Since then we had not even bumped into each other, even though I lived less than two blocks from his apartment.
I stayed out on the fire escape a little longer, defying Anton, delaying the moment when I’d have to go back out to the restaurant and face Scott.
As if on cue, Becky sailed into the kitchen carrying an armada of dirty plates. “Fuck, it’s busy,” she said, putting down the plates and rubbing a red indentation on her arm. She looked at my face. “Shit, doll, are you all right?”
I swept her into an alcove and whispered, “Scott’s here.”
Becky’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?” But she could see from my face that he was. She reached under her apron and pulled out a tiny piece of folded paper, which she pressed into my hand. “Save some for later,” she said, and winked.
I went into a stall in the ladies’ toilet and closed the door. Usually, we waited until toward the end of the shift to have a line, but occasionally, in emergencies, we had one early.
The speed was bitter, and hung in a lump at the back of my throat, but soon after taking it, I felt the familiar rush of clarity, and the aftertaste was easily fixed by a slug of vodka behind the bar. When I stood up, Scott was heading toward me, smiling the alligator smile that early in our relationship I’d mistaken for debonair.
“Suki Piper,” he said, enunciating every syllable in a proprietary way. He leaned on the bar and looked me up and down for a moment, as if he was appraising goods in the window of a shop. He liked to use silence to his advantage, and was waiting for me to speak, I knew.
“Would you like a drink?” I said.
He nodded. “And I wanted to see you.”
We were still standing like that on either side of the bar when Anton came up behind Scott and slapped him on the back. “Scottie, my boy. You’re up early. Got any samples for us to try?”
“I’m off duty,” said Scott. “But I’m sure we can find something else to do.” Scott was a wine rep who preferred to conduct business at night when he could most enjoy his customers’ hospitality. He smiled roguishly at Anton and an understanding passed between them, an understanding I recognized all too well.
“Suki,” said Anton, “look after table five. They just ordered coffee, but try the dessert menu one more time. I think the fat chick’s about to cave.” He drummed Scott’s arm with a series of friendly punches and led the way to the staff room. I knew where they were going; it was where Scott always went on a Friday night, where he had taken me about a month into our relationship to induct me into his shady world of rolled-up banknotes and powder. He had cleverly waited until I had fallen in love with him before revealing his habit, before taking me to the staff room to lovingly chop up my first line. He was proud of being the one to initiate me, and even more delighted when I turned out to be a fiend.
When Anton returned to the restaurant floor, he reeked of cigar smoke and peppermints, his favorite amphetamine digestif. Scott was heading for the door, about to leave, when he turned back and walked to the coffee machine where I was standing. “I’m heading to Dagger,” he said. “You should come up for a drink when you finish.”
I hated how he did that, made a suggestion but didn’t ask outright. I also knew that I would go meet him, that I couldn’t help myself.
He leaned over the counter and whispered in my ear: “I miss you, Sukes.”
After he left, the restaurant got busier and louder before starting to empty out as people went home to wrap their Christmas presents and stuff them into stockings or hide them under trees. The store had already wrapped Lily’s present in garish pink paper; all I had to do was get it, and myself, to the bus stop.
After putting all the chairs up on the tables and polishing the last piece of cutlery, Anton poured us all cheap fizz to celebrate Christmas and the end of the shift, which irked because the week before we’d asked for, and had been denied, a monetary festive bonus. I drank the champagne thirstily and poured another glass. I was nervous about meeting Scott. Becky had offered to come along for moral support, but I told her I preferred to go alone. “Okay,” she said. “But I’ll be at Kuzo if you need me.”
“I’ll be fine,” I reassured her.
“Just don’t sleep with him again, okay?” she said. “He’s a scumbag.”
I smiled at her. Since breaking up with him, everyone had told me what Scott was really like, but while I was with him, no one had said a thing.
When I got to Dagger, Scott was surrounded by his cronies, but he left them to settle in a corner booth with me. He went to the bar and came back with a bottle of champagne—the French stuff, he refused to ever buy fake—and two plastic flutes, like you’d find in a picnic set or on a boat.