Stephanie Danler - Sweetbitter

I DIDN’T KNOW what a date was and I wasn’t an anomaly. Most of the girls I knew didn’t get asked out on dates. People got together through alcohol and a process of elimination. If they had anything in common beyond that they would go out and have a conversation. When Will asked me to get a drink in the late afternoon on my day off, I thought that placed us firmly in the friend arena, like getting coffee.

We met at a tiny space called Big Bar, four booths and a few stools doused in red light. When he opened the door for me and he put his hand on the small of my back I thought, Oh fucking fuck shit fuck, is this what a date is?

“Kansas,” he said. I smiled. It wasn’t awful, being somewhere besides the restaurant and my room. To be talking to another human without doing fifteen other things at once. Not awful at all.

“It all makes sense.”

“Does it? You were getting the Midwest vibe?”

“I wasn’t actually. My radar is all off — everyone seems like they were born and raised in the restaurant. But now it makes sense.”

“Because of my charm?”

“No, because of your manners.”

“Charming manners?”

“Utterly,” I said and drank my beer. It is a strange pressure to be across from a man who wants something that you don’t want to give. It’s like standing in a forceful current, which at first you think is not too strong, but the longer you stand, the more tired you become, the harder it is to stay upright.

“How long have you been here?”

“I came for film school like, god, five years ago? That’s depressing. I promised my mom I would move back as soon as school was over, and I feel like I’m running against the clock. She’s livid.”

“Is she? It’s so impressive that you got out, that you’re doing what you want.”

“She thinks family is impressive.”

I swallowed. “Maybe she’s right.”

“Your parents know you’re here?”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. You give off this runaway vibe, like you’re all huddled up inside yourself.”

“I’m flattered. I’m pretty sure my dad knows.”

“Pretty sure? What about your mom? Her little baby girl in the big city?”

“My mom doesn’t exist.”

“Doesn’t exist? What does that mean?”

“That means I don’t want to talk about it.”

Will’s eyes became concerned and I thought, Don’t do that. That’s not why I told you. It’s not something to fix.

“What happened to film school?” I asked.

“You come here for one thing, you end up absorbed by another. I have all these ideas, it’s just…Well. It’s hard to retain the original vision, which is usually the most pure, you know?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t.

“You really came here for nothing?”

“I wouldn’t say for nothing.”

“What did you do in school?”

“I read.”

“Any particular subjects? Are you always this difficult?”

I sighed. It wasn’t as intense as Howard’s interview. “I majored in Lit. And I came here to start my life.”

“How’s it going? Your life?”

I paused. He seemed like he really wanted to know. I thought about it. “It’s kind of fucking amazing.”

He laughed. “You remind me of the girls back home.”

“Oh yeah? I’m vaguely insulted.”

“Don’t be. You’re not jaded.”

I thought, You don’t know me, but I smiled politely. “I’ll catch up soon. Just let Chef scream at me a few more times and I will go completely numb.”

“He’s got a hard job.”

“Really? The only thing I see him do is yell. I’ve never even seen him cook!”

“It’s different at that level. He’s not a line cook anymore, he’s running the whole fucking business. I know he misses cooking every single day.”

“The other day he told me to stab my fucking tickets or he’d stab me. I mean, how is that allowed?”

“He didn’t say that to you.”

“He did! I cried by the ice machines.”

“You’re a little sensitive.”

“He’s a monster.”

Will put his hands up, surrendering, smiling. I liked him. The truth was that he reminded me of people back home too — nice, open-book people. Thinking of Chef reminded me of the restaurant and that I could talk freely because I wasn’t in it.

“You know, Simone is kind of helping me with wine.”

“Ugh.” He scrunched up his face. “I would be careful with Simone’s help.”

“Why? She’s so smart. She’s so fucking good at her job. You ask her questions all the time.”

“Yeah, when I’m desperate. Owing Simone a favor is like being owned by the mafia. Her help is a double-edged sword.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“I would just be careful what you tell her. She and Howard have this weird thing where she reports on all the servers. Everyone thinks they’re fucking. Once Ariel told Simone something about Sasha and then Sasha got written up. And she has these creepy relationships with Howard’s girls, and then they disappear in the middle of the night. I don’t know, she’s fine, but she’s been there too long, she gets bored, makes trouble.”

“I don’t believe that. I get the feeling that she’s genuinely interested in helping me.” It’s not that I expected Will to get her. She probably barely tolerated him. But the rest of it disoriented me. “What are Howard’s girls? What do you mean they disappear?”

“Never mind, doll,” he said. He finished his beer, and I knew I had to decide if we were staying for another round. It felt like a mistake to get drunk before four p.m., but it would be worth it if I could get him to keep talking.

“Maybe you softened her up,” he said and his eyes went past me. “Speak of the devil. I forgot this was her neighborhood.”

I turned and there she was, in a black shift dress, looking so petite I would have looked right past her. I flipped back into the booth, chafing. This wasn’t Park Bar; this was my day off. I wanted Simone to think I was nude modeling for painters or drinking absinthe with musicians, or at the Guggenheim, where she’d told me to go, or even that I was alone at a bar with a book being sophisticated. How could I have been stupid enough to be drinking with Will?

“Do you think she heard us?” I whispered. “We should go.”

“What? You were just saying—”

“I’m sick,” I said. “I mean, I don’t feel well. This beer isn’t sitting well. I have to go home.”

“Are you okay?”

“Will, I’m sorry, we can do this again, but I—” I could feel her eyes on us, there was no way to miss us in the four hundred square feet. I took a breath and felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Aren’t you two a lovely pair.” She held a paperback book with a French title in her hand and smelled like gardenias. I wished Will would die.

“We’re not. We were just talking about work stuff,” I said. “Sorry, hi Simone. I like that dress. Lovely to see you too.”

“So you’re off today, huh?” Will said, a little coolly, I thought.

“Yes, I’m just meeting a friend. And I think Jake will be by later.”

I finished my beer. “I—”

“I finally got her outside of work,” Will said, showing me off.

“Oh, is she so elusive?” Simone said with a derisive smile.

“I’m not.” I stood up. “I’m just, upset, I have an upset stomach, I mean.” I pulled up my purse and put five dollars on the table. “Will, I’m sorry, next time.”

I did not look back. Once I hit Second Avenue, I threw my arm up. I understood why taxis were so essential to life in the city, even with those of us who couldn’t afford them. Desperation.

—

AS I STARTED up the stairs to find more straws, Jake was coming down. He brushed the back of his hand against my hand. I stared at it, but my hand looked the same. There had been an explosion, but no collapse. I spent the next five hours sleepwalking, wondering whether he had touched me with intention.