Maybe one day she would meet somebody, settle down, get married. But the boys and men that catcalled and whistled didn’t want a date. They wanted a lay.
The memory of her mom burned fiercely in Dina’s heart: the cars, the laughter, the aging playgirl, drunk and drugged – available for rich, powerful men.
That wasn’t going to be her. Dina hoped that one day a man would come, a guy who would blow her away, reduce her to rubble.
Trouble was, she didn’t find men that impressive. Nobody had stepped up in her mother’s life. Her darling brother was a flake. And the boys at school had been scared of being unpopular.
At seventeen, Dina Kane had learned the hard way.
Only rely on yourself.
‘You want to hang out with me, sweetcakes?’
His name was George Linden, and he was one of the most persistent college boys. With a daddy in the oil business in Texas, bright blond hair and a footballer’s physique, he could pick up almost any girl he wanted.
‘Your coffee’s coming right up,’ Dina said, brightly. She hated him and his group of hangers-on, the boys that would crowd around the golden god and cackle at everything he said. She pivoted on one heel, back to the kitchen.
‘Goddamn, that’s a beautiful view,’ Linden said loudly. ‘I could watch that ass all day.’
‘Mike –’ Dina spat it out to the manager as he handed her the pitcher and the stoneware mugs – ‘aren’t you going to throw them out?’
‘Come on, Dina. College is a big part of the store.’ Mike shrugged; he hadn’t liked having a teenage junior manager forced on him. As far as he was concerned, she wanted tips, so she was still just a glorified waitress. He didn’t serve up coffees. ‘You don’t have to wait tables, you know. It’s a choice.’
A choice she needed for rent. ‘Sure. Right.’ Dina gritted her teeth. She moved back to the table with the coffee, set it down, careful not to bend over too much at the waist. The dark pencil skirt of her uniform set her ass off nicely, and she hated the way the frat boys ogled and stared.
‘Here’s your coffee. Pastries?’
‘No, baby. You’ve got all the sweetness I want right here,’ Linden cackled. ‘Do you serve private parties? Me and the boys are having one on Saturday.’
‘Jesus, George! Cut it out.’
Dina lifted her head, blinking back tears, to see one of their number remonstrating loudly with his friend. He was slim and dark, with an intense look about him. ‘You’re such a giant douche bag,’ he said, before turning to Dina. ‘I apologise for our friend over here. He’s a loser. When confronted with an actual live woman, as opposed to a computer screen, he falls apart.’
More laughter, but now the group had turned on George. Dina flushed with relief as they looked away from her, jostling the blond kid.
‘Hey, fuck you, Edward.’ Linden jumped up and pushed his way out of the group, storming out of the store.
‘I apologise again. He was raised in a barn. Evidently.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Dina replied, quietly, and moved away.
When the gang of students left, Dina found a twenty-dollar tip on their table, and a note.
I’m so sorry about that incident. I’m embarrassed. Yours ever, Edward Fielding.
There was a business card attached, with a cellphone number.
Dina took the twenty bucks. She didn’t call the number.
At the end of her shift the next lunchtime, her dark-haired saviour from the other day was waiting for her.
‘Miss Kane?’
Dina jumped out of her skin. What was his name? Edward . . . Fielding , that was it.
‘Yes?’ she said.
She felt a little safer dressed in her dark coat, her black trousers, blouse and sweater – a better New York winter uniform than that tight skirt and pumps.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was wondering if I could see you for a second.’
‘How did you know my name?’
‘I asked the store manager. I hope that’s OK.’
Dina looked at him warily. He was handsome, and
The memory of her mom burned fiercely in Dina’s heart: the cars, the laughter, the aging playgirl, drunk and drugged – available for rich, powerful men.
That wasn’t going to be her. Dina hoped that one day a man would come, a guy who would blow her away, reduce her to rubble.
Trouble was, she didn’t find men that impressive. Nobody had stepped up in her mother’s life. Her darling brother was a flake. And the boys at school had been scared of being unpopular.
At seventeen, Dina Kane had learned the hard way.
Only rely on yourself.
‘You want to hang out with me, sweetcakes?’
His name was George Linden, and he was one of the most persistent college boys. With a daddy in the oil business in Texas, bright blond hair and a footballer’s physique, he could pick up almost any girl he wanted.
‘Your coffee’s coming right up,’ Dina said, brightly. She hated him and his group of hangers-on, the boys that would crowd around the golden god and cackle at everything he said. She pivoted on one heel, back to the kitchen.
‘Goddamn, that’s a beautiful view,’ Linden said loudly. ‘I could watch that ass all day.’
‘Mike –’ Dina spat it out to the manager as he handed her the pitcher and the stoneware mugs – ‘aren’t you going to throw them out?’
‘Come on, Dina. College is a big part of the store.’ Mike shrugged; he hadn’t liked having a teenage junior manager forced on him. As far as he was concerned, she wanted tips, so she was still just a glorified waitress. He didn’t serve up coffees. ‘You don’t have to wait tables, you know. It’s a choice.’
A choice she needed for rent. ‘Sure. Right.’ Dina gritted her teeth. She moved back to the table with the coffee, set it down, careful not to bend over too much at the waist. The dark pencil skirt of her uniform set her ass off nicely, and she hated the way the frat boys ogled and stared.
‘Here’s your coffee. Pastries?’
‘No, baby. You’ve got all the sweetness I want right here,’ Linden cackled. ‘Do you serve private parties? Me and the boys are having one on Saturday.’
‘Jesus, George! Cut it out.’
Dina lifted her head, blinking back tears, to see one of their number remonstrating loudly with his friend. He was slim and dark, with an intense look about him. ‘You’re such a giant douche bag,’ he said, before turning to Dina. ‘I apologise for our friend over here. He’s a loser. When confronted with an actual live woman, as opposed to a computer screen, he falls apart.’
More laughter, but now the group had turned on George. Dina flushed with relief as they looked away from her, jostling the blond kid.
‘Hey, fuck you, Edward.’ Linden jumped up and pushed his way out of the group, storming out of the store.
‘I apologise again. He was raised in a barn. Evidently.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Dina replied, quietly, and moved away.
When the gang of students left, Dina found a twenty-dollar tip on their table, and a note.
I’m so sorry about that incident. I’m embarrassed. Yours ever, Edward Fielding.
There was a business card attached, with a cellphone number.
Dina took the twenty bucks. She didn’t call the number.
At the end of her shift the next lunchtime, her dark-haired saviour from the other day was waiting for her.
‘Miss Kane?’
Dina jumped out of her skin. What was his name? Edward . . . Fielding , that was it.
‘Yes?’ she said.
She felt a little safer dressed in her dark coat, her black trousers, blouse and sweater – a better New York winter uniform than that tight skirt and pumps.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was wondering if I could see you for a second.’
‘How did you know my name?’
‘I asked the store manager. I hope that’s OK.’
Dina looked at him warily. He was handsome, and
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