New York Nights: Shaken and Stirred

For some time she sat there, staring, visualizing, sucking in life and letting the neighborhood genes seep into her spirit. This was her dream, and nobody—nobody—was going to distract her from it. Eventually she rose from the bench, a new resolve firmly in place, and headed off for work.

Tonight it was she and Lindy behind the bar, which was always fun. Tessa liked Lindy, who knew more dirty jokes than most Vegas comedians and always smiled no matter the tip. Lindy had come from Trenton, but had a Malibu tan and short, bleached-blond hair to match. Plus, she was multitalented, able to not only waitress but bartend, as well.

“Busy?” asked Tessa, automatically reaching underneath the counter to start refilling the stock of bar napkins and coasters.

“Slow as Peter’s salami-hiding skills—and just as rewarding.”

Tessa was never sure if Peter was real, or only a figment of Lindy’s imagination, not that it really mattered. Lindy’s stories were always full of “Peter this” and “Peter that.”

“You need to get yourself a real man,” answered Tessa.

Lindy smiled. “I have a real man. I call him my vibrator.”

Tessa laughed, checking the inventory against the par sheet and counting her till. As always, things balanced exactly. As the Wednesday night happy-hour crowd began to appear, Tessa got busy pouring drinks, telling jokes and listening to the trials and tribulations of a world that simply needed a drink.

A woman in a suit came up to Tessa, ordered a low-carb wheatgrass martini and waited for the drink, eyeing the pictures on the wall behind the bar. The customer’s focus was caught on one particular picture, and Tessa, idly playing the “who’s she eyeballing?” game, accidentally upended the martini glass, drenching the woman in vodka.

“Oh, God!” Tessa exclaimed, reaching for a towel. It’d been over three years since she’d spilled a drink on a customer. Tessa was getting clumsy—a bartender’s curse.

Thankfully there was a good-natured smile on the woman’s perfectly lipsticked mouth. “Don’t worry about it. I needed to get the suit dry-cleaned anyway.”

“It’s a great suit,” Tessa said honestly. “I’ll take care of the dry cleaning.”

“Get over it. I am.”

And immediately Tessa liked her. The woman introduced herself as Marisa Beckworth, who had had a bad day and had come in for a quick pick-me-up after work.

“Where do you work?”

“Cocoran.”

Tessa put down the shaker. “You guys are the best,” Tessa stated, trying not to gush but failing.

“You’re not in real estate, are you?” asked Marisa, being impressively polite considering that Tessa had just drenched her.

“No, I’m studying to be an accountant.”

“Oh.”

“But I am looking for an apartment right now.”

“I could help you out,” offered Marisa, smoothly pulling out her card.

“To be honest, I know where I want to live, only I have to figure out how to get in there.”

“The Dakota?”

Tessa laughed. “Do I look delusional? No, Hudson Towers, on West End.”

Marisa nodded. “That’s a great building, but the waiting list is a mile long and the rumor is that it’s headed for co-op.”

There was always something. “The thing is, it’s not like I want to live there forever. I just want to live by myself for a while, and my choices in this city are currently limited to Hudson Towers and, yes, Hudson Towers.”

“Manhattan. I understand completely. Do you ever watch the obituaries?”

“Not like I should.”

“Who has the time, right? I bet you spend all your waking hours here. So what’s it like working in a bar? I always thought that’d be cool.” She leaned in a bit. “And I heard the bartenders in this place are hot.”

Tessa coughed because she got this a lot. Women who came in alone were notoriously hoping to live out their favorite fantasy—with a good-looking, well-built bartender—and who was she to throw stones? “Saturday night is the night you want to come in. They all work on Saturdays.”

“Single?”

“Yes,” answered Tessa, withholding the impulse to lie or doctor the truth in some way.

“Which one is that?” asked Marisa, pointing to the picture of Gabe standing next to one of the Knicks cheerleaders.

“That’s Gabe. He’s the main owner.” Tessa then went down the line of photos, needing to point out that Prime had more than one gorgeous bartender on the payroll. “That’s his brother Sean next to the mayor’s wife. And that’s their older brother Daniel ducking out underneath the bar. He doesn’t enjoy having his picture taken.”

“I like that one,” answered Marisa, pointing to Gabe as if she were picking steaks at the butcher.

“He’s nice enough,” said Tessa, keeping her head down, her eyes glued to the bar.

“Does he have a girlfriend?” continued Marisa, still full of questions, still firmly fixated on Gabe.

“No.” Tessa tried not to look encouraging. “He runs the bar and doesn’t have a lot of time for relationships.”

“Oh.” The woman sighed with heavy regret. Yeah, get over it, sister. “Still, he’s hot. How much time do you really need to have a relationship?”

“Not a lot, apparently.”

“Are you friends with him?”

“A little,” Tessa replied, neglecting to mention the key facts that she lived with him and was currently sleeping with him, as well. Neither fact would greatly enhance her tip.

“I’ve got a deal for you. I’ll get you into Hudson Towers, you get me a date with your boss.”

Marisa, unlike Tessa, was obviously a woman of razor focus and single-minded determination. As luck would have it, object of said razor focus was Gabe, a man whom Tessa didn’t want to think she had designs on, yet that cold jab of unease in her stomach called her the world’s biggest liar.

“Oh, I don’t have that much pull.”

Which was the exact moment that Syd chose to enter the conversation.

“Sure she does,” he said, nodding in his grizzled-cop manner. One eye squinted knowingly. “Gabe listens to her.”

Tessa shook her head at Marisa. “Not really.”

“And they’re living together, too.”

Tessa closed her eyes, wondering what part of “to protect and to serve” the NYPD detective failed to grasp. When she opened her eyes again, she had a perky smile firmly pasted on her face. “Not that way. I’m between roommates at the moment.”

“Am I poaching on someone else’s reserves?” asked Marisa, wearing a smile on her face that was neither perky nor embarrassed. Tessa felt a momentary pang of envy at such polished composure.

“Oh, no,” answered Tessa. “Consider him unpoached. I know Gabe too well to be interested.” She turned to Syd and glared meaningfully. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Give me a bourbon since you’re not going to let a man have any fun.”

Tessa handed him his drink and then waited until he was firmly out of earshot. It was time for Tessa Hart to grow up and stop deluding herself that men were going to take care of her forever. If she wanted something out of life, she was going to have to make choices. This time, unlike seven years ago, she was going to choose what was best for her.

“You really think you could get me into Hudson Towers?”

Marisa looked at her with palpable relief. “They do not call me St. Marisa for nothing.”

Tessa took a deep breath. Yes, she loved sleeping with Gabe, but that was meaningless sex—two strangers satisfying a biological urge, nothing more. Tessa needed to remember the personal boundaries, and Marisa was the perfect person to put the boundaries up exactly where they needed to be. Then Tessa could get back on the way to independence and grow some female cojones that had been sorely lacking up to this pitiful juncture in her life.

“I can get you a date with Gabe,” she stated firmly, then waited for the obligatory clap of thunder from the heavens or for seven plagues to descend upon Manhattan or for Tessa to be hit by a bus that would suddenly drive through the shadowy plate-glass window. Instead the only thing she got was a pinched nerve in the heart.

Marisa held out a hand over the bar, not sensing the miraculous absence of disaster, nor Tessa’s tellingly aching heart. “Tessa, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. For that,” she said, pointing to the picture on the wall, “I’ll waive my usual commission when you’re settled at Hudson Towers.”

Tessa smiled tightly, then pointed to Marisa’s alcohol-stained suit jacket. “For that, I’ll waive the tab.”

THE O’SULLIVAN POKER NIGHT was a tradition that first started when Sean needed money to buy his first Harley-Davidson at the age of nineteen. Gabe, who was underage at the time, had welcomed the opportunity to skim off his older brother’s beer supply and happily joined in. Daniel, who was an accountant and, ergo, usually took them to the cleaners, saw poker night as the chance to teach his younger brothers fiscal responsibility. But, alas, the lessons were usually unlearned, and Daniel—regretfully—ended up with boatloads of cash.

Gabe liked the quality family time, time spent arguing over rules and in general persecuting his older siblings in whatever way he could. Being the youngest of three boys was tough, and he’d understood a long time ago that if he played fair, he’d lose.

Tonight the beer was flowing and the cards were coming his way. Queens and aces, two pairs and a full house. Daniel seemed to be nursing a run of bad luck, and Sean…well, Sean always lost. Cain was the fourth hand, and he was a tough competitor with a face about as telling as a brick wall. After a couple of hours’ play, Gabe was already ahead by a cool hundred.

“Are you sure you’re not cheating,” asked Sean after losing his three deuces to Gabe’s inside straight.

“I don’t have to cheat to beat you, Sean. Face it, you suck. This is the main reason you couldn’t buy your Harley until after you got your law degree.”

Sean didn’t look convinced. “Why don’t you empty your pockets?”

Gabe would have been insulted if it wasn’t a routine they’d acted out for nearly four years.

Daniel, who didn’t see the value of family traditions the way that Gabe did, sighed, long and loud.

Cain drummed his chips on the table.

Gabe grinned smugly. “Sure,” he told his brother, and pulled out the empty jeans pockets. “Feeling better, counselor? You still suck.”

“Boys,” interrupted Daniel. “Stop.”

Gabe fell silent because Daniel didn’t interrupt often.

Gabe passed the deck to Cain, who shuffled and then dealt Gabe a pair of eights, an ace, a two and a five.

Sean looked at his cards, then grinned. He slid out two chips, and then glanced at Gabe. “So tell me about Tessa. How’s that working out for you? Getting laid?”

Gabe stared grimly at the cards, keeping his face devoid of anything but extreme interest in poker. “It’s Tessa, Sean. Get your mind out of the sewer.”

“Not sure if I could handle a woman staring over my shoulder. Got to crimp a man’s style—assuming he has a style, of course.”

Gabe shot him a bite-me look, and Cain stacked his chips into two neat piles. “Are you two going to fight? Because if you are, I want to know so I can keep my money separate.”

“They won’t fight,” answered Daniel.

“I could,” snapped Gabe. “Two years ago, you were down, begging for mercy—remember?”

Cain laughed. “Yes, Gabe, we all remember.”

“Go ahead, laugh away. I’m the baby here, and I’ll take my victories where they come.”

Sean grunted, matching Cain’s raise and upping it by another ten. Somebody had some sweet cards. “The only reason I let you get that punch in is because Anna Del Toro was watching, and I felt sorry for you in front of your girl. You are my baby brother.”

“So how are you and Tessa getting along?” asked Daniel, casually upping Sean’s bet with a rare smile.

“She’s usually not here,” Gabe said, looking with more doubt at his pair of eights. If Daniel was actually smiling, he was holding something serious.

Cain snickered. “Hard for a man to win a bar pool if you two are never in the same room.”

Sean took two cards and didn’t try to hide the gleam in his eyes. “Gabe’s not getting any. He’s too tense. Real shame, too. If you thought about anything but the bar, you’d be a lot happier. Balance. That’s what you need. That, and one good night of ball-blasting sex. You’re not that bad-looking, and if you worked at it, you’d have women falling all over you. And, by the way, I’ve got my money on day thirty-one, so if you want to do something really nice for your big brother, arrange a nice romantic dinner for her and maybe a bubble bath.”

Gabe rubbed his thumb against the corner of his ace, seriously contemplating the idea of a romantic dinner and a bubble bath with Tessa. It actually wasn’t a dumb thought: lathering her up with suds, soaping up the sleek back, the tight thighs.

“Hello? Gabe?” Sean interrupted the momentary fantasy and then shot Daniel a knowing look. “Told you he was suffering. The only person who’s going to win the bet is Tessa.”

Cain’s mouth edged into a small smile. “Tried and struck out?” he asked—and this was from Cain, who usually sided with Gabe. “Sucks, man.”

Gabe glared at the two of hearts, trying to will it into another, more worthy card. For instance, another ace. “Contrary to my other, more lecherous brother, I do have a moral conscience.”

Sean leaned back in his chair and laughed. “It’s a right guaranteed in the Constitution. Life, liberty and the pursuit of—”

“Can we talk about something else?” interrupted Gabe. “Like, for instance, the building permit? Did you find out anything more?”

“Amanda’s out of the office until Tuesday next, and I can’t get a straight answer out of the old man that’s manning the desk while she’s gone.”

“But there’s no problem with my license, right?”

Sean cracked his knuckles. “Nothing I can’t handle, Gabe. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Does that mean you’ll help me with the work on the expansion while I’m waiting on the permit?”

“No,” said Sean, completely without guilt. “But I will help you hire a new bartender to fill said space.”

Gabe looked at Daniel in frustration, and Daniel shrugged. No help there. “I’m folding,” Gabe announced because he wasn’t getting anywhere in cards or logic. Better to quit while he was ahead.

They played in silence until it was nearly midnight, and Gabe kept a close eye on the clock. Tessa would be closing up with Lindy soon, and Gabe wanted to know if her apartment hunting had been successful. Besides that, he didn’t feel right about her taking the subway home alone. Tessa would probably hit him if she knew what he was thinking, but Sean was right about one thing: Gabe had a Lancelot complex. And if there was ever a damsel in distress, it was Tessa.

He looked around the table, noticing the pile of money that was now sitting in front of Cain. All right, so he hadn’t made his quota. He’d make up for it next week. Then he scrunched up his pain and rubbed two fingers over his temple.

“Can’t handle losing?” asked Cain.

“I’ve been fighting a headache all day. Probably hay fever or something. Listen, I hate to fold up early, but, hell, my head is about to explode.”

Gabe gathered up the cards, and Daniel handled the financials. In the end, Gabe was ahead by twenty. Not a bad night’s work.

“Same time next week?” asked Cain, pocketing two hundred with a satisfied smile.

“At my place,” Sean spoke up.

“Right,” agreed Gabe, keeping his head low and headache-looking.

“Why don’t you lie down?” suggested Sean. “We know the way out.”

Gabe felt a momentary pang of guilt because Sean did actually look concerned, but this was for a good cause. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to make sure that a helpless female got home safely? After all, the streets of New York could be really mean—assuming that you didn’t count the FBI reports that said that New York was the safest big city on the planet. But Gabe wasn’t a big one for trusting the government stats. Governments lied, and then where would Tessa be? Walking alone on the mean streets of Manhattan.

He managed a weak smile, and then they were gone. Gabe waited another five minutes and then pulled on his boots. Time to get Tessa home.

Gabe remembered the moments in the theater this afternoon, the taste of her neck, the curve of her bare ass and the exquisite cock-raising feeling of being encased in everything that was perfect.

Yeah, this roommate thing wasn’t bad at all.

THE NIGHT WASN’T A total loss. Tessa had made over a hundred in tips, and once she had gotten over the initial melancholy of her decision to set up Marisa with Gabe, a peace had come over her. In fact, even Lindy noticed her new attitude when they were cleaning up.

She popped the ice cream into the bar freezer and then stared pointedly at Tessa. “Why are you so pale? Are you getting sick or something?”

“I’m not pale, I feel calm. Collected. I’ve got a new take-charge attitude, a plan to get into my own place.”

“You still look pale,” repeated Lindy, shaking her head, and Tessa could feel the melancholy returning.

“To the unknowing eye, perhaps.”

With Lindy still looking doubtful, Tessa visualized coming into her perfect apartment surrounded by successful, financially independent colleagues who had made their way in life. As opposed to the pitiful imagery of Tessa dropping out of school, shacking up with Gabe for a couple of years. And then he’d decide he needed a new, improved model, probably someone who had a viable career, and then Tessa would be pushing thirty and still trying to support herself on a bartender’s tips. Hudson Towers was looking better and better by the minute.

“So what’s the new take-charge attitude from?”

“Taking the hard course, forging ahead with the right decision and following my dreams.”

“And this decision has to do with what?”

“The woman that came in here earlier—the one I drenched in vodka? She’s going to help me get into Hudson Towers.”

“Hudson Towers? All that because you spilled a drink on her? Man, I wish I had your luck. Instead I get stuck with seventeen-year-olds with bad fake IDs who threaten lawsuits and then tell me that the terrorists have won if I report it. Tell me, what does terrorism have to do with underage drinking? I don’t get the connection.”

Tessa laughed. “What do you want, Lindy?”

“The perfect full-throated orgasm.”

“I mean really.”

Lindy looked askance. “I meant really.”

“What about Peter?”

Lindy rolled one shoulder forward. “He’s only in my mind.”

Tessa, who was on a first name basis with the idea of fantasy lovers, nodded with approval. “Sometimes it’s better when they’re only in your mind.”

“As opposed to being only in your vagina?”

Tessa told herself she would not blush, she would not blush, she would not blush.

She blushed.

“Want to spill any secrets?” asked Lindy.

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope.”

“Glad somebody is getting something around here.” Lindy looked toward the front. “And speak of the devil.”

“Hey,” answered Gabe, smoothly walking in the door as if he owned the place. Which he did.

Tessa looked at Lindy wide-eyed, terrified and willing thoughts of Hudson Towers back into her feeble brain. “Don’t you dare.”

Lindy winked. “Not daring at all.” Then she waved at Gabe as if everything was right with the world. “Hey, boss.”

Gabe headed downstairs, and Lindy finished polishing the beer taps. A moment later she put her hands on her hips, took a long look around and then sighed happily. “I’m off.”

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” said Tessa, not sure she wanted to be alone with Gabe. Actually, she desperately wanted to be alone with Gabe, her weakened flesh already crying to be alone with Gabe. And with Lindy gone? She was toast. Weakened-flesh toast.

“Good night, Tess. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Lindy added, waving and disappearing into the night.

Leaving Tessa alone. With Gabe.

Actually, she thought, looking around the empty bar. It wasn’t so bad. With Gabe downstairs, he was out of visual range, out of touching range, out of kissing range and out of tasting range.

Of course, he took that exact moment to appear. Tessa jumped.

“How did it go with the apartment today?” he asked, a completely casual, logical conversation starter.

“I didn’t take it.”

“Too small?” he asked, acting completely innocent, completely polite and completely casual.

Tessa stared at him suspiciously. “No, it was huge.”

“So what was the problem, Tess?” he prodded, not so innocent anymore, not so polite anymore and—aha—not so carefree anymore, either.

“He has a dog,” she answered truthfully.

“You don’t like dogs?” he asked.

“They’re messy and smelly.”

“Right, I didn’t know you felt that way. I like cats.”

Tessa nodded, picked up a rag and stared rescrubbing the bar sink. A sink could never get too clean. “Yes, yes, I do. Give me a cat any day. Much more suited to apartment living.”

“Oh.” He stood there, watching her work. “Tessa?” he started, and she could read the soul-searching curiosity in his eyes.

“How was poker night?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject because if there was any soul-searching to be done, it wasn’t about to be her soul under the microscope.

Gabe, never obtuse, took the hint. “Lost a bundle. Was doing good at the start, but then Cain came in for the win and started getting the hot hands.”

“Sorry.”

“Was the place busy tonight? The receipts look good.”

“Drenched a customer in vodka,” Tessa admitted, happy to be talking about work. Talking about work was good.

Gabe frowned. “He wasn’t getting too friendly, was he?”

“It was a she. And, no, it was only me being clumsy.”

“You’re never clumsy.”

Maybe she wasn’t clumsy with her hands, but sometimes Tessa was clumsy with her life. “There’s a first for everything. Her name was Marisa and she’s a Realtor,” she started, deciding that now was as good a time as any to fulfill her commitment to set up Marisa with Gabe.

“I bet you two had a lot to talk about. Actually, did you ever think about real estate, Tessa? I think you’d be good at it.”

She looked at him and was easily diverted from her match-making goal by the much more interesting idea of pursuing a career in real estate. But sales?

However, Gabe looked serious. As if he wasn’t joking. As if he thought she could do it. “I think I’d be really bad at it.”

“Is that a joke?” he asked.

“No. I can’t do sales.”

“But when you know what you’re doing, it’s not like selling, more like…I don’t know…finding people and matching them to what they want—and that you could do. Definitely.”

“I don’t know, Gabe,” she started, because she had already decided on a career path and, okay, a D on an accounting test wasn’t the most promising of signs, but if she kept changing her path, who knew where she’d end up? Probably a chain-smoker at forty-seven, still tending bar, with a tattoo on her arm that said Mother to match the D-E-N-N-Y that was still tattooed on her butt.

“What’s the safest apartment building in the city?” asked Gabe.

“The Lucerne,” she answered, ripping her mind off the creepy image of a Mother tattoo.

“I’m looking for a building. Pets, walk-up, in Battery Park, and I don’t want to pay too much. Where should I start?”

“Liberty Manor,” she said automatically, and Gabe gave her one of those annoying I-told-you-so looks.

Slowly it dawned on her that, yes, Gabe was correct. “You think I could do it? I wouldn’t, uh, scare people?” she asked, mentally comparing her wine-stained T-shirt to Marisa’s unwrinkled suit.

“Certainly you could do it. But don’t quit your night job. I’m not ready to lose my best bartender.”

Tessa tossed her rag in his direction. “You’re the best bartender here, Gabe.”