a bird’s nest and I have nothing clean to wear. I spent most of last night and the early morning in James’s bed. He dropped me off when I told him I needed to take care of something. He lingered at the front of the building, like he was afraid I would duck back out and head to South Station on the first train to New York.

Everyone is so worried that I’m going to go somewhere. It sucks. Sure, maybe I didn’t want to stick around and work at The Star at first. Sure, it took my ex-best friend to give me a cheesy line about life giving you lemons. Sure, I have a track record of crying wolf, and then leaving town in an Irish exit.

“Fine, then,” Stella says. “Go. After everything that’s happened the last few days, I thought you’d reconsider. I thought that you would finally have learned something. That maybe you could forgive me, that we could start fresh. I see I was wrong.”

I drop the bag on the floor. “Where do you think I’m going in a ratty old t-shirt and old running shorts? I’m doing my fucking laundry.”

“Oh.” She steps closer to kiss both my cheeks. “Okay. Hurry up, there’s so much to do.”

The Star is freshly mopped and sparkles on every surface. My mom flutters back and forth so the camera crew from
Evenings in Stella’s Kitchen
can get all the behind the scenes action. When the camera lands on me, Stella and I do a mother daughter shot, but this time I don’t have to force myself to smile with her.

My mom buzzes with energy and nervousness. I feel it too. Everything that we love is at stake. I was wrong about this restaurant. It wasn’t a pet project from one of her ex-husbands. It was all my dad’s. I framed a picture of him and put it at the bar so that I can always remember that.

James and the staff are doing prep. He sticks his head out of the kitchen every now and then to look around the restaurant while he dries his hands with a towel. It’s a flimsy excuse to smile at me, but I’ll take it.

After we sat down with my mother and explained about Clarissa, she had a brilliant idea of having James do an exclusive feature on a popular food blog. It wouldn’t be as detailed as what James divulged to me, but once we beat Clarissa to the punch, she won’t have anything to hold over his head. Andrés from the EAT ME blog was the first one that came to mind. He jumped at the opportunity, saying that he can’t wait to see the final product for tonight.

When it comes time to unveil the wall from hell, I call every staff member to gather around. I wanted this to be a surprise from my mother so we covered it. Carlos flips the switch and a burst of bright light filters through the cloth. I pull on the material and it flutters down. The camera man is at a perfect angle to catch the display.

I got the inspiration from when I had a chat with my mom after the hospital. She asked me if I thought that all she wanted was to see her name in lights. I thought of New York, Broadway, the people we’ve hired, my dad. I think of being a little girl and putting makeup on her old vanity table with the blubs that didn’t always light up. There’s something glamorous about marquee lights. It’s nostalgic, but still dazzling.
The Star
is written out in marquee bulbs that cast a warm glow all over the restaurant.

My mom pulls me into a hug. All at once, everyone claps.

All at once, we are stormed by a mass of restaurant goers. We open the doors at five. Originally, Stella wanted to do exclusive reservations, but I thought it would be better if we took people as they showed. Couples young and old show up on dates, girlfriends come in gaggles to get a peek at the hot young chef. James does his part, coming out every once in a while when someone really wants to commend his take on the surf and turf—braised short rib and a lobster tail in an herbed butter sauce, or the veal meatballs that melt in your mouth, or the black pasta with shaved truffles, or
my
personal favorite, the Lucky appetizer sharing plate of fried oysters, shrimp corn dogs, and seared tuna tacos.

My mom goes one-on-one with some people who sign a waiver to be on camera to give their honest opinions of the food. Naturally, if there’s a single bad thing to say, it would get edited out, but so far, it’s nothing but good reviews.

As I help seat people and make sure the servers are on point, I watch my mother sit at the bar and chat with Belle. It’s the first time in a while I’ve seen my mother just
sit
and enjoy herself. I realize I’ve got this. I do. I’m still scared. I’m 22 going on 23 and all of a sudden I have my father’s biggest wish in the palm of my hand. If I let myself think too hard on it, I’ll get jittery. But when I think harder, of how we could have been here sooner, could have made it work better, I also stop myself. There’s no sense in thinking of the coulda-shoulda-wouldas. There is only the here, the now, the tomorrow.

I let the possibility of that unknown fill me with true, mad happiness as I push the double doors to the kitchen open. The boys on the line barely look up from chopping, slicing, grilling.

But he does. James holds up hands filthy with meat juice and a spice that tickles my nose. I lean forward, ignoring the hoots and hollers and banging of pans from our audience. I take the kiss he offers eagerly.