Chapter 2

* * * *

Two days and too many restaurants later, Mark was beginning to wonder if coming to New York had been his best idea after all. When it had first occurred to him that he wanted to be in a large city where he could be just one person among millions, it had seemed like a good idea. Find a job, a small apartment, and be like half the population, a working stiff, a non-entity.

I’m definitely feeling like a non-entity.

He realized this ruefully as he pushed open the door to a small Italian diner called Johnny F’s, about ten blocks from the hotel. It was mid-afternoon and he felt as if he’d been walking forever. He was hot, tired, and about ready to call it a day.

Crossing to the counter, that ran the length of one wall, he took a seat and looked around. The opposite wall of the diner was paneled in dark mahogany with pictures and photographs of Italy hanging above the backs of padded benches. The tables were covered with white linen, with chairs on the other side of them from the benches. He realized, turning back to the counter, it served both for eating and as a bar, if the drinks in front of the few men seated there were any indication.

There were three employees at the moment—as far as he could see; a somewhat frazzled looking thirty-something man behind the counter, and two waiters who were taking orders from customers. He figured there must also be cooks in a kitchen, hidden behind the scenes.

“May I help you, sir?” the counterman asked.

Mark nodded, ordering a cup of coffee, and then said, “Is the manager around?”

The man chuckled tiredly. “That would be me.”

“Great. I don’t suppose you’re hiring?”

“That depends. Do you have any wait experience?”

“It’s been a while, but yeah, I do.”

The man smiled slightly. “Define ‘a while’.”

“Back when I was in college.” As they’d been talking, the man had poured Mark some coffee. He took a sip, nodding appreciatively. Thanks to all the restaurants he visited in the last three days, he’d become somewhat of a coffee connoisseur and this was excellent.

Eyeing him, the man commented, “Which was a few years ago.”

Mark nodded. “True, but I think I still remember the ropes.”

“What have you done since then?”

As this was the first time someone had seemed remotely interested in hiring him, Mark realized he hadn’t prepared an answer that wouldn’t have them looking at him askance. Still he figured an honest reply would be the best one. “I was a priest up until two weeks ago, give or take.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Mark chuckled. “Now would an ex-priest lie?”

Leaning on the counter, the man eyed him. “Depends on why you’re ‘ex’, I suppose.”

Fudging the truth a bit, Mark told him, “I finally realized it wasn’t what I wanted anymore. And for a priest, being dedicated is a must.”

“So now you’ve decided being a waiter is your next calling?”

“Quite honestly, at this point it’s probably the only work skill I have.”

The man nodded slowly. “Tell you what…umm…”

“Mark. Mark Collins.”

“Johnny Fiore,” He held out his hand and they shook. “I could use another waiter and I’m willing to give you a try. When can you start?”

“Yesterday?” Mark replied with a laugh.

“How about tomorrow instead? Show up here at ten. We’re open from eleven to eleven, seven days a week.” He snapped his fingers, beckoning to one of the waiters when both of them looked his way. The man—Mark figured he was in his late twenties—came over and Johnny introduced him. “This is Remo, my cousin. Remo…Mark. He’ll start working tomorrow.”

“About time you got someone,” Remo grumbled before adding, “Good to meet you, Mark.”

“Watch the counter for a few, please, while I have Mark fill out the requisite paperwork.”

Mark sighed silently in relief as he followed Johnny to his office. At least I won’t be starving in the near future, if this works out.

* * * *

As he showed Mark around the next morning, Remo, his words tinged with a faint Italian accent, asked, “So what’s your story?”

“I’m new in town. Came here from the Midwest…”

“Looking for fame and fortune?” Remo said with a laugh.

“Nope, just for a new life.”

“This is the city for that, for sure. I came over here seven years ago from Sicily. Johnny took me in, hired me, and now I’m married with a kid on the way.”

“Congratulations.”

They were in the kitchen at that point, where Remo introduced him to the two cooks then explained the routine for placing orders and picking them up. “We pride ourselves on fast service and now that you’re here, we might even be able to do that,” he said with a laugh.