Chapter 6
Andy
The chipped black door handle of the club is sticky as I pull it open to reveal the dark, smoky, black box theatre.
I’ve worked at Johnny’s for a while now, since before I started at Astor.
Johnny, Luis’ best friend, moved to Boston alongside mom, he made it seem like it was to open a second location for his infamous comedy club but I knew the truth, it was to keep an eye on mom, on Carmen.
Like he promised anytime Luis got into a perilous situation, which wasn’t uncommon for a firefighter in California.
I still remember, though, the first time Luis had a close call. He’d been gone all night and Johnny came over before my mom even picked up the phone and held my mom, held Carm and promised he’d have their back if it ever happened. And it did.
So, here he is, all the way on the east coast, keeping that promise.
“Look who decided to join us...” Johnny’s gruff Italian accent fills the small club, his button down stressed at the seams as he wipes the bar counter. I lift the latch to let myself behind the bar, picking up a crate of freshly washed glassware to begin polishing.
“Sorry, Johnny.” I slap his shoulder reaching over him to grab an extra towel. “Ran a little behind taking Carm to rehearsal.” He sighs, nodding his head because as long as Carmen’s involved I can be excused from almost anything.
“How’s Mom?” he asks sympathetically as I start working the towel against the mass of water stains covering tonight's drink ware.
“Tired,” I grumble, reaching under the bar to grab the cleaning solution we keep down there for the times we need to clean a glass on the fly.
“She works too hard.” He shakes his head then claps my back and I know what it is—pity.
I don’t blame him for it. I feel it, too, with every small new crease that forms along my mom’s eyes when she smiles, feel it when she texts to see if I can stay an extra hour and make Carmen something to eat, when she asks if she can pay me back next month.
Pity and guilt have worked their way in and out of me more times than I care to count.
The feeling’s so intertwined with my family I wonder if things always felt this hard.
That’s part of why I begged Johnny not to tell mom I started working here a few nights a week and also likely why he obliged.
He perches his large body on a small black stool, peeking over the society pages of the Boston Globe.
I chuckle, snatching the pages from him. “You really need to stop reading all this garbage.”
“What—scared I’ll see you in there one day at your big fancy school?”
I roll my eyes as he grabs the paper back from me. “I doubt they’d find anyone at my big fancy school that interesting,” I say, moving back to the glasses.
“Ah. So I guess you don’t know—” he pulls the small spectacles off his head and onto his eyes as he squints at the tiny serif font, “—the Fielder twins?” I narrow my eyes and he raises his brows in amusement.
“You do know them, then!” He chuckles that loud boisterous laugh of his, slapping his hand on the counter with glee.
“They say the girl one—” he squints back down, “Sloane. They say she’s a real train wreck. ”
I feel my eyebrows furrow before I can stop them, feel the way my arm instinctively rips the paper off the counter quickly scanning it before chucking it in the trash can.
She’s there, right smack dab in the center of a huge spread dedicated primarily to the ‘Grocery Store Heiress ready to take New England by Storm.’ I stare at the photo longer than I should.
I can tell it’s an older photo, probably from California, definitely before she came to Boston.
She’s dancing on a bar, a mini dress so small that a slight bend would expose her ass to the mass of men staring at her and sure.
That pisses me off but what I can’t look away from is how her eyes are shut, arms in the air, looking…
free. I shake my head, tearing the paper before tossing it in the trash.
“Like I said, garbage.” My jaw’s set and I look at Johnny who looks both outraged and amused.
“Alright, alright. Testy today, huh?” He laughs again before nodding to my knuckles, now red from the way I’m gripping the silver tumbler I’m not polishing. “What’s eating you, kid?”
I let out the breath I’m holding because there’s no way in hell I’m going to talk to Johnny about Sloane, least of all because he wouldn’t understand why I need to keep my distance.
It shouldn’t be bothering me at all, actually, and the fact that she’s been occupying any space in my mind at all is probably what’s irritating me the most.
My phone moves in my pocket and I pull it out, hiding my screen as I read the text.
DAD
Updates on the girl??
Read the paper.
Don’t test me. I know she works at the theater. Do your job.
My molars grind as I sigh, cracking my neck before throwing a towel over my shoulder.
Of course, he knows that. He sees everything, and I’d be willing to bet he saw how I can barely control myself when she’s in my line of sight.
It’s tunnel vision, apparently. All I can see is her, and all I can think about is how I’m going to make her laugh, blush, or say something mean to me.
Fuck.
“It’s just been a long week.” I focus on the job at hand, steadily polishing each glass before moving to the next one. I can feel Johnny’s concerned gaze on my back.
“Let me give you some extra cash this week. Maybe you can refill Carm’s bus pass, get her those dance shoes your mom’s been saving for.” He squeezes my shoulder.
“You don’t have to do that, seriously. I’m handling it,” I say, a little gruffer than I mean to, but it’s true.
I am handling it and I know Johnny just wants to help but that’s my job.
They’re my family and he’s already helping more than he needs to.
My mom would hate it if she found out he was offering me pity money.
Know she’d hate that I accepted a job here, like a handout.
Johnny eyes me before slapping me upside the head.
“Jesus,” I moan, rubbing the spot he just walloped.
“Grow up, Andy. If someone wants to give you some cash don’t make it a bigger deal than it is.
You and Becs are the exact same, I swear.
” He moves to the small safe under the bar and pulls out a few twenties.
“Get yourself a burger and get Carm a bus pass, and please, help me sleep at night.” I sigh but ultimately accept the money, shoving it in the pocket of my apron.
“Jessica’s been asking about you. Something about you not calling her back?
You know what I said about the girls at the club.
” I’d been pretty intent on taking Jessica out but her name hasn’t crossed my mind all week.
I wonder why.
I need to get distracted, need to remind myself that Grant’s sister is just some girl by throwing myself into a sea of new ones.
Genius.
“That’s why I didn’t call her back.” I quirk a smile and then duck when he goes to slap me upside the head again.
“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?
” He chuckles, grabbing an envelope of cash out of the safe to take to the back office.
“Once you're done with your side work, go ahead and set up the servers’ stations. I think the girls are gonna be late tonight.” The girls he's referring to are our two front of house servers, Vanessa and Tammy, both in their mid forties with smoker’s voices that would put the Marlboro man to shame.
“You’re a good boy, Andrew.” He nods, before going to the back, and I slip my phone out to text Will about our plans tonight.
“Fuck,” Will groans he’s stuffing an oversized piece of banana bread in his mouth as we careen down a narrow side street in my car.
It’s an upgrade from the one I came to Astor with, courtesy of my father.
Told my mom it was a perk from being on a team like the Lions.
If she wasn’t so stretched, she would’ve caught the lie. “What is in this?”
I chuckle. “Pretty sure it’s just a box mix.”
“No way. No,” he shakes his head. “I’ve made boxed banana bread with Gen. This is not from a box. Your mom should open a bakery. Wait—” he turns sharply toward me, his eyes flying wide. “That’s it. Bec’s Bakery? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“You should tell her,” I smirk, keeping my eyes on the road. “How’s Gen, anyway?”
That night at the bar, when Gen showed up and practically melted into Grant, is something I’ve kept carefully hidden from Will, mostly because Grant asked me not to mention it, but also because it’s none of Will’s business.
What is my business is how my friend is doing, and whatever messed up childhood he had, that is somewhat correlated to the hold he has on every person in his circle.
The car slices through a puddle as I turn on a road lit by a neon sign, a long line that descends downward wrapping around the block.
“She’s busy with dance, so I’ve barely seen her,” he says, but I can tell something’s eating at him. “Pretty sure Grant’s fucking with her.”
I cut him a skeptical glance. “You don’t think he might like her?”
Will stares at me for a long second before scoffing. “He probably does. But he’s wasting his time and hers.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his jaw grinding before he takes a deep breath. “Let’s not talk about her. Or Liv—please. Let’s just go to this weird art party—”
“Performance art is not weird, Will. Don’t be dick. A friend invited me, so you’re gonna be nice,” I tell him pointedly as I slide out of the car, slamming the door shut.