Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 2: Where were you?

I struggled with my keyring to select the correct one for my apartment door. Angela had given me so many keys for the restaurant when I began working there, that I consistently lost track of the ones that personally mattered to me.

The keyring dropped to the cement floor with a loud clatter that echoed through the barren hallway of the fifth floor. It didn't go unnoticed as my door suddenly opened with Rory standing on the other side, wide-eyed.

"Where the hell were you?" he questioned. "We were waiting for like, almost two hours at the bar before we gave up and came home. You didn't get my texts?"

I trudged in past him and tossed my bag in a corner. "Sorry. Angela had me stay again."

Rory huffed as he did every time he rolled his eyes. "That bitch."

I laughed at his cynicism, but still dejected that I missed another night with my friends. "Where's Morgan?"

Rory locked the deadbolt and spun on his heels. He put his finger up to his lips. "She went to bed early. Apparently Attorney Tom ran her ragged today back and forth to the courthouse. She had a beer and some shots then was out—totally unlike her."

The bucket on the kitchen floor was recently emptied, since it was full to the brim that morning with water that leaked from somewhere in the ceiling. The plumber had still not shown up as scheduled for the third time, and it was my turn in the rotation to call our landlord and beg for assistance.

Rory curled himself up on the sofa as I dug around the refrigerator for a snack. Working more than full time at a restaurant was cause for my consistent loss of appetite. I decided that a sandwich-sized bag of grapes would fill the little growling hole in my stomach.

"So, tonight I was going to break the news to both of you, but you know I ended up just telling Morgan," he said.

I smirked and joined him in the nook that served as our living room. "I have a show next weekend!" His face beamed of joy and light. His eyebrows raised high in their perfect arch and his fists rested on his chin.

"What?!" I gasped, causing him to silently shush me again. I whispered, "What show?"

He smiled, exuberant of his achievements. "It's nothing major—a drag show uptown—but it's the group's tenth anniversary night. I'm one of the backup models."

"Oh my God! I'm so proud of you!" I threw my arms around him and he chuckled at my enthusiasm.

"Next Saturday the 14th, and we're leaving together, got it?" he said, holding my hands tight.

"Promise." We locked pinkies and set it in stone.

"How'd your night go?" he asked, taking a few grapes for himself and popping them in his mouth.

I rolled my eyes and Rory leaned forward with eagerness for a tasty story.

"I had someone call to make a reservation for twelve people, and he asked for the food to be on the table when they get there," I told him, failing to restrain a giggle.

His mouth hung open but he covered it with his hand. "Did they do it?"

I tossed a grape into my mouth and answered with a nod, "Angela will bend over backwards for these idiotic people."

"I don't need a mental picture of that," he squirmed. We shared a laugh but quieted ourselves again for Morgan's sake.

"There was this guy who came in and only ordered a fancy glass of bourbon," I said.

Rory's full face smile faded and he eyed me with an inquisitive glint in his eyes. "How'd he order it?"

"Neat. It was top shelf stuff—the kind no one ever orders there."