The days in Princeton went excruciating slow or pleasantly fast depending on Art's presence. He had to juggle working at the lounge and taking care of his mom who contracted the flu. He would try to make time to see me before he went to work, but sometimes our plans didn't pan out.
I hated being dependent on him. Our relationship grew more everyday but it didn't feel right. I felt like it wasn't okay for me to become close to another man. I didn't have any romantic feeling towards Art. I felt safe with him and it seemed like everything else didn't matter when I was with him. He had a good way of distracting people.
I walked into the buzzing restaurant and made my way to the bar. Art was putting on a show with his mixology skills for a couple of older woman. They watched him with predatory eyes and licked their lips in hunger. He didn't seem uncomfortable, more so unbothered by the lust.
He turned around to get liquor of the shelf and spotted me. "Hey," he mouthed and smiled.
I waved at him and he turned around to pour the ladies their drink. Each of the ladies tipped him fifty dollars. In total, he received about $150 for about five minutes or less of entertainment. The math of it reminded me of my days at the Red Lounge. I brushed my hair back with my fingers as I felt a strong head pain slowly creep through. All the chattering and loud playing of the instruments dimmed as my thoughts became darker.
"Hey, are you okay?" Art asked, rubbing my arm.
The pain vanished and I looked at him with relief. "Yeah, it just felt like I got hit on the side of the head."
He knitted his eyebrows and placed his hand on the back of my head. "I had a lot of those a few years back. I got into a pretty bad fight and the asshole pushed my head back against a cinder block. I broke it in half."
"Oh my God, that's intense... are you okay?"
He waved at himself. "I'm here," he chuckled.
I rolled my eyes and shoved him. "I know that, but is your head okay? Any permanent damage?"
He smirked. "Yes, I'm okay. Are you okay?" He ran his fingers through my curls and softly massaged the back of my head.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, looking into his light brown eyes.
"You should work here," he whispered.
"What?" I asked.
"I think you should work here. It'll give you something to do and the pay is fantastic. The hours are from 6 PM to 2 AM." He chuckled as he watched my eyebrows shot up. "Too late for you, doe?"
Those were about the same hours I would work at the The Red Lounge. The smiliarites of those two places filled me with wistfulness. It seemed like the first stepping stone into creating the same life as I did in DC. I didn't plan on staying in Princeton too long, but it wouldn't hurt to set up a life here.
"Sure, I can work here. Where is the manager? Can I speak to them?"
Arturo's eyes widen and he placed his long finger against my lip. "No, no. Don't ever say the word manager. He would go ballistics! We either call him Monsieur or Boss."
I slumped back and looked around. The security placed around the resturant eyed us. "They are watching us."
Art recomposed himself and walked back to the bar. "They're watching me. They are his eyes and ears."
"What do you mean?" I asked, leaning forward.
"You'll never see Monsieur. It's like spotting a wolf, it's very rare. He always inside the building just never in sight. He has his goons keep everyone in check."
I wrinkled my nose and blinked several times. "That's pretty fear inflicting. Don't you think? What restaurant has goons?"
Art shrugged his shoulders. "I've only been working for a year. Bailey on the other hand has been working here for about three years. She said two years ago there was bad fight. Groups of men slamming shit, physical attacking people, someone even brought a gun and wanted to rob the whole plaxe. Monsieur had to shut the place down for a month to get the place up and running again. Everyone was traumatized and didn't want to come back to work. That's when he apparently got them," he said, tilting his head to the tall bald men in the front of the restaurant.
The slight head ache was slowly returning. I narrowed my eyes as my vision started to blur. The room felt like it was swaying back and forth, the slams of the drum transformed into gunshot noises and the laughter of diners sounded evil. I gripped onto the side of the bar as I felt out of balance. The saying of the room became too much and I suddenly fell off the bart stool, collapsing onto the floor.
"Morena!" Art yelled, and within seconds he was by my side.
I slowly opened my eyes and could sense all the attention on me. The music faded out, the singer stopped, the room was filled with mumbles of concern and curiosity.
One of the goons walked over and helped Art lift me up. "Boss says to put her in the back."
I attempted to lift myself up. "I'll just go home," I mumbled frantically.
The goon shook his head. "No, go to the back."
"Fucking hell," Art mumbled as he wrapped his arm around my waist and walked me towards the back of the restaurant.
"They can't do this," I told him. "I can go back to the hotel. They can't keep me here, Art. This is a restaurant!"
"I'm sure you can tell this place is different than most restaurants. Plus, I want to see you again. If you ignore his orders, you'll most likely not be able to come back here."
The amount of authority Monsieur had was frightening. He had people listening in conversations for him and people listened to his every order. My eyes wandered around the restaurant and spotted the cameras that were strategically placed. This restaurant was clearly not just a place to dine and the employees knew that.
We walked down a dimly lit hallway and stood in front of a dark red door. Art opened the door, revealing a small room with two leather black arm chairs and a gold hutch in between them. A simple yet beautiful painting was hanging above the cabinet.
Art lowered me onto the chair and placed his elbow on the top. He tapped his foot impatiently as we waited for Monsieur to enter the room. We stood in anticipation for fifteen minutes and our heads turned towards the direction of the door as it slowly crept open.
A tall, lean man with black hair hovered in front of the door. His eyes were hazel and stared at us with such intensity that I had to turn my head away. He walked into the room, a cane in his right hand and made himself visible to me again.
"You may leave," he spoke to Arturo in a low tone.
Arturo's body twitched. He wanted to go, but something kept him bond to the room. "I rather stay."
An entertained smirk crept onto Monsieur's face. "You answered as if you had any say. Leave, now." His voice was laced with a French accent which was more noticable when he spoke for longer.
Art's jaw tense and he glanced down at me. I gave him a tiny nod and he reluctantly walked out of the room, slamming the door on his say out.
Monsieur sat down on the other arm chair and crossed his legs. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and slowly leaned back onto the chair. He placed his hand under his chin, rubbing his facial hair, and glared at me.
"What brings you to Princeton?" He asked.
"What gives you the impression I'm from elsewhere?" I asked, avoiding his question.
He chuckled and nodded. "I haven't seen your face around here. I'm almost certain you're not from here. I would've remembered a face like yours." He narrowed his eyes and watched me attentively.
He had to be in his mid forties, possibly even fifty. He was extremely handsome for his age. It almost hurt to look at him. A mix of intimidation and confusion filled me. I snapped my focus away from him and looked at his cane.
"It's just a prop," he said, lifting it up. "Would you like a job?" He asked, suddenly. "I've seen you here the past few nights. I think you'd be a good addition to our family." A smile broke across his face.
I raised an eyebrow up, thinking about his offer. I shook my head and leaned back. "No, the dynamic here is strange." Arturo's feared expression and resistance to leave the room entered my mind.
His smile vanished and he gripped onto his cane. "I've heard no complaints."
"I think people are scared of you," I answered.
"Good," he said slowly as he stood up. He carelessly placed with the flowers that were on the hutch. "What truly brings you here, Morena?" My name come out of his mouth with delicacy yet firmness. It made me feel like giving him the truth.
"I'm just visiting," I answered vaguely.
He hummed and continued to play with the flowers. "What are you expecting out of this visit?"
"I'm not sure. Perhaps... a piece of me? I felt lost where I used to live. I had to leave." I didn't understand why I was expressing myself yet to another stranger. Though, there was something about his demeanor at that moment that made me feel comforted and heard.
"We all get lost," he answered, simply. I looked at him and caught a moment of vulnerability. He looked saddened and greatly afflicted by our conversation.
His eyes met mine and he straightened himself. Any signs of emotions disappeared from his face. "We've been here long enough. Let's go to the restaurant."
He opened the door and held it until I walked past him. A swinging dance type of music echoed through out the main room. Smooth vocals caressed my ears and brought a smile to my face.
If you're blue and you don't know where to go to
Why don't you go where fashion sits?
Puttin' on the ritz
Different types who wear a day coat, pants with stripes
And cutaway coat, perfect fits
Puttin' on the ritz
A few heads turned toward our direction and people's eyes widen with excitement. The goons seemed to be on high alert, walking closer towards our direction, as Monsieur started gaining more attention. A man jumped out the bar and placed his hand on Monsieur's shoulder. One of the goons looked like he was going to pounce on the man.
"There you are, you bastard! Long time no see!" He laughed deeply.
Monsieur gripped the man's shoulder and widely smile. "Hello, old friend!"
They started to exchange words in a hushed tone. I awkwardly stood next to them, not knowing when it was my que to go.
Monsieur turned around to face me and offered a gentle smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, petite chou."
And for some odd reason, I hoped that was a promise.