06

The woman behind the counter―her name tag read Martha―scowled. Not a good start. But she pulled out a stack of papers from somewhere beneath the desk and slid them over. « Fill this out. »

Muse brightened. Finally.

Except, as soon as she spelled out her name in pen on the first paper, Martha craned her neck and squinted. Her eyes widened. « Does that say Muse Gardner ? »

« Yes ? » Maybe Muse’s best bet at this point was a new identity.

Martha yanked the sheet of papers away from Muse and put them back under the desk. « We’re not hiring. »

« But I just― »

« We’re not hiring. Please leave this fine establishment. »

This was Muse’s twenty-third attempt at a job application. What the fuck had Julien Vitale done to her reputation that Applebee’s wouldn’t even hire her ? How did one man even have that much power ?

Muse slammed the pen onto the counter. « Since when has Applebee’s ever been considered a fine fucking establishment ? »

Martha just narrowed her eyes, and Muse left before she could make things worse. She’d made a scene, but the anger didn’t make her feel better in the slightest. It didn’t do anything to dissipate her rising sense of dread. If nobody wanted her as a waitress, she’d have to resort to other, more demeaning jobs. She’d been a prostitute for two years once, and she’d vowed to never do it again. But what choice did she have, except to leave New York City ?

The city was her home. But Muse drew the line at prostitution now. So if this meant living somewhere else . . . starting over in Ohio or Oklahoma or whatever state would take her . . .

No. There had to be at least one restaurant that would hire her. Julien Vitale couldn’t have that much influence.

As Muse shoved her resume into the safety of her jacket and strode out onto the crowded sidewalk of New York City, she thought about her name. Muse Gardner. That alone had been enough, it seemed, for twenty-four restaurants to dismiss her. It wasn’t like Julien Vitale had personally gone to every Applebee’s and Denny’s and East Side Mario’s in the city, so what had he done ? Put yourself in his place, Muse thought. And if she was a billionaire who hated someone, if she had friends in high places, she’d probably talk to the CEO of every restaurant chain in New York.

That would explain how her name had been ruined. If the CEO of fucking Applebee’s passed out a warning, everybody in the chain of command would get it.

Muse really shouldn’t have gotten on the bad side of a billionaire.

Maybe her problem, this whole time, had been going for the enormous restaurant chains. Sure, they were bigger and had more financial security―less chance they’d fuck her over or fire her suddenly―but then, maybe a family-owned kind of place wouldn’t outright dismiss her.

But after four attempts at small family-owned businesses― »We just don’t have the resources to take on another staff member right now »―it started to rain. Just as Muse came to the conclusion she was cursed, her eyes fell on a fire-lit café with a rainbow heart sticker on the window.

One more chance, and then she’d go home.

The inside of the Moth Café was warm. Red bricks consumed an entire wall, and fairy lights decorated another. It seemed nice enough, with plush rugs and homemade wooden tables, and it was busy, too. That was a good sign. More of a chance they’d need her help.

At the counter, an old woman with silvery hair and red, flushed cheeks smiled at Muse.

That was as good a welcome as any.

« Hi, » said Muse, rocking back on her heels. « Are you hiring ? »

« This is a safe space, » the woman said. She didn’t have a name tag that Muse could see. « Our job process is a little selective. »

Muse was thinking along the lines of The Hunger Games, and she came to the conclusion that even if she had to fight to the death for this job, she’d volunteer as tribute.

But the woman only nodded to a flag behind her and said, « Do you understand ? »

Muse glanced to the flag. The realization dawned. Oh―the colours of the rainbow.

Sheepishly, she said, « I’m not―I’m actually― » The words wouldn’t come. « I promise I’m not homophobic. Or transphobic. I’m―you know, whatever the opposite of a Trump supporter is. » What she meant was : I like and respect women, and I’m not a close-minded bigot.

The old woman seemed to understand perfectly. Her smile, if it was possible, grew warmer.

« What’s your name, love ? »

After a long, long day of being rejected, Muse found herself relaxing at the word love. At the caring, maternal warmth of this woman. At the fact that, maybe, just maybe, she’d get to work someplace she could actually like.

Muse held her breath. Please, she thought. Please, please don’t know who I am. Please don’t let this cute LGBTQ+ café secretly be run by a CEO who is friends with Julien Vitale.

« My name’s Muse Gardner, » she said.

The old woman didn’t even blink. « It’s nice to meet you, Muse. I’m Phoebe. Before I hire you, may I read your palm ? »

Muse didn’t even hesitate. She had faced far weirder things in New York City. She obediently held out her palm, and waited as Phoebe traced her fingertips over the lines.

After a few moments, Phoebe looked up. « When can you start ? »

« Are you―do you mean― » Muse couldn’t believe her luck. « Yes―yes ! Anytime ! » She tried to compose herself when she realized a few customers were staring. « Um, do you want my resume ? »

« Sure, » said Phoebe, eyes twinkling. Like that was an afterthought.

From somewhere behind the counter, a voice shouted, « Did you just hire someone without looking at their resume first ? »

Muse peered behind Phoebe, to a kitchen that was . . . green. In all aspects. Forest-green countertops and an emerald-green backsplash, with green light fixtures and green plants. Only a second old woman, dressed in an array of vibrant scarves, defied the colour scheme.

« Her character is good ! » said Phoebe.

« Oh, don’t tell me you read her palm and hired her ? »

Phoebe leaned conspiratorially towards Muse. « That’s my wife, Agnes. She doesn’t believe in chiromancy. » To her wife, she replied, « We’re short a waitress anyway ! »

Agnes’s long-suffering sigh made Muse smile a little.

« Do you mind starting right now ? » Phoebe asked.

« No, » said Muse, taken aback. « Not at all. Do I―I don’t have a uniform. »

« You won’t need one, » said Phoebe. « After a week or two, all of the customers here will know you by name. When I said it was a safe space, I meant it. You’ll get to know a lot of people here―people who aren’t normal or conventional by any societal standards. There’s drag queens and university students and even a few older generations, friends of Agnes’s and I. And there’s teenagers who are closeted, or don’t feel safe at home, and they might even start looking up to you. »

« Oh, » said Muse. « But I’m not― » Worthy of being looked up to.

« Never mind that. » Phoebe’s smile took on a soft, gentle quality. « I think you’ll fit in just fine here, Muse. But―we can only afford to pay you minimum wage. »

« That’s fine, » Muse said. « That’s perfect. » It was better than the absolute nothing she’d been getting this whole week.

Phoebe grinned. « Then we’re glad to have you. »

« Just . . . one question. »

« Mm ? »

Muse tilted her head. « What did you see when you read my palm ? »

From the kitchen, Agnes yelled, « Nonsense, that’s what ! »

« I saw hardship in your past, and kindness despite it. » Phoebe’s smile flickered, just for a moment. « I also saw marriage in your future. »

« Marriage ? » Muse squeaked.

« Marriage. » A pause. « But . . . I didn’t see the love that is supposed to accompany it. Are you engaged to someone you haven’t given your heart to ? »

Muse thought of her long string of broken relationships, and shook her head.

« Well. » The worry faded from Phoebe’s face, sunshine slipping through clouds. « Perhaps I misinterpreted. »

HOW, exactly, did one plan a wedding without a bride ?

It was already Saturday night, a week since her meeting with her father, and Adrien didn’t know how to do this. She should’ve been out right now―flirting with some girl, inviting her back here. Instead, she was poring over a wedding how-to booklet.