The next hour was slow. Lena checked the reservation book three times even though she knew no one else was coming. She wiped the dust off the top of her podium with a cocktail napkin. It came away black. The saxophone player finished his set and packed up his case. He looked like he wanted to go home and sleep for a week.
Every time Lena looked up, Adrian was still there. He hadn't ordered another drink. He just sat there. He looked like a statue that had been placed in the booth as part of the furniture. He didn't look at his watch. He didn't check his phone. He just watched the room.
It was creepy. But she couldn't stop looking back.
What is he doing? Just sitting. Why? Maybe he's a cop. No, he's too rich for that. Maybe a lawyer. Private eye? Whatever. He needs to go.
The couple at the table next to him finally left. The man was still complaining about the ice. As they walked past Lena, the woman whispered, "That guy in the corner is giving me the shivers."
Lena just nodded and smiled. "Have a good night."
She grabbed a tray and went to clear their table. It was an excuse to get closer to table nine. She felt like a magnet was pulling her that way, even if she didn't like the feeling. She picked up the dirty martini glasses. There was a soggy olive left in one.
"The ice was fine," Adrian said.
Lena jumped. She hadn't realized he was looking at her. She nearly dropped the tray.
"Excuse me?"
"The man. He was wrong about the ice. It was perfectly clear," Adrian said. He hadn't moved a muscle. He was leaning back in the booth, his arms draped over the leather.
"He likes to complain," Lena said. She didn't want to talk. She just wanted to take the glasses and leave.
"Most people do," Adrian said. "It makes them feel important. Like they have standards."
Lena set the tray down on the empty table. She didn't know why she did it. She should have just walked away. But she stood there, looking at him. Up close, he looked even more tired. The light from the candle on the table caught the scar on his eyebrow. It looked like a little lightning bolt.
"You're still here," she said. It was a stupid thing to say.
"I am."
"We close in an hour."
"I can read a clock, Lena."
She felt her face get hot. He was being difficult. Or maybe she was just being sensitive. She picked up the tray again.
"Why are you watching me?" she asked. The question just came out. It sounded blunt and kind of rude.
Adrian tilted his head. "I'm not watching you. I'm watching the way you handle the room. You're very efficient."
"I've had practice."
"I can tell. You move like someone who's spent a lot of time making sure people don't notice her."
Lena gripped the tray harder. He's doing it again. Talking about things he shouldn't know. "I'm a hostess," she said. "My job is to make sure the customers are happy, not to be the center of attention."
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Adrian asked. He finally reached for his glass and took a sip. It was mostly melted ice now. "You're hiding, Lena. It's written all over you. The way you check the door every time it opens. The way you stand. You're waiting for someone to walk in and recognize you."
"You don't know anything about me," she snapped.
"Maybe not," he said. "But I know what fear looks like. I've seen it in the mirror enough."
Lena didn't have an answer for that. She felt like she'd been slapped. She turned around and walked back to the bar, her heart hammering. She dumped the glasses in the sink and didn't care if they broke.
I need to get out of here. This guy is crazy. He's just some rich prick who thinks he's deep.
She spent the rest of the shift in the back office, pretending to do paperwork. Her eyes kept drifting to the security monitor. It was a grainy black-and-white screen that showed the floor. There he was. Table nine. He didn't move.
When it was finally time to close, Lena came back out. The lights were turned up, which always made the lounge look sad. You could see all the stains and the dust. It looked like an old woman with too much makeup on in the morning light.
Adrian was standing by the coat check. He had his overcoat back on. He looked like he was about to leave, but he was waiting for her.
"Goodnight, Lena," he said as she walked past him to lock the front door.
"Goodnight, sir," she said, not looking at him.
"You forgot your umbrella," he said.
She stopped. "I don't have an umbrella."
He held out a black one. Not the expensive one he'd come in with. This was a cheap, collapsible one. "I saw it behind your stand. You probably shouldn't leave it."
She looked at the stand. There was no umbrella. She looked back at him. He was holding it out, his expression unreadable.
"That's not mine," she said.
"Take it anyway," he said. "It's still raining."
He pressed it into her hand. His fingers were cold. For a second, their skin touched, and Lena felt a weird jolt go up her arm. It wasn't like a spark in a book. It was more like a static shock.
He didn't wait for her to say thank you. He just pushed open the heavy door and walked out into the rain.
Lena stood there, holding the cheap umbrella. She felt shaky. She felt like she'd just survived something, but she didn't know what.
She locked the door and leaned her forehead against the glass. Outside, the street was dark and empty. She couldn't see him anymore.
She looked down at the umbrella. It was wet. She realized then that he'd given her his own umbrella, or maybe he'd just found it. But it didn't matter.
She felt like he'd left a mark on her. And she didn't know how to wash it off.