STRONGER by Lexie Ray

asked.
    “Or something,” Blues confirmed. “He’s one of our biggest customers. You should see the money he usually drops. Everyone wants to serve the Don, but Cocoa always gets him. She’s one of the most experienced girls. You have to do everything he says and she always takes care of him.”
    Blues set the four glasses on a tray. For some reason, “always takes care of him” had been a weighted statement. It made me think of more things than simply taking the man’s drink order.
    I took up the tray and my hands shook. The liquid at the top of the delicate glasses trembled forebodingly. Blues shot me a dubious look.
    “Better not spill the Don’s drinks, baby,” she advised. “Oh, thank God. Here comes Cocoa.”
    I turned and my roommate seized the tray without spilling a drop.
    “We’ll practice carrying trays tomorrow,” she promised, “but with water in the glasses, not top shelf liquor.”
    I tailed Cocoa back to the table, watching as she artfully spun the tray on her fingers while serving each cocktail. Visions of my mother and the way the ice tinkled in her highballs sprang unbidden to my mind. I shook them away. This was a different life.
    Don Costa and his companions raised their glasses in a toast.
    “To the incomparable Cocoa,” the Don proposed. “And the newest dish, young Jazz.”
    I blushed and grinned. The Don thought I was a dish.
    “We’ll go put your orders into the kitchen,” Cocoa said, tucking the empty tray under her arm.
    “Don’t dally, ladies,” Don Costa said. “Our lives are less beautiful when you’re away.”
    “We’ll be back before you know it,” Cocoa said with a wink.
    The kitchen was in a flurry of activity. Cooks were grabbing tickets as fast as waitresses could stick them in the gap.
    “This is the busiest time for the kitchen,” Cocoa said. “Well, they’re busy the majority of the night, but this is when they’re really in the weeds. As soon as all the customers get here, they want to get their food and drink orders in as soon as possible so they can enjoy the show.”
    “And tonight’s a special show?” I asked as my roommate jotted down something on her pad of paper.
    “Very special,” Cocoa confirmed with a small smile. “It’s what everyone comes for.” She ripped the paper from her pad and popped it into the gap. “For the Don!” she hollered.
    “The Don!” one of the chefs called out. Cocoa’s ticket was seized ahead of several others and space was cleared on the grill. With the way some of the line cooks moved, I could tell they were expediting the order.
    “So, who’s Don Costa?” I asked Cocoa. “Blues said he was one of the club’s biggest customers.”
    “She’s right,” Cocoa said. “And the Don gets whatever he wants, so stay close to me and keep looking pretty.” My roommate eyed the grill. “Rush that order, please!” she called needlessly. The chefs were already doing all they could for it, bright flames spiraling up from the pans.
    Cocoa grabbed a tray of olive oil and slices of bread. “Can you carry this on your shoulder?” she asked.
    I was determined to prove myself. “I can do it.”
    She hefted the tray and placed it on my shoulder, not letting go until it was balanced.
    “Let’s go,” she said, holding the swinging door open for me.
    The Don and his party were already done with their first round of drinks, I noticed as we got back to the table. Cocoa lifted down plates, the basket of bread, and the olive oil from the tray. I tucked it under my arm as I’d watched my roommate do.
    “You gentlemen were thirsty,” Cocoa exclaimed, doling out the plates expertly. They might as well have been cards for how lightly she handled them. “Let me send Jazz over to the bar for another round.”
    “No,” Don Costa said, freezing me in my tracks. “You go, Cocoa. I like to watch you shake those hips all the way over here. I want to get to know Mama’s newest girl.”
    Cocoa hesitated for half a beat