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𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 ─ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍
A man to which I didn't not know the name opened the door for me. I walked quickly past him and set the glasses down with a clink. They were all in deep conversation by the time I entered.
Tall, young, dark haired, and handsome. Very different than I though they'd look. All looking alike.
There were three. One eldest, looking a bit older, maybe in his 40s, and the youngest probably around my age.
I tried not to make eye contact, but the one with green eyes kept staring at me. I bit my lip nervously.
He was a gorgeous man, his hair perfect and brown, a 5 o'clock shadow grazing his jawline. His broad shoulders fit tight in his dark navy suit, a beautiful creation he was. Though his eyes looked tired, and his face was an expressionless emotion. The type of man who didn't ever seem to smile.
"The shipment reaches the dock tomorrow at 8 pm." The youngest looking one continued the conversation even though I was present.
His hair was cut shorter, and he was thinner, too. They were sitting, but I imagined him to be smaller than the one with green eyes.
I pour the whiskey into the glasses first to start them off, pretending not to listen to their conversation.
"That's perfect." The eldest replies. He wore glasses, had a few gray hairs, but I could tell he had good looks in his day also. It was hard to believe these were the men that owned this club, "Well, the hard work is done. I suppose we can celebrate. Your nightclub has strippers? Am I correct, sottocapo?" He asks, and my eyes glance up at the green eyed man.
He was still staring at me.
"What about this one? She's fucking gorgeous." The youngest leaned back on the loveseat, throwing a hand toward me.
All the eyes in the room shifted toward me, and I cowered under their gaze, quickly pushing the cork back in the bottle and standing up.
"No." The green eyed one finally spoke up, "No, she's just a waitress." He didn't break eye contact with me, and I bit hard into my lip. The youngest grins in the corner of my eye.
I grab the tray and run out of there.
"Hey, where'd you go? I thought you went to get more drinks." Kate stops me as I come down the stairs.
"Iris asked me to bring them some drinks." I glance back up the stairs, and her eyebrows shoot up.
"No way, what do they look like? Some of the strippers go on and on about how attractive they are." She says, "On a scale of one to ten how hot are they? Ten of course being Johnny Depp level."
I laugh softly, thinking back to the one with green eyes. The gorgeous man in the navy suit.
"Eleven." I reply simply, and walk past her. She silently fangirls.
"Oh my god! What do they look like? I bet their tall, have abs, and mysterious eyes..." She grabs my arm, "You're so lucky."
"Maybe next time you can ask Iris if you could bring it to them."
"And look desperate? No way." She follows me back to the bar, "Did you go to that museum you were talking about last week?" I shook my head no.
I didn't feel like going. I slept all day instead.
"It was thirty dollars to get in. Money's tight now days... maybe when I get my first paycheck from modeling." I say instead, and she nods like she understood.
"We could go together! I'm not really an art fan, but I'm totally up to go meet some artsy guys."
I don't think so.
"Okay." I answer, swallowing my feelings, "Sounds like fun."
Kate smiles at me. She was so pretty when she smiled. She was so pretty all the time actually with her bronze colored skin and her wavy black hair. Kate stood an inch taller than me, and while I was thin and skinny she was curvy and fit. If there was anyone who was naturally beautiful it was Kate.
"Refill?" Iris asks us. We nod.
More drinks fill our trays.
Iris told me the owner of the club asked what my name was. He said he asked because he had never seen me before.
I'm new, Iris told him. He said my name is Maria. Maria Wilson.
The owner requested for me to come pour their drinks every night. Only me.
Iris told me his name is Christian.
Christian Moretti.
The next day I do not come to work. Instead I sit on the edge of my apartment roof and wonder why me. Dozens of other waitresses have poured their drinks. Why am I special?
Yes, I am pretty. So is everyone else that works there.
I am not special.
I have never been special.
No one ever chooses me. So, why did he?
I sit on that roof a few hours. I look down at the sidewalk between my legs. I light a cigarette, take a swig of a flask. I look out at the horizon. Nothing's changed. My mother is still dead.
