Brooklyn Girls by Gemma Burgess Read Free Book Online Page A

give you one guess why.
    “How may I—”
    “Menus?” says one of them loudly, a man with “Pete’s Gym” written on his cap. He’s sweating profusely from the energy it takes his body just to exist. “We need menus .”
    “We want to order ?” enunciates his wife carefully, a frowsy blonde with a non-ironic fanny pack. She makes a big square in the air with her hands.
    “Menu! Hungry!” says Pete’s Gym again, pointing to his mouth and making a chompy-chomp motion with his jaw.
    I smile tersely, turn around, and grab them some menus. If they’re going to assume I don’t speak English, I’m not going to bother to correct them. I drop the menus off with a smile and head back to the kitchen to get the first rounds of garlic bread for table five. Then I run the desserts over to table three, where Pia, the little girl, is now singing a song about mud.
    “Thanks, Pia!” she shouts.
    “No problem, Pia!” I call back.
    I head back to the tourist table, as Bianca still isn’t around. They order, still shouting and enunciating their words as though I’m an idiot. I just smile and write everything down. There is no point in rising to it.
    Then I hear this:
    “Lordy, there are so many of them in New York,” murmurs Fanny Pack. “I wouldn’t feel safe, I really wouldn’t.…”
    They think I’m threateningly exotic-looking, possibly Middle Eastern, probably Muslim, and therefore, I pose a threat to national security. I should be used to it, but my heart starts hammering with anger/anxiety/[insert your extreme emotion of choice HERE], and before I can say anything, I’m bumped out of the way by Jonah, the hot bartender.
    “Good evening, folks! I’m Jonah, and I’m here to take your drinks order. You sir, look like the kind of man who would be in charge of wine.” Jonah’s Texan drawl makes the out-of-towners feel right at home. “Am I right?”
    “We don’t drink.” Fake Nails smiles at Jonah like he’s the second coming of Billy Graham.
    “Four large Diet Cokes,” says Pete’s Gym.
    “No ice in mine,” interrupts the other guy, staring at my boobs. Sheesh, I hate that. “They try to cheat you out of the drink with extra ice,” he adds, not quite under his breath.
    “No ice in any of them,” says Biggest Fattest, winking at Boobs Guy.
    “Very good, sir, and may I say, inspired choice.” Jonah is really oozing Texan charm now. “Aspartame is exceptional this time of year. I’ll send your waitress right over with them.…”
    Jonah grabs me by the waist and hustles me away.
    “Where the hell is Angelo when you need him?”
    “They said … they were—” I’m stammering with rage as we get to the bar.
    “I know. Well, I don’t know, but I can imagine.”
    “How?” I snap. “Tell me, blondie, how often do you get mistaken for a crazy jihadist?”
    “Calm down, princess.” Jonah fills up four glasses with Diet Coke. “They’re just ignorant. Bianca!”
    “Wha’?” says Bianca, sauntering in from the back, followed closely by the smell of cigarettes. “I was on the phone with my business manager.”
    “Cosmo?” says Jonah. “He’s a loan shark. Don’t big him up.”
    “He’s nice!” exclaims Bianca, punching Jonah playfully. Flirting for beginners.
    “Please tend to your table,” I say through gritted teeth.
    “Chill,” says Bianca, picking up the tray of drinks.
    I glance at Jonah. “My name is Pia, by the way. Not princess.”
    “I know,” he says, flashing a whiter-than-white movie-star smile. “Princess suits you.”
    I look over. Bianca is serving the Diet Cokes. Everyone at the table is leaning forward, whispering to her intently, glancing over at me.
    I can’t breathe, I feel sick, oh shit, I think I’m having an anxiety attack. Not again, please God.…
    Bianca walks back toward us, mouth pursed. “What did they say?” I manage to ask.
    “Ignore them.”
    “Tell me what they said.”
    She sighs. “They asked to make sure you didn’t touch