Making His Baby(157)

“Can you help me take my bags into the building?”

Without a word, the cab driver sets the last of my bags in the road next to the parked cars on the side of the road and gets into his cab.

“Sir?”

When he drives off, I look around and begin to believe the rumors.

“Be careful, Maddie. New Yorkers are nothing like the people back home.” I can still hear my father’s voice over the phone when I called and told him about the job I accepted. “They aren’t nice or friendly. They move way too fast, they keep to themselves and they live in their own world, which is what I highly recommend you do.”

And, although my father tried his damnedest to talk me out of moving here, he knew I was going to make up my own mind. And here I am, in the middle of the busiest city in America with all my belonging stacked up in front of me.

I shoulder what I can and drag the rest of my bags, as I struggle to make my way between two parked cars. Dad is right. Out of the sixty-some people who pass me as I grunt and drag my things, not one person stops to help or even ask. No one looks in my direction, except for one older woman who scoffs at me because she has to walk around me.

“I’m sorry,” I called out. “I dropped my case.”

She continues on her way without looking back.

“Have a good day,” I say, shaking my head.

My apartment is quaint. A small bedroom off a slightly larger room that looks to be my kitchen/living room/dining area. The bathroom is so small I can pee, while putting my feet up on the side of the tub, as long as I don’t lean over and hit my head on the sink.

I plop down on the bed and look around. “Yes, quaint. We’ll go with that.”

I pull out my phone, double check that I have the right directions to Bistro Italiano, take a deep breath and begin my new life.



***



“Hello?” I walk into the restaurant between meal hours, I am hoping it isn’t too busy to meet my bosses and get familiar with where I’ll be working. A waitress looks at me as she neatly rolls two forks, a knife and a spoon into a dark blue cloth napkin.

“Welcome to Bistro Italiano,” she says with a smile as she stands. “Will there be anyone joining you this afternoon?”

“Um, no. I’m here to see the manager? Is Mr. or Ms Santoro in?”

She loses her smile and sizes me up. “What about?”

“I’m starting work here tomorrow.”

“Waitress?”

“No. I’ll be in the kitchen. Pastry chef. I kind of wanted to get a feel for the place before I start.”

“I bet you do.” The woman smirks at me before walking away.

What just happened? I’m starting to feel like I made a bad choice coming here. Maybe New York City isn’t the right place to start my culinary career. I look around the dining area. I do have to admit, the place does have a certain high-class feel to it. The deep blue curtains are gorgeous against the creamy white walls. Tables and chairs made of a dark wood and beautiful lighting accentuated the art on the walls. I am definitely in the right place. I just need to learn to adapt.

“Joanne just popped out for a moment and Rocco is busy.” The woman returns from a hallway and sits back down to resume her silverware wrapping.

“Would it be possible to let me look around the restaurant? I would like to…”

“You didn’t let me finish,” she says with sarcasm.

“I’m… sorry.”

“He said you can go back. He’s just finishing up.”

“Oh! Thank you.”

“You got it.” The way she purses her lips gave me a red flag but I didn’t heed it. “Down the hallway, second door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

“Enjoy.”

I’m hesitant but I feel my legs carry me in that direction, my eyes still on her. Why is she so bitter, so angry? What did I do that was so bad? Not all New Yorkers can be so cold, can they?

I walk down the narrow hallway to the second door with a nameplate that reads Rocco Santoro. I stand in front of it, straighten my blouse and put on a nice smile. Lightly knocking on the door, I step back and wait. Someone mumbles from behind the door. Did he tell me to come in?

I hesitate with my hand on the door knob. Oh, God. Should I go in? Should I knock again? I quietly turn the knob and open the door. I’ll just apologize if he is busy and wait in the hall.

Opening the door, I freeze at the sight before me. They don’t notice me there. Yes, I said they. A man and a woman, half-naked and having sex on the chair behind the desk.

Turn around and walk away, Maddie. Why am I not moving? Something stirs within me. I am entranced by him, the way he touches her, his fingers grabbing her, her head falling back as he pleasures her. I like watching him. I want to watch him. They don’t notice me. But I notice myself, me. I’m breathing a little heavier. My lip is between my teeth. My body tenses and my toes curl. I hold on to the doorway and press my body against it.