The City of Dreams

I am neither exception, nor extraordinary; the last six months have taught me that.

I grew up knowing I wanted more than my hometown could offer, but I also convinced myself that was capable of more – that was the real mistake.

Six months ago, I kissed my mom and little sister goodbye, packed my bags, and made the trip to New York City. I’d never been to New York before I moved here, but I knew it was where inspiration lived and breathed, and that meant it was the place I needed to be. But, looking back now, maybe I was wrong…

It’s been one hundred and eighty-two days and I haven’t written anything remarkable. I knew I would work while I wrote, I just didn’t plan on working this much. But New York is expensive, and expenses need to be paid. So, here I am, another waitress in the city of dreams.

“Hey! Hey! Hello? Is anybody working here?”

I put my book down and walked through the kitchen door that lead to the bar.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting for service for half an hour.”

It was 12a.m. on a Thursday night, the bar was empty except for this drunk college guy and a table of his buddies. I looked at the clock knowing full well I had just checked on the table fifteen minutes ago, but who was I to argue with a drunk NYU undergrad.

“Sorry, about that. What can I get you?” I asked, smiling half-heartedly.

“Another round. And the bill” he said, slamming the two pitchers down on the counter.

“All the same?”

“What do you think?” he turned and walked back to the table.

I grabbed the pitchers off the counter and began refilling them. I walked over to the table and set the pitchers and the bill down in the center of the table.

“Anything else, gentlemen?”

“Nah, we’re good, Princess,” one of his friends smiled, a nasty look in his eyes.

“Alrighty then,” I turned on my heel to walk away, and as soon as I did the perv slapped my ass.

“What the - ” I whipped back around.

“Hey, mate, leave the lady alone.”

I turned to see where the voice came from; a middle-aged man that I had never seen before had walked in and approached the table.

“Who are you? Her father?” the boys laughed, egging the perv on, and paying no mind to the man who had walked in.

But as the man leaned across their table, his muscular six-foot frame towering over them, they quieted down, “No, just a man who knows how to treat a woman. You bother her again and you and will be taking this outside. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy stammered before shrinking in his seat.

A smile played on my lips as I walked back to the bar, the man walked alongside me and took a seat at the counter.

“Thanks for your help. You didn’t have to do that,” I said.

“Sure I did,” he replied as he picked up a drink menu.

“You didn’t. But, I appreciate that you did.”

“No problem,” he looked up at me and smiled.

That was the first time I noticed his bright blue eyes; they were both startling and stunning at the same time. I smiled shyly before quickly looking away.

“What can I get you?” I asked.

“You know what?” he put the menu aside, “Surprise me with your favourite thing on the menu, and a rum and coke.”

“You sure?”

“Positive,” he smiled again, dazzling me with his beautiful teeth that matched his beard, which was as white as snow.

“Coming right up.”

I walked to the kitchen and asked the guys for an order of fish and chips before walking back to the counter and fixing the man his drink.

He leaned on his elbows, watching me as I mixed his drink. I set the drink in front of him, “Your order should be out in ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” he looked at my name tag, “Chloe.”

“Not a problem….”

“Mark,” he smiled holding out his hand.

Nice to meet you, Mark,” his hand was smooth, but his handshake was firm.

“So, what is a nice girl like you doing working at this dingy bar?”

“Just trying to get by, I guess.”

He sipped his drink, “You guess?”

“I mean I’ve only been working here for a few months. It’s not my dream job or anything.”

“Gotcha. So, what is the dream job?”

I picked up a cloth and wiped the counter beside Mark, “It’s silly.”

“Dreams are never silly.”

I would have ignored the question or made something up, but when I looked up from the counter there was something about the way that he was looking at me so intently that made me tell him the truth.

“Well, I want to be a writer. I came to New York a few months ago to get inspired.”

“A writer, wow! Good for you. Did it work? Did New York inspire you?”

“Every day it inspires me, everyday there is something I want to write about. But most days I’m here working to pay rent. I haven’t written much of anything since I got here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

I shrugged, “So, what do you do?”

“Ah, nothing as interesting as writing. I’m in business,” he took another sip of his drink, “lots of numbers.”

“Is that what you always wanted to do?” I asked as I set cutlery down beside him.

“Not always but I’m happy where I am now.”

I smiled gently, “I’ll go check on your food.”

I walked back to the kitchen, grabbed his plate filled with crispy French fries and a golden piece of Halibut, and walked it back out to the counter.

I set the plate in front of Mark.

“This is crazy!” Mark stared at the plate, “This is what I always order whenever I come in. It’s my favourite thing on the menu.”

“What can I say? It was a lucky guess.” I smiled, “Anyway, I have some cleaning to do in the back. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Just one thing. Have you written anything that I would have read?”

“No probably not. But if you’re interested, you can check out my writing on this platform called Vocal.”

I wrote my Vocal handle on a napkin and passed it to Mark.

“Thanks, Chloe. I think I will.”

I walked back to the kitchen and spent the next twenty minutes doing some cleaning in the back. When I came out the bar was empty.

“Fuck!”

I rushed to the front door to see if I could catch Mark or the college guys. The street was dark and empty, not a person in sight.

I walked back to counter furious. Both of the bills would be coming out of my paycheque.

But as I approached the counter something caught my eye, a little black notebook next to Mark’s empty plate.

I picked up the notebook and on the first page there was a note and an envelope.

Dear Chloe,

I read your work. You are an incredibly talented writer, too good to be spending your time in a place like this. Go write the next great novel. I’ll keep an eye out for your name in the New York Times Bestsellers list.

Mark

PS I hope you like the notebook.

“The notebook is great but it sure as shit doesn’t pay the bills, Mark.” I muttered.

I opened the envelope and nestled inside was a cheque for the amount of $20 000 and a sticky note.

I hope this helps.

I clutched the cheque to my chest, “Thanks, Mark.”