The Misfortune Cookie

I stumbled toward the bar with one hand pressed gingerly over my eye while a mortified Ralph apologized to my retreating back. Amidst all the cheering and hugging, the accordionist began playing Auld Lang Syne. Everyone in the restaurant started singing. Everyone but me; I was elbowing my way through the crowd so I could get some ice from the bartender for my throbbing eye.

I leaned quietly against a wall for a few minutes, trying to keep out of the way as I soothed my eye with a couple of ice cubes wrapped in a linen napkin.

I’d met Lopez in the spring, and for the rest of the year, I’d had a lot of highs and lows because of him. The highs, though few and far between, kept making up for the lows . . . Until this past week. Now that I was out of the apartment and working again, now that it was a new year, a fresh start, time to shake off old troubles and bad habits . . . I realized just how low I had been in recent days because of him, and I was determined not to go back there. So I made my New Year’s resolution while huddled in the corner of a crowded mob hangout with a cold, wet napkin pressed to my teary eye.

From this moment on, I vowed to myself, I am getting over him. From this moment on, I’m only going forward and upward.

Feeling better, I dropped my melting ice cubes into the sink behind the bar, dropped my damp napkin into the laundry, and checked in with the kitchen, where I was expecting an order to be ready for a couple of late diners.

“Table seventeen?” said the cook. “Yeah, we just sent that out a second ago, Esther. That kid Ralph took it for you. He felt real bad about blinding you, or something?”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, grabbing some parmesan and heading for my table to make sure they had everything they needed.

Since Ralph was loaded down with plates of food and I wasn’t, I nearly caught up to him. A few more steps, and I could have prevented what happened next. As it was, though, I was only close enough to shout a warning when Ralph stumbled, his hand tilted, and a big serving of lasagna flew straight at Lucky’s head. Thanks to the reflexes that had probably saved his life on several occasions, Lucky sprang out of his chair when he heard me shout and saw the pasta flying straight at his face. But he wasn’t quite quick enough to escape contact, and it hit him squarely in the chest. A huge mound of gooey cheese and steaming tomato sauce clung to him lovingly for a moment, as if temporarily immune to the laws of gravity, then tumbled to the floor with a messy splatter that flecked his shoes and trousers with glistening red spots of savory sauce.

After a collective gasp, the whole restaurant fell silent, staring in awkward anticipation at the notorious old mobster who was now a sullied mess. Ralph looked white as a sheet, and I feared he might faint from sheer terror as Lucky scowled at him.

“You know,” Lucky said slowly, “I never whacked anyone for personal reasons. Not even once.” He looked down at his ruined shirt, then back at Ralph. “But I could make an exception.”

Ronnie and Jimmy guffawed. Ralph started hyperventilating. Stella grabbed the bus boy’s arm and dragged him away before he could pass out or vomit, either of which seemed possible. I snatched up the discarded linen napkins lying on Lucky’s table and started dabbing at the mess on his chest. Our accordionist began playing again, and the rest of the customers went back to their revels.

“That’s not gonna do any good,” Lucky said to me as I blotted and smeared. “What a mess.”

“Come on,” I said briskly, taking his arm. “We need a sink.”

“That kid needs to find another line of work,” Lucky grumbled as I led him through the restaurant. “Something where he ain’t endangering life and limb. And lasagna.”

“He’s going back to school in a couple of days,” I said soothingly.

“Christ, I hope he ain’t studying surgery or something like that.”

When we got to the door of the ladies room, which was my destination, Lucky balked. “I can’t go in there!”

“All right.” I pulled him across the narrow hall at the back of the restaurant and pushed open the other door. “Men’s room, then.”

“Hey!” A man inside exclaimed when he saw me entering.

“Oops.”

“Sorry!” Lucky dragged me back out of the room. “She’s sorry.”

Realizing the man was standing at the urinal with his fly unzipped, I closed my eyes until after Lucky had shut the door.

“You can’t go in there.” The old hit man was scandalized. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Very distracted tonight.”

For God’s sake, get him out of your head, would you? It’s a brand new year. Move on, already.

“Give me those.” Lucky said in exasperation as he snatched the napkins out of my hand. “I can deal with this myself. You go . . . do things.”

“Maybe you should take off your shirt and soak it for a few minutes,” I said.

“Oh, and then what am I gonna wear?”

“I’ll check the staff room and see if we’ve got any extra—”

“Never mind. I’ll figure out something. You just move along,” Lucky said to me. “That guy you interrupted in the john won’t want to see you standing here when he comes through this door.”

True enough. I nodded and went back out into the restaurant, leaving Lucky to try to clean about a pint of Bella Stella’s special sauce off his clothes.

As I passed Lucky’s table, Jimmy asked me, “Has Lucky killed the kid?”

“No, but I think he’ll be in the bathroom for a while,” I replied.

“We should have a name for that dish,” said Ronnie. “How about Lucky Lasagna?”

“With extra sauce!” Jimmy added.

While they enjoyed their laugh, Freddie the Hermit insisted it was time for the duet that Ned and I had promised.

“All right,” I said as Ned finished wiping a table and nodded his agreement.

“Mack the Knife!” Tommy Two Toes shouted.

“Yeah, give us Mackie again!” Ronnie said.

“That does it,” Ned said to me, losing all will to live. “I’m going to go drown myself in the kitchen sink.”

“Wait, wait.” I grabbed his arm as he turned to go. “I’m not taking requests for this one, fellas. It’s dealer’s choice.”

“Fair enough,” said Freddie. “Let the lady decide!”

The accordionist asked me, “What’ll it be, Esther?”

I thought of my New Year’s resolution. “From This Moment On.”

“I’m not sure I remember all the words,” Ned warned me.

“Just follow me,” I said with determination.

He did, and although we’d never worked together before, we performed well as a duo. So well that the customers demanded another song and we promptly complied. The crowd was jubilant, the joint was jumping, and by the time we were on our third song, The Best Is Yet To Come (in keeping with my personal New Year’s theme), the two of us were literally dancing on tabletops.

Ned leapt from Tommy’s table to Freddie’s while singing about what a ripe plum he had plucked from the tree of life.

Ronnie and Jimmy were swaying and singing along as I danced atop their table. Giving Ned a flirtatious look, I raised the hem of my black skirt to show him a modest flash of stocking-clad thigh as I sang that he ain’t seen nothin’ yet. This went over well, and our audience gave a boisterous cheer as I inched my hem a little higher and kept singing, smiling at Ned.

At that exact moment, Detective Connor Lopez entered the restaurant, wearing a dark blue vest with “NYPD” printed on it and his badge prominently displayed as he shouted, “Police! Nobody move!”