Faint Hopes by Ken Liebeskind
The money picked up in the summer as business boomed, with most of New York eager to sip drinks and eat salads in the majestic setting. David was working so hard he could hardly think about having an affair with a co-worker, but at the end of the shifts there was usually time. After work, a group went out to bars in the neighborhood, eager to spend some of the cash they’d just made on cold beer and other drinks. At McMahon’s, the Irish bar a block away, the group crowded around a small table one night, gabbing about the shift. David sat with Mike, discussing their valiant effort. They’d just made $150 each. “Are you happy? I’m happy,” David said. “I’m so happy I could puke,” Mike said nonchalantly. “Uh oh,” David said. He backed up and bumped into Dawn in the process.
She was holding a tall drink, a mimosa or something, that spilled onto David’s shirt when he bumped her. “That feels good,” he said, with a wink, and Dawn pretended to spill the rest of the drink on top of his head, which made him shake nervously for a second. She was wearing a brown halter top that showed off her figure, and a short skirt that exposed her long legs. She was basically a bundle of energy. “And how was your night?” David asked her. “Oh, it was a trip,” she said. It was hard to imagine a hostess job being a trip, but then again for Dawn everything was. He just had to smile at her.
“I spilled your drink, so I guess I owe you one,” David said. “What’ll it be?” “Sex on the beach,” Dawn said. It was neat hearing those words come out of her mouth and it made David laugh. Actually, the drink had become popular that summer, so it was no big deal. It was just vodka and a couple of fruit juices. But with Dawn it took on an added meaning. Not that she had to announce her sexuality, since she exuded it so easily.