A stroll should help to clear his clouded mind; he thinks. Unsettled,
threading slowly on West Broadway; he walks south. People pass by him in both
directions. The hot August sun intensifies when it reflects on display windows
and the crystal and metal of restaurant doors.
The street rhythm carries him by the side of a bay window. A blackboard,
words written on it with white chalk read:
HELP WANTED
Bartender Needed
Should I?
He takes a peek through the glass door. A man behind a long counter
polishes glassware. The bar is empty, he comes in.
“Hey, are you hiring?”
“Yes we are.”
“Are you busy?”
“Well, not really, we’re not now but…we hope to get busy.” He speaks
with uncertainty. “You know, we opened just two weeks ago.”
No action, no money. I need action.
A shrill starts faintly at the mouth of the glass the man polishes, it travels
across the empty restaurant and boomerangs, it pierces his ears.
“Where’re you from?” The bartender inquires.
“New York, East Village.”
“I mean…what’s your background?”
“Mexican.”
“You don’t say! My name is Phillip.”
“Hi Phillip, my name is Alejandro, nice to meet you…you can call me Alex.
Phillip, I need a busy place, a real busy place. I don’t want to have time to
think.”
“Tell you what, better you talk to Mrs. Howard, she badly needs people
that speak Spanish. You speak Spanish don’t you? You’re familiar with
Mexican food, aren’t you?”
“This is a Mexican Restaurant? You’re kidding me! What’s the name?”
“CINCO DE MAYO”
Pictures of Zapata, Villa, Pershing and peasant soldiers of the 1910
Revolution crowd the wall opposite the bar.
How did I miss all this crap when I came in?
“Gee, Phillip, those pictures and the name of the restaurant don’t fit.”
“Isn’t Cinco De Mayo when the Mexican Revolution started?”
“No, not exactly. It commemorates a battle Mexicans won but everything
went downhill after that. I really don’t see why you would commemorate after
you got your ass kicked.”
“Nobody knows that around here,” says Philip implicitly.
“Maybe, still it’s not right…and I don’t care.”
This is disgusting I should just go.
“Is the food any good in here?” He asks looking at the exit door.
“I think it is the best I ever had, but the truth is it doesn’t look like Mexican
food to me, but what do I know!”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Phillip.” Alejandro is puzzled.
“Look, why don’t you wait a bit, Mrs. Howard will be here any minute. I’m
sure she’ll hire you on the spot. Have you waited on tables?”
“Yes but I don’t know if I want to do that, I’d rather work the bar.”
“Well wait, she’s a very interesting person. Will you excuse me, I have to
go to the dishwasher and get another glass-rack, I’ll be right back, don’t go.”
Mrs. Howard may be a very interesting person but how can she name this
restaurant CINCO DE MAYO and hang Bravo’s pictures all over the wall? It’s
ridiculous!
It didn’t take long after he found himself alone for thoughts about his wife
and her lover to creep up in his mind, inflicting an inner torture that he had
endured for over a year. For six to eight months prior to confirming her affair,
rapid changes were happening; patterns being broken and most important: sex.
They were making love alright but he was the only one getting off. That
marvelous sex that for many years they had enjoyed traveling in unison to reach
a climax, was suddenly gone. She performed in any way or position he asked of
her, but she rarely had an orgasm and that drove him nuts.
He suspected but couldn’t get himself to believe she was having an affair.
He thought, up until then, that this was it! He was going to grow old with her and
have a meaningful life. Now, he himself was transforming from a man that
exuded confidence to a paranoid weakling. He tracked her, demanded account
of her whereabouts. There were many instances he caught her lying.
“Stop it! You’re badgering me, you’re insane!” She would say and he
wanted to believe her but her excuses didn’t add up.
“You told me last week you went to Saint Marks Cinema to see MR.
GOOD BAR and I found out it was APOCALYPSE NOW showing!”
“Oh my God, are you a detective now tracking every move of mine? Am I
not free?”
He never minded where she went or who she was with, he trusted her.
Their relationship was based on trust, love and desire for each other, but, she
had fallen out of love and she wouldn’t accept it because she cared for him.
She did not realize how bad the situation was. She was drinking, taking speed to
go to work and downers when she arrived home.
Alejandro’s suspicions were confirmed one afternoon when she came
home smelling of alcohol and quickly jumped into the shower. As soon as she
got out of the bathroom he sat her down on the couch and questioned her.
“I told you I took a ballet class and then went to a café for a bite and had
a couple wine glasses with a friend!”
“Who?
“This girl from class. She wanted to chat and instead of coffee we
decided to have wine.” She lied blatantly, it was routine by now to do so.
“You are inebriated!”
“No, I am not! Oh I can’t take this shit anymore. You are hallucinating!”
And again his head would spin, asking himself if she was right.
What happened next was the moment that would be engraved in his mind
forever, an image that made him cry every day for at least two years.
The white cotton robe she was wearing slipped open from her hips down
exposing her legs. In the inner part of her thigh just below her vagina, a
mucous, wobbly matter was visible and just about to drop. It was sperm!…
dripping, her lover’s come whose dick had just been inside her. He was
paralyzed, his mouth and eyes wide open fixed on her thigh. She noticed him
and looked down herself. In horror, she tried to wipe it off. She run away to the
bathroom.
Every piece of furniture, plants, picture frames, his beloved cuckoo clock,
everything that belonged to them, artifacts and bric-a-brac they collected for ten
years living together, seemed to float about the room…then crash, and
disintegrate. He closed his eyes and laid back on the purple velvet couch, tears
sprouted as the truth revealed itself.
She came back from the bathroom sobbing uncontrollably and sat down
beside him, they embraced and held each other for a long time, peace fell on
them for the first time since she had started her affair. But, it was not over, her
affair did not end, and Alejandro’s knowledge of it was just another step in his
way to the edge of insanity.
“Damn! Damn!” Alejandro whispered swiveling a bit on his stool and
stooping over the bar counter. “I can’t cry anymore. Please God, help me! Take
these awful thoughts off my mind. I know she’s with him now, I can feel it, they
are fucking… that old bastard is on top of her…Oh God, please!” Alejandro
begged.
The wind was taken out of him on this last thought, his empty stomach
took a blow. Just then Phillip came back chewing food and carrying another
glass-rack. Alejandro’s eyes were swollen with tears sliding over his cheeks.
“Are you alright?” Phillip asked on noticing his glassy eyes. “What’s
wrong?”
“Nothing…I just had a loss. I was thinking about it. I’m fine now, I’m okay,
thanks.”
Alejandro paused as he spoke, he wiped his tears and recovered rapidly.
The mere presence of another person helped control his emotions.
“Sorry, is there anything I can get you?”
“Can I see a menu?”
“Of course.”
The flat-gray paper and elegant letters were pleasing and on unfolding it
his swollen eyes began to dance.
“Mejillones? Pollo Almendrado? Mixotes! Alambres, Rollos de Lenguado,
Menudo! This is incredible!”
“Is it a good menu?”
“Good? It’s wonderful! Gee, Phillip, nothing makes sense in here.”
“So you’re familiar with these dishes, huh?”
“Yes, this menu is great!”
“It’s not selling.”
“Oh, you must have terrible waiters. This is SOHO they have to sell.”
“The waiters don’t know the dishes either.”
Who is in charge of this freaking place?
A lady in a light-brown sleeveless dress, fittingly loose, a brown leather
bag strapped to her right shoulder and few books in her left arm, comes in.
“Hi Phillip. So humid out there I thought I was not going to make it. A
glass of water please.” She continues on to a small desk and unloads books
and bag on it.
“Tall glass of water, Mrs. Howard. This gentleman is looking for a job, he
loves your menu!”
“Is that so? No me diga. You are Mexican, aren’t you?”
“Yes I am, but you quickly become a New Yorker to survive.”
“True. Still I can tell you are Mexican and I bet from the North.”
“My mustache gives me away.”
“No, it’s not your mustache, it’s your stance, most southern Mexicans
show humbleness when first introduced and you don’t.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. Come, let’s sit down.” Mrs. Howard rolls the glass between
her hands then drinks some. “Ah, so you like my menu.”
“I noticed you serve Menudo.”
“The reason I have it is to please Mexicans like you. You know how to
make it?”
“Yes I do.”
“I had a lover you remind me of, he was from Sonora, a good man and
wonderful lover. Would you like to taste my menudo?” Alejandro, startled, nods
as Mrs. Howard summons a waiter and orders a bowl of menudo.
Mrs. Howard was born in Cuba and she was not proud of it. She had
married Mr. Howard and when she divorced him she kept his name. She
claimed to be española de pura sepa although born in Cuba because her father,
a newsman, was at work there. Some rumored she came to New York City very
young with her mother who became a chorus girl at the COPACABANA.
Mrs. Howard had a simple concept of mankind. There were two kinds of
people: those who liked and enjoyed eating, whom she called food-people, and
those who ate only for sustenance, non-food people.
The waiter arrives with a bowl of menudo.
“Where are the garnishes? Chopped onion and radishes, oregano and
warm tortillas?” She asks the waiter, imploring more than admonishing. “I tell
you, I have so much trouble finding help” she says as the waiter returns with
garnishes.
Alejandro rolls a tortilla and slurps a full spoon, he closes his eyes, sits up
and remains still for a few seconds. His mind travels to Calzada Madero where
there was a restaurant he and his fellow college students would end up after a
night out of debauchery and a bowl of menudo would straighten them up.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” Asks Mrs. Howard.
“No, I mean yes. This is incredible I’m eating this and it is unexpected…I
mean, I’m in New York, I’m not in Mexico!”
“You mean it tastes like Mexico?”
“It certainly does. Oh this is so soothing!”
“Ah, you make me happy, that’s all I need to know. Please eat.” Mrs.
Howard urges him and he responds, eating with gusto. Meanwhile she opens a
book, reads, and observes Alejandro.
This man enjoys food, I love the way he eats, I bet he’s a good lover too,
Oh if I were twenty-five years younger.
“So, you would like to work for me.”
“Philip tells me you’re not busy but your menu is wonderful. I would like to
help you sell it.”
“Well I know you’re Mexican and you like my menu but do you know the
restaurant business?”
“I do. I prefer the bar but it looks like you need help on the floor.”
“Why don’t you come for dinner tonight and taste some of my dishes,
won’t you?”
“Of course, may I bring my wife?’
“You’re married? Oh. It’s so hard to find single men like you! Of course
you may bring your wife.”
“Actually she works tonight. Is tomorrow alright?”
“Sure. Come around 7.”
“Thank you so much, you made me feel good, the menudo was
excellent.” Mrs. Howard smiles as he heads out.
“Thank you, Philip,” Alejandro waves.
“We will see you later, won’t we?”
“Yes, I’m coming for dinner tomorrow.”
“Great! By the way I didn’t know Mexicans kicked our butts in that one
battle.”
“It was not American butts we kicked Philip, it was French butts. We
kicked the Frenchies.”
“Oh, that’s better.” Says Philip somehow relieved.
As he stepped out into the street he took a deep breath and exhaled the
hot Summer air. He headed north and passed by the Broom Street Bar where he
ate a hamburger patty in pita bread for the first time. Something basic and
fundamental had just happened: he was feeling human, not like a wounded
animal as he often described himself to himself. Ever since he found out about
his wife’s affair his ego and self-esteem had been demolished, he felt ugly and
useless. Mrs. Howard’s menu lifted up layers of his country’s culinary spectrum
and reminded him of how vast, rich and beautiful it was. He felt proud, at least
for now.
They arrived to the restaurant about 8 pm. On their way there he implored
her to stop seeing Frog-face as he spitefully had nick-named her lover. She
denied she was seeing him and begged Alejandro to compose himself; this was
a very important evening. She had detected his enthusiasm about Mrs. Howard
and this was good because she wanted him to pull himself together. She was
looking for a way out of their relationship. He had become, emotionally and
economically, a burden on her. He ranted, cried and threatened her. He had not
worked for months; he was a wreck. She had not intended for this situation to
develop this way. Now she was in control and she could be reckless without
even trying. She would tell him: “I met Black-Eyed Susan, we had dinner last
night. You would really like her, she was worried about being fired but Stefan
told her it was just a Ludlam’s ploy to keep her in line” or “Stefan is writing a
book on Richard Forman and his theater. They are good friends, I met him, he is
strange” or “we went to Theater For The New City and saw an awful play but
you should have seen how many people kissed Stefan’s ass.”
“Of course those assholes are going to kiss his ass, he’s the son of one of
the greatest playwrights of the century and he owns the rights to his work. But
don’t you see he introduces you as a sex trophy and not as an actress and
dancer? Are you stupid?” Alejandro was right, Stefan paraded her proudly as a
mistress less than half his age.
She had fallen out of love with Alejandro and insisted on being friends,
she needed a friend. The dreams they once had had not been fulfilled, and it
was time to face it. However, she did not love Stefan, but his touch. His ways
and adoration for her magnificent body had liberated her from the hold Alejandro
had on her for over 10 years, a hold that was unnatural due to her nature; she
was a very promiscuous woman and Alejandro, a sensual and erotic man
himself, had been in heaven reveling in her promiscuity. He was hooked and
unable to let go and now the man she had wanted so much and whose pride
and valiant ways she so admired had just become a pathetic human being.
Mrs. Howard spotted them as soon as they entered the restaurant and
greeted them. “I’m so glad you were able to come.”
“Hello, Mrs. Howard. This is my wife Elizabeth.”
“Hi.”
“How are you? Welcome, you do complement each other, you are a
beautiful couple.”
“Oh, you are so kind, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Let me see, I want you to sit over there. Please order as many dishes as
you want, I want you to taste as much as you can. I will join you later, have a
good time.”
The waiter spoke unintelligible English, it was embarrassing. He recited
specials and all he could properly pronounce was the name of a dish in Spanish.
Alejandro picked up his accent: he was a Spaniard. Alejandro ordered drinks in
Spanish and the waiter’s face lit up.
“Hostia! Vos hablais castellano? que güevon soy yo, tratando de hablar
esta lengua de mierda que no entiendo. Un escocés con agua mineral y una
margarita. Pida lo que quiera yo vuelvo en seguida.”
“What would you like to eat?”
“Hmm, fish, I feel like eating Mexican fish.”
“There is not such a thing.”
“I know, I’m kidding you, you order for me.” She tells him as she holds his
hand and smiles. Alejandro places the menu to the side fixing his eyes on hers
and rubs her hand with his thumb. There is silence, he begins to withdraw.
“Please don’t. Don’t think about it anymore. You just…” the waiter arrives
with drinks and Alejandro orders. Appetizers and entrées come rapidly with
flavors that awaken their sense of taste. She is able to get him out of his dark
world. Elizabeth is relieved and much more so when Mrs. Howard joins their
table.
“Well, what do you think?” Mrs. Howard asks.
“Delicious! Everything so far has been wonderful,” exclaims Elizabeth.
“I’m impressed. How did you get hold of all these dishes?” Asks
Alejandro.
“Oh” Mrs. Howard sighs and reminisces, “my husband worked in Mexico
and we were often invited by Mexican high society to dinner. The dinner parties
were so dull I would go to the kitchen, incredible beautiful kitchens, talk to the
cooks, who were always women, and write down recipes and ask a million
questions.”
“So this menu reflects how rich people eat in Mexico.” Elizabeth asserts.
“Most of it” retorts Mrs. Howard, “but you will find things in this menu
from the streets of Mexico. Oh, Mexico, there is no better place than Mexico!
Are you ready for dessert? May I suggest Crepas de Cajeta, okay?
“Crepas? That sounds like crepes, that’s French?” Elizabeth states.
“Honey, Maximilian and Carlota brought their chefs and bakers, one of
many influences on our food.” Alejandro responds quickly.
“Well, will you work for me? Will you let him work for me?” Mrs. Howard
asks Elizabeth playfully.
“Of course, he can start right now,” she responds.
“How about tomorrow? Come and observe. I’ll order dessert for you.”
Mrs. Howard tells them as she leaves the table.
Felix and Arturo, both Spaniards from Asturias, wait on tables bussed by a
young girl. Felix takes most customers that trickle in early to the vast former
auto-garage turned restaurant. When asked what is the best dish in the menu
Felix points to the most expensive, he pads the check and presents it with an
ever present warm smile. Arturo just suffers, he can’t get anything right but the
busgirl who speaks perfect English saves him every time. Both waiters were
schooled in the West Village and W14th Street Spanish restaurants that, like
most ethnic restaurants in New York City, are a microcosm of injustice as in the
old countries.
“I love the way Felix approaches a table and serves it. I want you to
observe him because that is the way I want my customers treated.”
“Mrs. Howard I have observed Felix and I think he is a terrible waiter, also
he shouldn’t take all the tables that come in early.”
“But you just started today and were supposed to observe.”
“And I did!”
“Well, do you want to work?” She asks timidly, she wants him to stay.
“Yes I do. Your food is fantastic and you are in the right place to sell it.”
“I don’t think Felix is a bad waiter” Mrs. Howard insists, “and if you work
for me I want you to get along with him.”
“Mrs. Howard I like Felix, I can get along with him but you have to rein him
in or he will hurt the business.”
Oh my God, Mrs. Howard doesn’t know a thing about the front of the
house but what a wonderful kitchen. I’ll stick around and see.
Alejandro and Mrs. Howard develop a working relationship and let each
other know bits and pieces of their private lives, but nothing that would reveal
Alejandro’s inner turmoil. Strolls after work, late snacks at ODEON, ideas about
how to serve, practically, Nouvelle Mexican in SOHO. Mrs. Howard was a great
observer and learner, indeed she had observed Mexican customs and food at
various levels.
Mrs. Howard, by her account, had become a bag-lady, the notorious
street characters that invaded Manhattan in the early ’70’s. How had she
descended to insanity, after a great life in Mexico into the streets of New York
City is uncertain, but the loss of a son to an overdose of heroine, the addiction
of the other and the absence of Mr. Howard may have helped it. In emotional
distress she visited Peter Kump’s culinary school and the chef reluctantly
accepted her on the condition she would do all dishes after class, “I love
washing dishes, chef Kump, it is the best therapy.” She was in.
The restaurant morphed into beautiful shades of white, gray and pink
walls. Snake plants and Bromeliads hung from the high ceilings. Three sections
with at least 60 chairs each, a long bar and a waiting area with cocktail tables
defined it.
New York magazine hits the stands a sultry Monday with a cover story
about the culinary evolution and proliferation of Mexican and Japanese
restaurants in Manhattan. Journalist Barbara Kostikyan declares CINCO DE
MAYO the best Mexican restaurant in New York City. She forgets to inform the
public that the restaurant is closed on Mondays and hundreds of ‘foodies’ that
religiously follow food critics are disappointed when they find the restaurant
lights out. Tuesday the restaurant is packed by 7 pm. Felix and Arturo are
overwhelmed, panic sets on them, they run in circles. Alejandro can hardly take
care of his section as he urges bartender and cooks to deliver his orders. About
250 diners come in that night and not all are served, many leave disgusted
because of tardiness or non-arrival of food and drinks. Alejandro and Mr.
Howard leave the restaurant that night, stunned. They walk slowly west towards
the Hudson River.
“We need waiters and bartenders.”
“Yes we do!”
“Should I call an agency?”
“Anybody, we need bodies. It will take me a few days to train them but I
can do it, I promise you I can.”
“You were so calm tonight in the midst of chaos!”
“Mrs. Howard, Felix and Arturo don’t cut it, they collapsed!”
“Everybody was running, you were walking.”
“You don’t run in a restaurant, it’s dangerous!”
Wednesday at noon three people come in and they are hired on the spot,
they are summoned to report at 4 pm for work. By 7:30 pm Arturo quits, he just
walks out. Things get worse as customers walk out but the ones that get served
rave about the food.
“Alejandro, I don’t know what to do but we have to learn to serve all these
people.”
“If you give me the authority I will get the floor together.”
“Can you do it?”
“Yes, but I have to do the hiring and the firing.”
“Is that all it takes?” Mrs. Howard asks with disbelief.
“No, we have to implement all things we have been talking about. I know
the mechanics of good and efficient service to deliver volume. Your kitchen is
ready, the front of the house has to integrate into it. The bar has problems too,
but I can fix it.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to Jerry.”
Next day, Thursday, the restaurant is packed, by 9 pm. the kitchen runs
out of must entrees, the bartenders freeze due to demand of drinks by waiters
and a three-deep line of customers at the bar waiting for tables. The place
becomes a war zone, people walk out and leave, the ones waiting grab the
tables that empty to never be served or be served appetizers ordered by the
ones that left. Mercifully the night ends. Jerry, the owner, calls for a meeting.
“I called this meeting to let you know that as bad as it looks, it’s not that
bad. We have 200 reservations for tomorrow, 250 for Saturday and just as many
for Sunday. We have to pull together and Mrs. Howard and I believe that
Alejandro is the man to pull us through. So, from now on he is in charge of all
floor operations and we should listen to him and do as he says.”
*
Alejandro is 12 to 14 hours out of their apartment, Elizabeth is glad. They
see each other in the early afternoon for two hours when he comes home for a
break and brings her lunch. She gives him a blow job and when she is horny
she masturbates as she blows him, he loves it; her moans and muffed final
screams as she comes with his cock in her mouth is glorious to him. He naps for
30 minutes, gets up and takes a quick shower and leaves.
*
Stefan Brecht routinely leaves the city in May for his country house in
Massachusetts and returns in October. Only extraordinary circumstances make
him come to Manhattan in the dog days of Summer. He pressures Elizabeth to
break away, to end her marriage and join him, but she refuses. There are two
women in Stefan’s life that Elizabeth is intent on cutting down first: one is his
daughter, and the other a long time ago lover and now faithful companion whose
business he subsidizes. Elizabeth and Stefan are locked in a battle of wills and
sexually hooked on each other. She needs a friend and erroneously she
confides in Alejandro.
“We were at a restaurant with his daughter and she and I asked for the
same special. The waiter comes back and says there is only one special left.
The old jerk does not ask, he just hands me the menu and asks me to choose
something else and his daughter gets the special! I was so mad.”
“He did the right thing; his daughter comes first.”
“He could have asked if I minded.”
“Do you think I want to hear stories about you and his family?”
“I left him; I don’t want to be with him anymore.”
“You say that because he is away.”
“No. I mean it.”
“You know I haven’t been inside you in a long time, you are faithful to
him.”
“C’mon Alejandro I suck your cock every day!”
“I know, you just get me off.”
“I get off with you.”
“Not all the time.”
“What do you want from me? Do you want to fuck me in the ass? Fuck
me in the ass. Do you want to jam me? Jam me!”
“I want to make love.”
“Oh honey, please stop. Don’t torture me, I’m sorry, I just can’t right now.”
“You belong to him now. I can feel it, I can feel when you are with him.”
“I told you I am not seeing him anymore!”
“You saw him a few weeks ago.”
“How do you know?”
“I went to the studio and you were not in class. I knew you were lying to
me when you said you were going to class, you went to his room at the Chelsea
to fuck him.”
“I did not! Okay, I saw him and I went to tell him I didn’t want to see him
anymore. He wants me to leave you and he wants to continue with his bull-shit.
We fought and argued.”
“You fucked him. Didn’t you?”
“Oh Alejandro, is that all you care about whether I fucked him or not?”
“Arguments don’t matter, what you do with your body matters and what
you do with him you don’t do with me anymore.”
“Why did we start talking about this?”
“You started it.”
“It’s getting late and you have to go back to work. Let’s not talk about it
any more, pretty please.” Suddenly Elizabeth playfully grabs his crotch and
fondles him, unzips his fly, unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants. His stiff
cock springs out, she goes down on her knees and picks lint and a hair from the
head of his cock and masterfully sucks it. A torrent of mixed emotions, desire
among them, drive his hands to her shoulders, his brain commands to push her
away but his right hand slowly travels to the back of her neck and his left hand
softly strikes her hair. He abandons himself to pleasure and thinks of Stefan,
wishing he was there to watch her giving him head.
*
It takes Alejandro four weeks to establish a system; kitchen, bar and floor
are in harmony. The crew is a mix of aspiring young artists and adventurers and
three Mexicans from Cuernavaca, all trying to make it in New York City, they
perform well.
Incredibly Alejandro never discussed with Mrs. Howard or Jerry payment
for his work. The restaurant is sailing and they sit down to discuss Alejandro’s
situation.
“I’m very pleased with the work you have done,” Jerry asserts.
“Look, I will supervise from the floor, I will work in all positions, collect tips
and I need a salary.”
“Alejandro thinks he can spot all problems by working all floor positions.”
Mrs. Howard adds.
“That’s fine with me, So what do you want?”
“$650 per week.”
“I can’t do that. Why don’t you take the best station as a waiter and I
pony up $50 per week for supervising and scheduling personnel.”
“No, they will resent me and they won’t be happy about it.”
“Alejandro thinks that personnel working in harmony will result in excellent
service and that is what I want.” Mrs. Howard intercedes.
“I don’t care about the waiter’s happiness, besides, they are all making
good money now.”
“There will not be balance if I do what you suggest, it won’t matter how
much money they make. It’s a matter of fairness.” This asshole wants the crew
to hate me. He doesn’t know what harmony is in the workplace.
“You are asking for manager’s salary and I already have a manager, right
here, Mrs. Howard is my manager, she asked me to put you in charge and I did
it, she insisted. I thought you had made a deal with her.” Jerry says flatly.
“Yes Jerry, but Alejandro has done a wonderful job and he should be
paid.” Mrs. Howard insists.
“Okay, I will pay him. The job is done, we are rolling. Why should I pay
two managers? Take the best station and $50 per week, that’s the best I can
do.” Jerry finalizes.
“No, the workers will not respect me if I do that.” Alejandro also finalizes.
“Let’s call it quits then.”
“That’s fine with me. I can’t work under your conditions.”
“Okay, wait a few minutes and I will settle with you. I’ll be right back.”
“Alejandro don’t be stubborn, take his terms, we’ll see what we can do
later. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Mrs. Howard implores.
“Do you know what Jerry’s nickname is in the kitchen?”
“Yes I know, my cooks call him “El Perro.”
“They are right, he is a dog. It’s amazing how simple people that don’t
speak English can sense it, I didn’t. I know he is a pig, the way he approaches
customer tables cigarette in hand, ashes flowing all over, it’s disgusting. Mrs.
Howard, I’m sorry I wish I could stay; I’m going to miss you. Beware he is going
to give you a big bite, it takes a person without scruples to do what he is doing
to me. He’s a pit bull and he looks it.”
Jerry comes back, his brutish face sporting a smile; an envelop in hand he
gives to Alejandro. “That’s $2,600 for four weeks. If you need a letter of
recommendation let me know.”
“Thanks. Your restaurant is working like a Swiss clock and it cost you
$2,600. Not bad, not bad at all. Good bye Mrs. Howard and good luck. Great
food, it was a pleasure.” Alejandro leaves with his integrity intact.
“Jerry that was not good. Alejandro did a great job and we should have
kept him.”
“I’m paying you as a manager, should I take what he wants from your
salary?”
Mrs. Howard is left with a bitter taste, not only she just lost a fine
employee, but a companion that already understood her dining philosophy
better than anybody. Alejandro was right: two months later Mrs. Howard was
fired and the restaurant she created and Alejandro helped to flourish, the best
Mexican restaurant in New York City, was now in the hands of a speculator.
Elizabeth’s agent calls begging her to cover the day-shift for a dancer that
didn’t show up for work in Brooklyn, “I’ll make it up nicely for you honey-bunny,
please don’t let me down.” She gets ready in a hurry and writes a note for
Alejandro who soon will be home for lunch: ‘Sorry I missed lunch have to go to
work see you tonight I’ll be home 9 pm.’
Alejandro walks east on Houston Street crushing the money inside the
envelop, the fruit of four weeks of labor, and feels desecrated. An impulse to
throw the envelop in a garbage can is suppressed when he remembers the night
one of his plays opened and all proceedings from the box office were burned in
an act of defiance to Capitalism in the arts. Some actors complained then and
this time he did not want Elizabeth to do so, it was going to be hard enough to
explain his dismissal. His pace is so slow he becomes an obstacle to people
walking in the same direction. He crosses streets carelessly inciting the ire of
motorists who show him the middle finger, “asshole” and “fuck you.” He arrives
to St. Marks Place, a group of kids sit on the sidewalk just off the news stand on
3rd. Avenue. The leader wears huge blond spikes, tattoos, black cut-off sleeve
t-shirt; he is Sid Vicious. The girls, one with purple highlights and jet-black hair,
another shaved with five or six earrings in each earlobe and the next with black
stockings full of holes, black miniskirt, short hair and a silver stud pierced
tongue is Nancy. They all wear black combat boots and have been camping out
in the East Village all Summer. September is around the corner and these kids
will soon go back home to New Jersey, Connecticut, or California and next time
they come to New York City probably they will be working on Wall Street or
Madison Avenue. A man with a white turban and blond goatee zooms by on a
bicycle riding against traffic. Alejandro follows the turban, it becomes a comet
when seen against the majesty of the red stone of Copper Union Building in the
background. A man with well developed pectorals and biceps comes out of the
news stand; he wears a wife-beater and tight jeans, frowns at the punk kids and
winks an eye to Alejandro, then crosses the street and enters The St. Marks
Baths. The day shift whore that stands at the corner of 10th St. and 3rd. Avenue
comes out of the St. Marks Hotel with a ‘john’ who hurries away, she crosses
the street and passes by Alejandro and the kids. Alejandro follows right behind
her as if letting her guide him home. Once at her corner she leans against the
wall and lights up a cigarette, Alejandro says “hello” and she responds with a
warm “how are you,” he smiles and continues walking; home is just a building
away.
The two locks to the entrance door to their apartment are on; it means no
one is home. He immediately is agitated, insecurity takes him over, he finds
Elizabeth’s note. He wants to believe she went to work but he doubts.
Whenever he doesn’t know where she is; his imagination propels a stampede of
thoughts as if conjured by the Devil himself. He picks up the telephone:
“Chelsea Hotel.”
“Room 1010, please.”
The telephone rings and rings, there is no answer. The concierge comes
back “I believe Mr. Brecht is out of town.”
“Thanks.”
He steps out to the street and walks hurriedly, he sees nobody and
observes nothing, he talks to himself out loud and reaches Billy’s on 6th Avenue.
He has never been inside the topless joint, he made it a point not to go to
whatever club Elizabeth worked but point or rules do not count any more, he
has to find out and goes in.
The dancer on stage is not Elizabeth, he asks the barmaid: “Is Georgia
dancing today?”
“No, she’s not, I think she works Thursdays.”
“Thank you.”
Alejandro leaves Billy’s and wants to go to The Hockey Puck, the other
club in Queens she works. All he knows is it is on Northern Boulevard across
from the cemetery. He runs home and frantically searches for the telephone
number in Elizabeth’s phone book.
‘Is Georgia working today?”
“No, she’s not here.”
“Thank you.” A sudden wind coils in his throat and nostrils, he emits a
chilling howl born deep in his diaphragm. She lied!
She always lied but her lies were inoffensive and funny; now, her lies hurt
all the time. Alejandro paces from room to room, sits down, gets up, paces
again and talks and swears and cries. He gets a black felt pen from his desk
and writes graffiti all over the four walls of the living room. He writes at least ten
times ‘The Fucker Is Back’ and runs out to the street again.
He needs to talk or be with someone. He finds himself in front of OTB on
14th Street and enters the parlor. He trusts and likes horse players. They display
their emotions shamelessly and are firm in their opinions although they are
wrong most of the time. It is a dark Tuesday and the only track available to bet
on is Finger Lakes. Ron, Bob and Steve argue and compare choices for the late
Daily Double, Alejandro jumps into the fray to no avail; his brain is over-heated
and his heart beats so fast he breaths through his mouth at intervals.
The OTB parlor empties, Alejandro is alone again and adrenaline increases
his impulse to run. He crosses Union Square diagonally and jogs north on Park
Avenue to 59th Street and turns left toward 5th Avenue. He is now walking,
taking deep breaths because of fatigue. Central Park is in front of him,
Sherman’s gilded statue, the Plaza Hotel and F.A.O. Schwartz go unnoticed, he
is oblivious to the physical beauty of those landmarks, his eyes only look for a
clock that will tell him how long until 9 pm.
The sun sets and it makes no difference in Manhattan, the city lights and
the interior illumination of sky-scrapers flood into the streets to replace it. It is 8
pm. He heads back home talking loudly to himself. No one pays attention -it is
not an anomaly- this is a city that sometimes makes a person speak loudly to no
one in particular.
This time only one lock is on; she is home. He enters like a bull coming
out of darkness ready to question her whereabouts.
“Alejandro! What are you doing home so early, why did you write on the
walls? What is wrong with you?” She asks; her voice quivering.
“He’s back, isn’t he?”
“Who is back?”
“The Fucker, Frog-face, the man you like to fuck! Did you make love to
him all afternoon, is there anything left for me? Did you get your rocks off?” He
rapid-fires.
“Oh Alejandro you are so crazy! I just came back from work.” She is
chocked up.
“You were not working! I went to Billy’s and called The Hockey Puck, you
were not there!
“I was at a bar in Brooklyn.”
“Show me your cunt! I’m sure it is filled with his dirty come!” Elizabeth
breaks up crying, she falls on her knees.
“Oh God please help me! My agent called me, he asked me to cover for
some one that didn’t show up for work; he offered extra money so I took the
job.” She’s crying uncontrollably.
“Where were you?” His bullying intensifies as he hovers over her.
“I told you, in Brooklyn!” She continues between heavy sobs, “I had a fight
with customers…they wanted me to do really lewd things…they were friends
with the manager and…it got really hot…I thought they were going to hurt me. I
just ran out, I was lucky the subway station is right by the club, I saw a cop and I
stayed next to him until the train came…and then I come home and find this
mess,” a chilling cry erupts, “I can’t take it anymore…I’m about to have a break
down and you are just so crazy! I want to go home!” She falls to the floor.
“This is your home!” he screams.
“No, it’s not my home anymore; it’s hell!”
“I thought you were with him.” He begins to withdraw his bullying.
“I told you I’m not seeing him!”
“Yeah, that’s because he’s not in town.”
“Oh Alejandro, please, stop, please.” She begs of him trying to recover
her composure and calmly goes to the bathroom. She drops three valiums in her
mouth and returns to the living room. Alejandro sits covering his face with both
hands.
“What are you doing in here? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I lost my job.”
“Oh no, it can’t be!” News of his dismissal mounts on Elizabeth’s battered
soul like fire on brush.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get another job.” Alejandro tries to embrace her but she
rejects his arms.
With no will to go on, Elizabeth heads to the bedroom and collapses on
the bed, she lays on her stomach, her sobs are almost muted. Alejandro sits by
her; relieved she was not with Stefan, he does not dare to move or touch her for
about ten minutes. He asks if she would like to have dinner but there is no
response, she is knocked out; the valiums have taken their effect. He lays down
by her womb in a fetal position.
Juan Valenzuela is a playwright, theater director and short story writer. Since 1974 he has worked in the off-off and way-off Broadway arena. His last adventure was as artistic director and manager of The YIPPIE Museum and Café at 9 Bleecker Street. He currently makes his money in the film and TV industry as a background actor and occasional bit parts.
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