Fridays at Enrico's Read Online Free Page A

walking toward her through the crowd of merrymakers, grinning as if he had expected her and she was right on time.
    â€œHey, Jaime,” he said.
    â€œHi, Charlie,” she said.
    â€œWell, you caught me at work.”
    â€œIs the pay good?” she heard herself saying. How stupid. She wrapped her arms around her body.
    â€œAre you cold? You only got a sweater. It gets real cold around here. The goddamn wind, you know. All these trucks. Wait a sec.” He was gone, a ticket in his hand. The customers were a well-dressed pair who looked at Jaime with what appeared to be contempt. She was the girlfriend of the guy who parked their car. Trash. Not even wearing a skirt. What a whore.
    Charlie drove up in the customer’s car, a nice Cadillac, and came back to her. She was a little cold now.
    â€œFucker didn’t tip much,” he said. “Sorry about the dirty word.”
    â€œOh, I don’t mind,” she said. He hadn’t asked her what she was doing out so late at night. He hadn’t asked where her boyfriend was, he just acted natural. “I swear a lot myself,” she said. She smiled up at him. “Shit fuck hell,” she said, and he laughed a beautiful laugh.
    â€œHey, I’m off in a little while. How about waiting for me? We could have a drink.” She started to say yes but he interrupted, a sudden look of concern on his face. “Hey, you’re pretty cold. You better wait inside.”
    â€œHere?”
    â€œNaw, this’s a real expensive joint, they wouldn’t even let you in. Go around the corner to the Tosca Cafe. It’s a great place. Go in, sit at the bar, tell Mario that you’re waiting for me.”
    Then customers came, and with a wink Charlie was gone. She waited, really chilly now, for him to come back. “When do you get off work?” she asked. “I really have to get home soon.”
    â€œI’ll drive you home,” he said. “Hey, we could stop at the Hippo for burgers! We only got three cars left. It shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
    â€œOkay,” she said. She didn’t mention she was underage, and all the way down Broadway she worried about being asked. Tosca was a few doors down on Columbus. She opened the big glass doors to be greeted by warmth, a wonderful smell of anise and the most stunning aria in the world, Cho-Cho San’s from Madame Butterfly . The place was jammed with well-dressed, good-looking people. The long bar was two deep, and the booths and tables in back were all full, people standing around the end of the bar talking and laughing against the music. Jaime felt as if she had found a home. There wasa little red leather bench by the front door, and so she sat down, not even trying to approach the bar, and waited. Unfortunately, she had to go to the bathroom. She wondered where it was. She got up and walked down the bar, as casually as she could make herself look, so that no one would notice that a poorly dressed nineteen-year-old girl was passing through. No one stopped her. The old table waiter smiled and pointed to the women’s room.
    â€œThank you,” she said, and saw her mother and father, sitting in a red leather booth, staring at her through the smoke.

5.
    Walking toward them, her stomach suddenly tight, she noticed again how much her parents looked alike. They both had round red faces, her father’s decorated with glasses and his small moustache. Jaime was afraid that she would some day look just like them, plump and fastidious. They were supposed to be playing bridge.
    â€œHi, folks,” she said. “What a surprise.”
    â€œHow did you find us?” her father demanded. The ashtray in front of him was full of Kool butts, smoked down about two inches and then smashed and broken into the ashtray. Not knowing what else to do, Jaime sat down next to her mother, who made room for her and smiled, saying, “She wasn’t looking for us, were