A Dream for Two (2 page)

***

Elise barely slept that night. She tossed and turned and wondered what New York would be like. Would the people there be kind and friendly or would they exist in their own world? Could she exist there? She was a Southern girl from a small town, what if she wasn’t up to living in the big city?

When sleep failed to come Elise crept out of bed and picked up her beloved guitar which rested by her headboard. Quietly she strummed a few notes and sang a bittersweet melody she made up there and then about the bravery needed to follow your dreams. When Elise finished singing she quickly scribbled down the notes and lyrics for the song in her old notebook. Flicking back through the pages she found many songs she had written over the years, but none had been written recently. None until that night. It seemed that even the promise of adventure had been enough to reignite her creative instincts.

As the first rays of sunlight crept in beneath her curtains Elise’s bags were already packed. Her guitar was locked in its case and her notebook was tucked safely between her two favorite pairs of jeans. She was ready to get on that bus, to follow her dream.

“So are you doing this?” Annabelle asked as she helped Elise load her stuff into her car so that they could drive to the bus station.

“Yeah,” Elise grinned enthusiastically, hope rising high in her chest. “I’m doing this.”

It was the noise which first shocked Elise. New York was an impossibly loud city. She pulled her bag along towards an apartment listing she’d found in the newspaper. As she walked, her ears were assaulted by a cacophony of car horns, jackhammers and raised voices.

And it was busy. On the road cars idled bumper to bumper as drivers impatiently waited for the lights to change. Even on the sidewalk people hurried along by the dozens, hundreds even. Elise lost count of the times she’d been shoved aside by someone desperate to pass her by. No one smiled, no one offered to help her with her bag. She was clearly a long way from home.

Finally she arrived at the address stated in the newspaper. As she stood outside the building she reread the listing to ensure she was at the right place. Her heart sank when she realized she was.

Elise was standing outside a four-story building. Half of the windows were boarded up, the other half were so dirty that you couldn’t even see through them. The listing said “a city location in an apartment share perfect for first timers to New York.” Elise took a deep breath and hauled her bag up the few steps which led to the front door.

***

“Rent is five hundred dollars a month, with two months paid up front,” a harassed-looking man told her as he unlocked the apartment door.

“The others are out at work at the moment,” he explained. Elise peered past him into the small space. She could see a sofa which had been utilized into a bed, a kitchen and the door to what she guessed was the bathroom. She wasn’t sure how one person could live there, let alone three.

“I’m here because of my music,” Elise blurted nervously, tapping the guitar case currently strapped to her back.

“Sure you are,” the man gave her a deliberately false grin.

“Five hundred dollars,” he pointed a grime-covered finger at Elise. “If you’re late on rent I kick you out, don’t think you can win me over with some sob story. I’ve heard ’em all.”

He handed Elise a rusted set of keys and disappeared back down the stairwell. Tentatively she walked further into her new apartment. The air smelled of sweat and moldy cheese. She considered opening a window but wasn’t sure the stench of the street outside would fare any better.

Sighing deeply, she thought of her grandmother’s house, of her white picket fence and small, immaculate lawn where Elise would sit and strum her guitar and bask in the sun. So far, New York was far from the dream she’d hoped it to be.

***

“You’re going to need a job,” Gloria, one of Elise’s two roommates, declared fervently. She had arrived back at the apartment just over an hour ago wearing a bright red dress and matching apron. Gloria was an aspiring actress and had been living in the city for eighteen months.

 “I was hoping I could earn with my music,” Elise pointed at her guitar case which was now resting against the sofa.

“Nah, not going to happen,” Gloria pointed a long purple nail at Elise and pursed her lips and shook her head quickly.

“You need real money and you need it now. You might be Taylor freaking Swift on that thing but getting noticed takes time. Until then, you got rent to pay.”

Elise glanced despondently at her new acquaintance. She had hoped that moving to New York would mean escaping her old life; her old dead-end job, too, instead of just acquiring a new one.

“They’re hiring at the café where I work,” Gloria suggested helpfully. “Just waitressing, but the tips are good. I can put in a word for you if you like?”

“Yes, please, that’d be good,” Elise smiled kindly, tucking a stray bang behind her ear.

“You’re one of those Southern shy types,” Gloria grinned, revealing two rows of immaculately white teeth.

“I give it three weeks and the city will have knocked that out of you!”

“You think?”

“City living is hard, country girl! Hope you’re ready for it!”

***

Elise was halfway through her second shift at Deena’s Diner and she was already exhausted. Her hair stuck to her head in clumps, soaked with sweat as she hurried among the tables to take the breakfast orders of the gathered regulars. Everyone had such specific needs:

“Fried eggs, but only one over easy.”

“Coffee, just a dash of sugar and cream, not milk.”

“French toast, but no syrup.”

Elise frantically scribbled down everything she could and then dashed off into the intense heat of the kitchen to give the orders to Laurence, the resident chef. He was a big man who barked orders with ease and seemed to like giving the waitresses a hard time.

“His bark is worse than his bite,” Gloria had whispered to Elise during her first shift. “You’ll get used to everything, don’t worry.”

“I don’t think your new girl can hack it!” Laurence had roared, laughing slightly as Elise, flustered, handed him a wad of new orders.

“She can handle it,” Gloria confidently told the chef. “She’s the next Claire Parry, don’t you know?”

“Argh,” Laurence waved a dismissive hand towards her. “Everyone is the next something or other. Why can’t anyone just be new?”

“You’re too cool, Laurence, you know that?” Gloria had teased him.

“Serve this up and stop wasting my time,” Laurence had snapped back though his eyes were kind even if his tone wasn’t.

Elise watched their back-and-forth banter with fear. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be confident enough to talk back to Laurence like that. Heck, she couldn’t talk back to anyone. Manners mattered, her grandmother was always telling her.

“Come on, move it!” a waitress nudged Elise sharply as she passed her by carrying a tray piled high with fresh dishes.

Gloria was off during Elise’s second day at work. Apparently she had a casting call which she just couldn’t miss. Elise felt a little lost without her new friend there to guide her. She did her best to keep on top of her orders, to remember the shorthand when she wrote things down, to take the correct order to the correct table, but after four hours her mind had turned to mush and her legs ached to the point where she feared they might just fall off.

Her time in the offices of Curtis Cleaning Products hadn’t prepared her for the demands of such a physical job.

“Can I take your order?” she asked a little breathlessly as she approached her next table. A group of guys around her own age were settled within the booth. They were all handsome but the guy closest to her really stood out. He had jet-black hair cut in a trendy style and piercing blue eyes which were now observing Elise. She felt her cheeks beginning to burn.

“We’ll have the usual,” the blue-eyed stranger told her.

“The usual?” Elise reiterated in confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m new, I don’t know what the usual is.”

“Don’t apologize,” the stranger told her. “You’ve done nothing wrong, why are you apologizing?”

“I’m sorry–” Elise was getting flustered. What was the usual? Gloria hadn’t mentioned that.

“Dylan, lay off her!” one of the other guys shouted, kicking his friend beneath the table.

“Yeah, man, she’s new, give her a break,” said another guy in the group.

So the handsome stranger had a name: Dylan.

“Four coffees, black, and four plates stacked as high as possible with pancakes,” Dylan arched an eyebrow at her as he reeled off their usual order.

Elise scribbled furiously in the notepad she was clutching.

“Coming right up,” she told them nervously.

“There’s a big tip in it for you if it’s in the next ten minutes or so,” Dylan told her cockily, as though he had all the money in the world.

“We’ve got band practice at ten.”

Band practice? Elise looked back at the group with renewed interest. Were they actually some big-shot band? There must be loads of famous bands living in New York, was one of them there, right now, in the diner where she worked?

“I’m actually a musician,” Elise told Dylan shyly, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“No,” Dylan shook his head and stared blankly at her. “You’re a waitress who is about to lose out on my very generous tip.”

Elise practically sprinted away from the table. She felt so humiliated. When she returned with their food fifteen minutes later, she deliberately stalled for as long as she could, and she refused to even look Dylan in the eye. She silently placed down their coffee and pancakes and left. As she walked away she was certain she could hear them all sniggering, probably about her. Whatever band they were in, she sure as hell wasn’t going to listen to any of their songs.

The diner began to empty around ten. Elise watched Dylan and his band mates leave from a safe distance. They each wore skinny jeans and a statement t-shirts but Dylan also wore a leather jacket.

“He thinks he’s so cool,” Elise seethed to herself. When she was quite sure they were gone she went over to clear their table. They had left her a five-dollar tip, beside which was a hastily scribbled note:

“It could have been ten ; ).” In protest she left the five dollars for someone else to claim.

***

At four o’clock Elise finished her shift, having endured the breakfast and lunch rush. At least she was free from doing the dinner shift. In contrast, Gloria was just about to start her shift. The girls passed on the street and briefly embraced before going their separate ways.

Elise’s feet were now numb, having gone past the point of agony several hours ago. She walked briskly towards the subway entrance, careful to keep her purse pressed tightly against her body. She’d heard about the crime in New York and other cities and she refused to become a statistic. Besides, she could just imagine her grandmother’s outrage if she got mugged. The old woman would be taking the next bus out there to hunt down the perpetrator herself.

As busy as the streets were, Elise tried to take in the city. She walked by diners, bookstores, souvenir shops, laundromats. The city seemed to have everything. She slowed when she approached a bar which was currently closed. On the window musical notes had been ornately painted and as she peered into the dark interior she could make out the outline of a grand piano.

Eagle’s Bar, the sign read. Elise continued to survey the exterior of the bar. A worn cocktail menu was plastered up outside and beside that a poster, much brighter and newer, advertised a weekly open mic night. The next one was the coming Thursday. Elise mentally ran through her work schedule. She was on early starts all week.

“Walk-Ins Welcome” was written on the poster.

There was apparently no need to sign up for the open mic night. Elise continued to look at the poster. It boasted of an eager, live audience willing to find New York’s next big voice in music.

“No, you’re a waitress,” Dylan the band idiot’s voice bounced around Elise’s head. She swatted at it as though it were an unwanted bug. She’d prove him wrong. She’d go to the open mic night that Thursday, play her music and have people appreciate her for being a musician. She was so much more than a waitress, than an office worker. Her grandmother had helped her see that, had helped her find her previously lost faith in herself.

“Hey, watch it!” someone declared tersely, almost colliding with Elise as she stood motionless on the sidewalk reading the poster.

“Sorry,” Elise instinctively responded in her soft Southern lilt. Then she internally berated herself. She really did need to stop apologizing so much.