Authors: Faith Sullivan
I fiddle with the clasp on my bracelet as people swarm around me. I’m standing on the curb outside the Port Authority Bus Terminal, two large suitcases by my side. Connor said he’d meet me out front, and I don’t want to miss him.
It’s a little after six o’clock and it’s already getting dark on this frigid March evening. I huddle into the warmth of my down-filled puffy coat to escape the wind. It’s after rush hour, but Eighth Avenue is still congested with traffic. It’s no wonder Connor’s late, but I hope he didn’t forget about me.
Commuters are getting in and out of cabs as everyone hurries home. I wonder if I’ll be able to sleep tonight or if the incessant noise of sirens and car horns will once again keep me awake. I try not to think about where Connor’s bar is located. It’s even closer to Ground Zero than my Greenwich Village apartment. My vision blurs for a moment, and I feel a little woozy. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.
As I crouch down, I see a dark grey van marked with the logo of Donnelly’s Pub pull up beside me. I release the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “How you doin’?” Connor greets me with an exaggerated New York accent. Stepping out of the driver’s seat, he heads straight for my luggage.
“Sir, you can’t park here,” a policeman yells at him.
Picking up my bags, he unlocks the back of the van, placing them inside. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just give me a minute, would ya?”
The cop blows his whistle, ordering him forward. I try the door handle. It opens so I climb inside. Connor hops in, shifting into drive. He seamlessly rejoins the flow of traffic without missing a beat.
“Impressive,” I say, pulling down my hood.
Stopping at a red light, he slips on his seatbelt. “When you’ve been driving these streets as long as I have, it’s second nature. You get used to the mayhem.” His hazel eyes assault me. “Did you let your parents know you made it?”
On New Year’s Day, I invited Connor over to my house, and he pled his case before my parents. They were deeply apprehensive about it, but after a three-hour marathon discussion, he had them somewhat convinced. But it wasn’t a done deal. It took two months of back and forth phone conversations to alleviate their anxiety about my living with him. Having Tony vouch for his character also went a long way. Mom and Dad knew they didn’t have the necessary tools in their parental arsenal to put me back together, but Connor got them to believe that he did. He was very persistent.
“Yeah, I called them as soon as I got off the bus. They’re worried about me being here,” I admit, removing my gloves. “But then again, so am I.”
Connor hits the gas as the light changes. “It’s gonna take some time, for everyone.” I detect a deeper meaning behind what he is saying, but he changes the subject. “Is that all the luggage you brought? I didn’t think girls packed light.”
I grip the door handle as Connor slams on the brakes as a cab cuts us off. “Well, I thought if I really needed something I’d just buy it here or go home for it later.”
His brow creases. “Do you plan on going home any time soon?”
Easing back into the seat, I exhale. “I really don’t know, to be honest. We’ll see how it goes.”
Flicking on his turn signal, he slides into the left lane. “I wouldn’t recommend it. At least wait until summer. You need to get comfortable in your new life. Running home will only confuse you.”
It’s a valid point, but I’m still uncertain. “I can’t make any guarantees.” He takes his eyes off the road to look at me. Wanting him to focus on his driving, I say with more enthusiasm, “I’ll give it my best shot.”
“You better,” he replies before facing forward.
I don’t know what’s going on between us. I’m definitely attracted to him, but he’s infuriating. He’s certainly going to great lengths to help me out, but does he see me as a charity project or is he into me? I hit Tony up for answers before I left, but all he could get out of Sal was that his brother’s a wild card, impossible to figure out. At twenty-four years old, he’s no stranger to playing the field. I don’t think a nineteen-year-old college dropout will hold his interest, especially one from ‘Small Town, USA.’ What would a lifelong New Yorker see in me? Nothing much.
I’m not going to delude myself. He’s my boss. And I’m grateful for his friendship. Besides, after living and working together, I’m sure it won’t be long until we’re butting heads again.
Donnelly’s Pub is right around the corner, but it’s not what has my attention. I can’t take my eyes off the twin beams of light issuing from Ground Zero. They are hauntingly beautiful, an illusion of what was. Connor doesn’t rush me. He turns off the ignition and sits quietly beside me, giving me a minute to take it all in. But the blood is rushing to my head again. I need some air.
I exit the van and walk down the adjacent alley to catch a glimpse of my new home. There’s a green awning emblazoned with the bar’s name above the entrance. It’s Monday, the one night the place is closed when it’s not football season. Connor’s keys jingle as he holds the door open for me to pass through. It’s dark inside, but I can distinguish the outline of the bar in front of me along with a dozen or so tables scattered across the room. I breathe a sigh of relief. Things are on a smaller scale. Hopefully, I can handle twelve tables without overtaxing my nonexistent waitressing skills.
Flicking on a light above the stairs, Connor starts hauling up my suitcases. “C’mon, this way. I’ll show you around the pub tomorrow,” he says, squeezing his way up the narrow staircase. “I’m sure you want to see your room first.”
I follow him up three flights. If nothing else, living here is definitely going to give my legs a workout. He unlocks a door on the landing before ushering me through. “Don’t worry, I had a set of keys made for you. I put them on your dresser,” he explains. “You can come and go as you please, just double check to make sure everything’s locked before you leave. Drunks are notorious wanderers. One time, I found a guy passed out in the bathtub up here.”
“Okay, now you’re freaking me out,” I respond, remaining in the hallway as he enters the second room on the right. “Don’t you have a bouncer to monitor your clientele?”
He sticks his head out, beckoning me forward. “This is New York, babe. Be ready to expect anything.”
I proceed with caution, my mind in overdrive. It’s like he pushed the panic button controlling my heart rate.
Seeing my hesitation, he comes toward me. “You worry too much. I’ll be here ninety-nine percent of the time. Just remember to watch your back, that’s all. You’re not in Kansas anymore,” he jokes, flashing me a smile. For a split second we get lost in the moment. Flustered, I break away. I don’t know where to look. Sighing, he wheels my luggage into the room. Great, I’m already disappointing him.
I pause on the threshold. It’s plain, lacking any type of decorative adornments, but it’s spotless. The white lace curtains on the window are immaculate, and the hardwood floor gleams. There’s a twin bed topped with a pink afghan, an extra wide bureau with an accompanying chair, and a chipped but serviceable dresser in the far corner. That’s it. Yet it’s inviting and cozy. I have to admit I like it.
Connor scans my face for a reaction. “Well, what do you think?”
I’m not exaggerating when I whisper, “It’s perfect.”
Surprisingly, he looks relieved. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”
There’s an unspoken intimacy in the air, a sense of being where you’re supposed to be with the person you’re supposed to be with. It’s like a puzzle piece being pressed into the exact right spot with all its jagged edges securely fitting into place.
Hastily rubbing the back of his head, he continues. “I’ll give you some time to settle in. The bathroom’s the last door on the left if you want to freshen up. I’m gonna run down to the kitchen and fix us something to eat.”
Good. I’m absolutely starving. “What’s on the menu?” I ask.
“Your typical bar fare—anything that’s fried in grease,” he says crossing his arms.
“How about a cheeseburger?” Trudging up and down those stairs is definitely going to come in handy because it looks like my caloric intake is about to go through the roof.
“Enjoy one while you can. Pretty soon you’ll be sick of looking at them.”
“Well, since I’m not on the payroll yet…” I tease. “How many people in Manhattan have a restaurant in their basement, not to mention all of this glorious space? Connor, it’s really incredible that you have the entire floor to yourself.”
“Yeah, this place has been in my family for so long,” he admits. “Otherwise, I’d never be able to afford it.”
That’s what I like about him the most—his honesty. Shuffling my feet, I glance up at him. “Thanks again for letting me stay here with you. I just hope I don’t screw it up.”
“We’ll work on keeping your spilled drinks to a minimum. Besides, I think you’re going to make a killing on tips. The guys who frequent the bar are tired of being served by my ugly mug. They’re going to love you,” he says before exiting the room.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I ponder his comment while unzipping my suitcase. Is he encouraging me to date other guys? Is he really not interested in me at all? He runs so hot and cold. One minute, there’s this amazing chemistry and the next he’s so aloof, like he could care less. I thought I’d be a mess about coming back to the city, but I think I’m going to mess over him.
Beams of sunlight are reflecting off the wine glasses hanging above the bar. It’s early yet, but there are people hustling by on the street. Left to my own devices, I decide to check out my new place of employment. Maybe I’ll be able to hunt down a box of cereal in the kitchen.
Wearing my most comfortable pair of jeans and slicking my hair back in a ponytail, I’m ready to dive right in. I have no illusions that this job is going to be easy. I’m sure my feet will be killing me by the end of the day. But there’s a hopeful flutter in my heart that wasn’t there when I walked into a NYU classroom for the first time. For some reason, this just feels right.
There are ketchup bottles, salt and pepper shakers, and napkin dispensers on every table. Over dinner last night, Connor explained that I’d be responsible for refilling them at the end of every shift. The bar closes at 2:00 a.m. so I’m in for some pretty late nights. I don’t think I’ll be getting up this early any time soon.
A stack of menus sits at the end of the bar. I scan the items to familiarize myself with what we have to offer. No doubt I’ll have a million questions for Connor before the night is over, but it never hurts to be prepared. It is pretty basic—burgers, fries, hot wings, salads, nachos. All the things people crave when they want a little food with their alcohol.
Hanging on the wall by the cash register are several photos of firemen. I lean in and examine them more closely. They were all taken in the pub, and there’s an older man, most likely Connor’s father, with his arm around guys wearing FDNY shirts and hats. It’s obvious these mementos hold a special place in the heart of the Donnelly family. I’ll have to ask Connor about them later.
Connor told me that he bartends most nights, so I’m not too nervous about handling a slightly tipsy crowd. If someone gives me trouble, I know he’ll take care of it. Connor’s no pushover. His tattooed biceps prove that. He’ll have no problem intervening if someone gets too touchy-feely with me.
I’m kind of in awe at how he handles everything. Besides manning the bar, he does the books, orders supplies—he even cleans up the place. It’s a lot to handle for someone so young. But from what he’s told me, he’s been doing it his whole life. It’s in his blood.
Now his parents live in Brooklyn. After his father’s heart attack, Connor decided to move above the bar to save time commuting. He used to have an apartment in the East Village but gave it up due to the long hours he was spending here. The upper floors need to be remodeled, but he’s worked hard to make it a pleasant enough place to live. The care he took in getting my room ready—well, it shows. He really went out his way to make me feel at home.
The water running through the upstairs pipes stops. Connor must be done taking a shower. He’ll be down any minute. Anxiously, I check my appearance in the full-length mirror behind the bar, smoothing a stray hair into place. Am I ready for this? The last thing I want is to disappoint him. I need to look busy. What should I do?
Hoisting myself onto the bar, I pick up a nearby rag and start dusting the glasses hanging overhead. My hands are shaking. In an attempt to steady them, I grip the glass at the end a little too hard. It comes loose, falling to the floor, the sound of shattered glass breaking the silence.
“I always fantasized about having a girl stand on my bar like in that movie
Coyote Ugly
, but I never thought it would happen.”
Shit.
“You never asked, baby. You know I’m always ready to indulge your fantasies,” croons a scantily clad blonde as she walks down the steps.
Wait…Connor had a girl up there with him?
Her hair is still wet. I cringe. They must have been in the shower—together.
Before he has a chance to respond, her lips are on his. I look away, uncomfortable. She’s certainly staking her claim in front of me, leaving no doubt that Connor belongs to her. It’s beyond irritating.
Finally releasing him, she saunters to the door. “Call me again sometime. That was fun.” Turning, her eyes meet mine. “I’d watch your step, honey. You don’t wanna fall.” Laughing under her breath, she winks at Connor before striding out of the bar.
I’m frozen in place. Connor extends his hand. “C’mon down, Michelle. There’s a broom and dustpan in the back. You’d better start cleaning up this mess.”
Wow, he’s not even going to explain himself. He’s just going to order me around? I guess his late night booty calls are off limits. I could care less. It’s none of my business how he conducts his personal life. I’m his employee and his lodger, nothing more.
But my cheeks redden in embarrassment as I sweep the sharp pieces of glass off the floor. I have to face facts. I’m not enough for him. I was across the hall, but he called someone else to satisfy his needs. He doesn’t even think of me that way. Sure, I’m amusing to flirt with when he’s bored, but that’s as far as he’s ever going to take it. It was my first night here, and he didn’t wait five minutes to invite someone else into his bed. Doesn’t he realize how awkward it is bumping into each other like that? Maybe he’s not fazed by it at all. It’s what he does.
“Michelle, get a move on,” he calls from the back. “I have to show you the ropes, and I don’t have all day.”
Yeah, he’s going to be one hell of a boss.