Chapter 8 #3
to chip in at home.” She turned to me, serious. “But I can’t let my parents know. They’ve got enough to worry about with Buchanan
pressing us to sell our house for his apartment complex. He makes it impossible to keep what’s ours. I’d die if I had to work
under him forever.”
Daisy’s eyes darkened when she spoke of him. There was a depth of frustration there. And perhaps the respect she carried for
Jordan came from the fact that she gave her the power to stand up to men like him. I could see why Daisy would admire her
business acumen and get involved with something like this. Jordan seemed ruthless and strong—important survival qualities
anyone would need to fight for their family’s legacy.
“I get it. Pushing elevator buttons isn’t exactly thrilling for me either,” I admitted. “But it’s safe. And clean, I guess.”
Daisy turned to me. “You know, I’d hate to see you get tangled up in something dangerous, but if you ever really needed money, just know you have options.”
“Isn’t bootlegging like delivering milk, but illegal?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Daisy laughed, amused. “If you want to see it that way, I suppose you could.”
So, her double life came with secrets, danger, and money—that added context to her late nights and expensive-looking clothes.
It was tempting to be a part of, because work felt meaningless sometimes and the few coins Mr. Kirby handed over weren’t nearly
enough to pay for anything important. Could a side job really hurt?
Even as I asked myself and wavered on my decision to pass on the job, I remembered Jordan was the kind of person who paid
people well but demanded loyalty.
And I had been raised to think alcohol was an enemy. Grandma had made sure of that. But Jay didn’t think it was so bad. Daisy
didn’t either. Perhaps the rules changed as people aged.
I glanced at Daisy, wondering how she balanced it. How did she deal with the weight of protecting her family and putting herself
at risk? And Vivian—she was a good friend to Daisy, loyal and willing to take risks alongside her. She must have been pulled
in for the same reasons: the need to survive, the lure of something bigger than the daily grind. They were partners, allies,
both trying their best to navigate a world they couldn’t fully trust.
“Nick, don’t do it just because it seems like the easy way,” Daisy said, reading my expression and pulling me out of my thoughts.
She looked at me with a mix of worry and care, as if she didn’t want to set the wrong example.
But it was more than it being easy. I couldn’t really say it how I wanted to, but West Egg felt like it was pushing me out more each day.
If it had been someone other than Jay, I may have taken Jordan up on her offer.
I wanted something more out of this world.
And I was willing to take a risk for it, but I wasn’t willing to risk Jay.
The train horn and locomotive relaxed me as I worked my next shift at Kirby’s. I had to keep moving—mopping, washing dishes,
and cooking—because I couldn’t believe my very own cousin was involved in organized crime. And mere nights ago, I was brushing
elbows with liquor runners in some underground lair? What had this life become?
After a few weeks of working the diner, I’d gotten mostly used to the patrons. They were older folk who’d known Kirby for
a long time. I thought that was all I should expect, until Jay walked through the door.
I instantly went to hide in the kitchen, but I turned and saw him looking for a booth before slipping through the door. I
thought of him too much as of late, and my decision to protect our friendship over Jordan’s proposal to become her spy. He’d
see it all over my face. The pride in my choice to save us.
Get it together, Nick.
I’d never had this problem before. But the thought of his face, and his body, made my chest lift like a helium balloon.
I tightened the strings on my apron so they hitched over my butt and shook out my hands. Why so much tension? Why?
Finally, I went to get his order and he said, “Hello, Nick” as if he was fully aware he’d find me here. He folded his arms on the table. “I’ll have wheat toast, eggs, and country potatoes, please.”
Was he toying with me? Trying to keep the dynamic strictly professional after nearly asking me to a dance? What was his end
game?
I could play along too. I wrote words on a pad while he watched the cars whoosh by the windows. “Coming right up,” I said,
and turned to take the order to the kitchen.
Through the kitchen window, I occasionally watched him writing in a notebook. When the cook left his food waiting on the counter,
I took the breakfast plate to his table, and he whispered a thank-you.
But as I whisked away with various duties about the restaurant, I could not escape Jay.
He called me over once for salt. And then again for red chili flakes. A third time for garlic aioli. I started to become suspicious
as I chopped it together, squirting mayo into the cloves, adding a sprinkle of thyme. He kept looking for reasons to call
me over.
Jay stayed until the patrons left, and it was just him wrapped in his solitude and perfect concentration.
I’d gotten to wiping down the table just across from his when a man barged into the diner, nearly knocking the doorbell loose,
shouting, “I see Tom Buchanan ain’t bought you out yet, Mr. Kirby!”
“I wish Mr. Tom the besta luck wrenchin’ this mop out my Black-ass hands!” Mr. Kirby, who was sweeping behind the counter,
screamed out. And then both men started laughing.
After what Daisy had said about Tom Buchanan, I started to notice signs of his plans to buy out family-run stores to build more flashy apartments all over Harlem.
I’d seen his face on posters around town—he was the man you called for all your real estate needs.
He wasn’t above calling on you either, which was clear enough with his pursuit of the Wash ’N’ Fold.
The integrated school was only a trifling project compared to his many enterprises.
“Good to know someone in this city still has integrity,” Jay said, looking at me to see if I’d respond. I didn’t know what
to make of his comment.
He gave an awkward shrug at my silence.
“Yeah, Mr. Kirby’s a good man,” I offered, finally. And then, it just slipped out. “Why did you come here?”
Jay looked shocked. “What? Why not?”
“I mean, here of all places? A little diner in Central Harlem?”
Then, his face relaxed, as he accepted the challenge. “Why did you come to the pool when I was doing my laps?”
I plopped into the booth. “I had no idea you would even be in there.”
“Okay. Likewise. I’m here because I wanted country potatoes.” He stared at me for a few seconds. I tried to discern if it
was a lie but couldn’t. His face carried this immovable calm, a preparation for anything. I looked at him and wondered, Where did you come from?
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Jay added, breaking the silence.
I shrugged. “I work the late shift on weekends.”
“Ah. I thought for sure you’d be tucked into bed at this hour.”
His tone made my chest burn—was he calling me a baby? “What are you getting at?”
Jay chuckled and then straightened his face. “It’s just you seemed rather . . . cautious the night we met.”
“I wouldn’t say that. It was a chance encounter. I was taken off guard.”
“Of course. And you’ve joined me in the booth because you’re looking for a second chance to prove yourself,” Jay said, point
blank.
The suddenness of that made me hesitate. I finally answered, “That night was cut rather short, but I wouldn’t say looking.”
“Ha!” Jay blurted, and then gave a satisfied smile. “You admitted it. You wanted more.”
Why was this so satisfying for him? “I only wanted to make sure it wasn’t some strange dream, as soon after it happened you
treated me like we’d never spoken in person before.”
“I really just prefer to write letters in the beginning,” Jay said plainly.
But you’re so personable in real life, I wanted to say. I held my tongue.
Was I in a state of endless wanting for something to revive my enthusiasm for life? Had he picked up on it before me?
“Anyway, this conversation settles it,” Jay said, with a shrug. “I will see you at the dance.”
I smiled against my will and stood up to mind some other business. I couldn’t allow him to see me turning red, to see how
much his invitation to escape the confining pens of work and school truly meant to me.
I started my cleaning again and began folding the chairs up on the freestanding tables. All I said to Jay was, “I suppose I have no choice but to be there.”
And he looked more satisfied than he had all night.
Most of the lights went off, leaving his face half in shadow.
Mr. Kirby came from the back and looked at Jay. “It’s closing time, brother.”
Jay stood and gave us both a formal nod, but his eyes lingered on me. “If you would like to do something sooner, there’s a
UNIA meeting later this week.” Jay pulled a flyer from his jacket and handed it to me.
This forced me to think back to Jordan’s offer—something I still felt guilty for considering, if only briefly. “Okay, sure.”
Jay was too nice for me to play games with him for money. All I really wanted was to understand him and discover why he seemed
to carry weight on his shoulders, though he made it look effortless. Going to the meeting would be a way to get to know him
better, and that was more fascinating to me than the offer of quick cash.