Viola worked downtown, at a restaurant called Vine, which was very posh, and very expensive. Viola would have never been able to eat there if she didn’t work there. The clientele was some of the most powerful and richest men and women in New York, and it was a rare week that Viola didn’t serve a famous actor or musician.
She lived in Brooklyn, and caught the bus to Manhattan, leaving her apartment without a word to her now ex-boyfriend. On the bus, she sat and seethed, trying to keep her anger in check, but failing to do so. As she neared work, she tried not to think of Jerome at all, but that was nearly impossible as well.
She and Jerome had been dating for almost two years, and she had begun to wonder if he was the man she would be spending the rest of her life with. When they had started dating he had been working at a good job and had been making much more than she did with her waitressing work. And then he had been laid off, and since then, nothing.
It was just before two when the bus pulled to a stop a block or so from Vine, and Viola climbed off and started walking. It was Saturday, and a few people were there as she walked in, having a late lunch, but it wouldn’t get busy until around seven or so. Most days of the week you couldn’t get in for dinner without a reservation, and you couldn’t get a reservation unless you had a certain reputation or enough money to grease the palms of the maitre d’s and get yourself that reputation.
The restaurant was sparsely furnished, with small tables and delicate looking chairs, the pain on the wall a soft cream color. Viola walked through the front door and to the back, something that her boss hated, but not enough to deter her from doing so and walking all the way around the block to reach the alley that ran behind the restaurant, and led to the employee entrance.
“Come on Vi,” Stephen, her boss said.
“Sorry, Stevie,” Viola said with a smile. The old man was sitting on a stool in the small area that lay between the large state of the art kitchen and the dining room. He was short, with big ears and a bald head. He wore glasses as thick as any Viola had ever seen, and they made his eyes look gigantic.
“You’re late too,” Stephen said.
“I don’t drive the bus,” Viola retorted. She went to the far wall, where a few lockers sat, and stashed her purse in hers before shutting the door. Then she went and clocked in before heading to the dining room.
The first part of her day passed slowly, as she busied herself with the work wait staff so often did when there weren’t many customers. Vine was a popular spot, but it had a reputation for being cool, and cool people simply didn’t show up to anything until the Sun had fallen from the sky.
Finally, the light outside indeed dimmed, and the dining room began filling up. Viola was offloading a few plates to one of her tables when she glanced at the door and smiled. There stood James Denning, one of her favorite customers. He was a bit older than her twenty-three, by a decade at least, and he always requested that she be his waitress whenever he came. She knew it was because he liked staring at her curvaceous body, but the man was friendly and funny, and he tipped incredibly well. She could deal with the stares and the flirting. Besides, he was rather attractive himself. He was white, with a strong jaw and sandy blonde hair that he always kept short, and it looked as though he got a haircut every couple of days.
James was the CEO of a company that owned and operated some of the most popular websites in the world. He always had his phone out, texting people, responding to emails, but when Viola would swing by his table to check on him he would set his phone down, and all of his attention would be on her. It embarrassed Viola a bit, but it excited her at the same time. She knew he wanted her. It was obvious, the way he would speak to her, the way he would flirt. His eyes traveled up and down her body, and he didn’t attempt to hide it. He was a powerful man, and she knew he was used to getting what he wanted. The fact that she had never accepted one of his invitations to go somewhere with him drove him wild, and she could tell.
Viola waited until he was seated, which of course he was without having to wait in line, and then she made her way over to his table. He was sitting with another man, an older man with silver hair and a pointed chin.
James looked towards the black woman and smiled.
“Vi,” he said. “I’m glad you’re working tonight.”
“I bet you are,” Violet said teasingly. She stood at the man’s elbow, and she watched as his eyes flashed downwards to her exposed thighs. He might as well have licked his lips; the desire on his face was unmistakable.
“This is Frank Geller,” James said, introducing the other man. Frank shook her hand.