She in the Square

JERRY was sixteen, a ragged monkey of a boy. He gelled his sallow hair each morning out of habit, but its own habits emerged by mid-afternoon, when it became a wet, dangling tarantula over his brow, scintillating with flecks of pulp.

“Morning Ester,” he mumbled, hair and skin greased, neck and face performing their rendition of a shower head over his phone, as he walked imprudently through the restaurant toward the kitchen. 

Behind the bar, Ester’s head gophered up. A cyan glint in the bottom corner of her glasses projected her phone screen. She creased her thin mouth and folded her neck, thumbing past pictures of her same-aged friends’ and their new babies, while in the kitchen, Jerry crudely tied the loops of his apron, before returning to what it was that had so enraptured him.

On his screen was a picture of the owner’s wife. He had met her in person only once. She had stopped by for the grand opening, following the entire staff on social media as a friendly gesture. Her pictures had been modest, up until this one: 

She was lying on her front at the beach, camera angled downward such that Jerry’s eyes javelined for the little ‘W’ in her bikini top. She smiled coquettishly into the lens. A feeling like the first gulp of milk spread through his sternum. He pocketed his treasure, thinking he might have time to yank himself off in the bathroom before the place opened, then heard Ester calling him to help fold napkins.

The image flashed in his head as he walked over. It gave him a new, titillating sense of power, to know he had seen so much of his boss’ wife. What’s more, she had posted it publicly, so there was a small chance she had meant for him to see it; A naive hope, he knew, but buttressed by hormones he did not.

He stared down at the napkins he made into triangles, every so often flicking a glance up at that vertical line between Ester’s shirt collars, plummeting piously into a black undershirt. He constructed an image of what Ester would look like in the same pose as the picture, and decided it would not be quite as nice, though, he reasoned, he would still enjoy seeing it.

ESTER pretended not to notice those blatant eye flickers. The little pervert ogled every female customer that ever came in, and thought himself sly about it. 

She made conversation with him despite his habit. After all, she bartended. Getting looked up and down and putting it out of her mind was part of the payroll. What she could not put out of mind, however, was the picture she had seen earlier of her boss’ wife, Ariana.

That woman was a decade older than her. A decade— and still she had the confidence and the appearance to post something like that. Her lips were full, even while she smiled. Ester’s lips practically disappeared when she smiled. She wore her natural curls; Ester had tried to, but they didn’t match her face-shape. Even her name was younger: Ariana… It evoked beaches and palm trees, and strobe lights in Miami. 

‘Ester’ evoked cough drops.

“...Ester?”

“What? Sorry.”

“I said it's 8:59. Should I let the early ones in?”

“Yeah sure.”

He walked strangely to the door, adjusting his pant leg. Fucking weirdo. 

JERRY still had not gotten over it. He waited for the moment he could sneak to the bathroom and take a screenshot of it to show his friends, in case she realized it was a mistake or something and took it down. He wondered what his boss thought of his wife taking that picture, or if he had even seen it yet. He told himself he would never let his hypothetical wife do something so disrespectful, as he opened the door to a smiling family of four.

“Hey folks, welcome in! Early bird special is free water and the option to pick a seat wherever you like.”

They laughed mildly and began their search for a booth.

She was pretty too, Jerry recalled. He wasn’t usually into darker-skinned girls, but by virtue of being his boss’ wife and of having perfect white teeth and nice lips, she had presumably converted him.

“Is here okay?”

“Anywhere you want my guy!”

They sat, and Jerry snuck a glance at the woman’s bust as she leaned forward.

“Alright, I’ll fetch you guys some of that free water,” he said.

***

ESTER placed the last of the mimosa glasses in, and closed the dishwasher. The breakfast rush had been a daze and it was now subsiding. She took the opportunity to go to the restroom. 

Before she had even sat down, she found herself staring at the picture again. 

Ariana had perfect white teeth; hers were coffee stained. Ariana had time to go to the beach; she worked mornings seven days a week. Ariana had a husband that supported her. 

Ariana had a husband.

Ester scrolled the comments. It was the standard gambit: “OMG Hottie!!!” and “Slay Queen!!!” She considered adding one of her own, but decided she didn’t know Ariana well enough, and simply liked it instead. Then she scrolled on her profile, tapping random pictures of her and Christian, their boss. They had been in Tokyo last month, and Cancun three months before that.

Ariana and her husband got to travel. When was the last time Ester had traveled? Three years? No, road trips didn’t count. Graduation. Her family had gone to Hawaii to celebrate her and her sister graduating high school. That was a dozen years ago now, and she had thrown up on the boat trip to their snorkeling spot.

She flushed, stood, and walked to wash her hands. She saw in the mirror that she was scowling. Rings hung darkly beneath her eyes. 

A decade, and Ariana still didn’t have dark rings like these.

The tips Ester got were worse now than they had been at her previous workplace. It had been a dive bar, and she had looked more like the type you would see at a dive bar. Now she served mimosas to retirees, and looked like it. 

She left the bathroom and saw Jerry talking to Christian behind the bar. Christian wore a light blue shirt with one of the arms furled up higher than the other, and he towered over Jerry, somehow overshadowing that little boyish charm he had, revealing only the sniveling rat before him.

“There she is! Thank God,” Christian said, turning his annoyed look on her.

“Sorry Chris, I had to take a little bathroom break,” she replied, jogging with a mock urgency back to her station.

“Thought you might’ve quit on the spot or something,” he said. The words had a bite to them, though not exactly toward her, and the face they came from looked distraught as it turned and sighed its way back through the kitchen to its office.

CHRIS collapsed into his desk chair in the back, rubbing his eyes with the three tallest fingers on each hand. When he removed them, and the smudges of color dwindled, he looked down at his phone, at the picture his wife had posted.

He did not know where she had gone last night, but apparently she had made it to the beach after, which offered him some relief. Now if only she would return one of his calls.

They had both been dead sober during their fight that evening, which made it harder to think about. Apologies swam in his head, but they were playing water polo against the urge to continue the argument as soon as he saw her, to make his side of things heard. He still somehow felt indignant, despite his genuine concern for her wellbeing, and he hated himself for this.

He lifted his phone, and looked closely again at the picture.

He saw her smile, but it wasn’t her real smile. He saw the stiff, level corners of her mouth. Those corners, when genuine, were unsymmetrical. They made creases in her cheeks. He saw as well, just beneath her sunglasses, the swollen troughs of the night’s crying, and the likely lack of sleep. Looking down, he saw the bikini he had bought her on their anniversary. It was one he had known she wanted, and he had gone to five different stores to find it, just to finally reveal it to her, and discover that she had arrived at one of the stores five minutes before him to nab their last in stock. 

It was sexy. He had bought it as a gift for her, and she had bought it as a gift for him, and they had both been right. 

There were plenty of nights he had been right by himself. 

Perhaps he did not need to be right this time. Perhaps he simply needed to be a husband. 

He stood and peaked through the kitchen door to the bar.

“Ester,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I have to take off early. Family stuff.”

“Oh, well I hope everything’s okay.”

“Yeah,” he said, “Me too. Oh, and hey, Jerry.”

“Yeah boss?”

“I saw you liked my wife’s picture. Don’t even fuckin’ think about it, bucko.”

Jerry laughed, embarrassed, “Aye aye, captain.”