Brooklyn Girls by Gemma Burgess Read Free Book Online Page B

their food. Forget about it, it’s not a big deal.”
    I stare at her for a second. How can she say that? “Yes, it is. It’s always a big deal.”
    You know, I’m used to the comments, the assumptions that I don’t speak English, the constant “where are you from?” question. It’s annoying, and it’s just the way it is. I don’t look like everyone else. I get it.
    But this is more than that. This is racism. When I was younger, attitudes like theirs scared me and made me feel sick. Then it upset me, so I would pretend I hadn’t heard and run away.
    Not this time.
    I’ve had a really bad couple of weeks, and, yeah, my problems are all of my own making, but I’m doing the best I can to make my life better. I don’t need this shit. People can judge me on my inexperience, my princess attitude, my lack of sound decision-making skills when under the influence of tequila.… Judging me on my skin color is wrong. And that’s all there is to it.
    “Call me … irresponsible,” croons Sinatra over the music system.
    Taking off my little white apron and putting it on the bar, I walk leisurely and deliberately over to their table.
    I lean over, hands on my knees, and start talking, in my sweetest voice.
    “I’m American, you morons. I was born in New York, I have an American passport, and the reason I look like I do is that I’m half-Swiss and half-Indian. Indians are Hindu, not Muslim, and the two religions are completely opposed to each other. Whether I am Muslim, Buddhist, Orthodox Greek, or worship at the altar of Spongebob fucking Squarepants, I still have the right to serve your meal without getting this racist abuse. Moreover, none of it would be any of your business, because it’s a free country. And you?” I turn to Boob Guy. “These were not invented for your visual pleasure. Get your filthy eyes off them. And get the hell out.”
    I stand back, flushed and trembling.
    With barely a murmur, they leave the restaurant, shuffling out as fast as their chafing thighs can carry them.
    Oh Jesus. I just kicked out paying customers. I don’t know where Angelo is, but it won’t be long until he hears. I’m fucked.
    “You okay?” says Jonah, who is suddenly standing behind me. I wonder how long he’s been there.
    “I really hate confrontation,” I say, my voice suddenly shaky.
    Jonah laughs, his shaggy blond hair falling in front of his eyes. “Well, Pia, I’m no expert, but I’d say you’re exceptional at it.”
    I meet his eyes. “I’m screwed when Angelo finds out. He has to fire me for that. Heck, I’d fire me for that.”
    “So would I. And you owe me a tip for losing my table,” says Bianca on her way past.
    “Oh, God,” I murmur.
    “Who cares,” says Jonah, all reassuring Texan charm. “I’m guessing this wasn’t your ultimate dream job?”
    “No, but I need it. I have a cash-flow problem.”
    “Join the club. I’m only doing this to fund acting classes.”
    “Actor, huh?” Every bartender in New York is an actor. What, they couldn’t find a plane going to L.A.?
    “I dance, too!” he says, doing the soft-shoe shuffle.
    Then Angelo taps me on the shoulder.
    “Pia, we need to talk. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to let you go.”
    “C’mon, are you serious?” says Jonah. “You can’t fire her for standing up for herself.”
    “I have no choice but to fire her, I need to keep their hotel happy to ensure repeat business. They send a lot of recommendations our way.…” Angelo clasps his hands together anxiously. He’s really a nice guy. I can see he hates doing this. “I’ll pay you for tonight, you can keep your tips. No hard feelings?”
    I sigh deeply and close my eyes. I’m so tired.
    “Uh … hey, Pia?” says a voice. I look up. It’s the cool young mom from table three.
    “Hey,” I say, trying to smile. “How can I help? Oh, God—the check?”
    “No, don’t worry, we’ve left enough for the check. I wanted to give you this personally,” she says,