The Waiter Bradleigh Collins (autobiographies to read TXT) 📖

to her that I couldn’t stop thinking about The Waiter.

“Sam, what are you going to do? Do you still love Dalton?”

“Of course I love Dalton. But I’ve gotta tell you. Things have been weird between us.”

“Weird how?”

“He’s just distant. He’s been working late - like really late - every night. And whenever we go out to eat, if we have a male waiter, he asks if I fucked him too.”

“Dude. That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah. He likes to punish me on a daily basis. I don’t know if he’ll ever get over this.”

“How much of his bullshit have you had to get over?”

“Too much. But I owe it to him to really try and make it work this time. I mean, he did move here for me and I do have a free place to live.”

“Do I even have to say it?”

“Say what?”

“I told you so. Remember when we had that conversation at your apartment and I told you the only reason he got the job there was so he could manipulate and control you? It’s already happening.”

She was right. And Lucy and Katie agreed with her. We’d had brunch together on Sunday, and the consensus was that I should get my own place as soon as possible. It wasn’t a bad idea. I had plenty of money saved. I’d sold my car before I left Atlanta, so I’d have no problem coming up with a security deposit and broker fee. Plus, I was making a lot more money at e-Styled than at the advertising firm. But I knew that if I got my own place, it would be the end of Dalton and me.

I was sitting in the conference room around four-thirty with Jackie and the creative team discussing the follow-up to my last article, “What to Wear on Halloween.” We’d featured several costumes from Ricky’s NYC and “tips-and-tricks (or-treats)” from a special effects makeup artist. Ricky’s had even gifted us Spice Girls costumes for our Halloween party, which was coming up in two days. I received a spectacular Union Jack mini-dress and a pair of red platform boots. We hired a photographer to document the party and costumes so I could write a follow-up article.

“Don’t forget happy hour tomorrow night is at the Evelyn Lounge,” George said as our meeting was wrapping up.

“George, you’re our very own ‘Julie the Cruise Director.’”

“I think he’s more ‘Isaac the Bartender,’” Jackie said.

“I miss The Love Boat.”

“The writing and acting were horrendous. But the fashions were incredible.”

“Remember the episode with Halston and Bob Mackie?”

“And Geoffrey Beene and Gloria Vanderbilt? It was my favorite episode,” Jackie said. “I have the Halston dress that Pat Cleveland was wearing.”

“You are a goddess!”

“You’ll have to come over sometime and see my entire vintage collection,” she said. “You can write about it.”

“I would love that!”

After work, I changed clothes in the bathroom and headed to the gym. I’d been taking a really great cardio kick-boxing class at New York Sports Club every night, but the dressing room was always crowded, so it was easier for me to change at work.

When I got home from the gym around eight-thirty, I was shocked to find that Dalton was actually home and in the shower. I went to the kitchen to grab some water and saw his open laptop on the counter. An ICQ message popped up on the screen.

I miss you so much! I can’t wait until you’re back in Atlanta for a visit. It was from Rhonda, his so-called “platonic” friend that had conveniently forgotten to wake him up that time they were “just watching movies.” I couldn’t resist the temptation to scroll up and read the chat history. About five minutes later, Dalton came out of the bathroom. I stood next to his laptop with my arms folded, glaring at him. He glanced at the screen. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Really, Dalton?”

“It’s not what you think,” he said immediately.

“Oh, it’s exactly what I think. It’s exactly what I thought months ago when you lied to me about falling asleep at Rhonda’s. Oh, wait. That wasn’t a lie. You probably did fall asleep, because you always fall asleep after sex.”

“I didn’t fuck her, Sam.”

“Really? She’s going on in that chat about how she can’t wait for you do all the things you do so well to her. Fuck her! Fuck you too!”

“Okay, do you want to be the pot or the kettle here Sam?” His face had gone from pale white to fire-engine red.

“We weren’t together when I had sex with somebody else! You fucked her right after my dad died. You knew what I was going through and you did it anyway! What kind of a sick person does that?”

“You need to shut the fuck up,” he said.

“And all this time you’ve been punishing me and making me feel guilty about having feelings for someone else when you’ve been cheating on me all along!”

“Oh, so now you’re admitting you’ve got feelings for this douche?”

“Yes, Dalton. After all these years, I actually have feelings for someone that isn’t you.”

He came towards me, and for a split second, I thought he was going to hit me. But he didn’t. He just stopped and looked at me.

“I want you out,” he said, in a vile voice.

“Fine,” I replied. I went into the bedroom and locked the door. I grabbed my phone and called Josh. I told him what just happened.

“Come over here. You can stay at my place as long as you need.”

“Thank you so much Josh.”

“Do you want me to come get you?”

“No, I have to get my stuff together and then I’ll get a cab. I’m not sure what time I’ll be there.”

“Okay, I’ll be here. Call me if you need me though.”

“I will.” I hung up the phone.

I started throwing all of my clothes and shoes into the large duffle bag I’d packed when we moved to New York. I was amazingly calm. I think I was relieved. I’d been agonizing the last week over whether to get