Deli Dallies

Original flash fiction writing for Round 1, Part 1 of NYC Midnight’s Flash Fiction 2022 competition.

Prompts: Genre - Romance, Location - a deli, Object - a sponge

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June 18, 1978 – 2 am

‘Merry Christmas, 1969!’ reads the calendar behind the cash register, about a decade out of date.

This place fronts as a deli, but most don’t order food. The boss told me, “Every girl’s a sandwich and every calendar day has a special associated with it. If somebody orders a number 18 with a reuben, holler up for Alice to grab a friend.”

I knew what he meant. I’d already slept with half the cast from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas trying to get an inside jump on an understudy slot, not that it helped.

If this deli job is the only role I can get, I’ll make the most of it.

June 20, 1978 – 4 am

My first night was for this john called Jack.

He gave me a gold chain and told me he collects ‘primes.’ The girls say he’s a sort of not-so-secret shopper who spreads the word on you. They urged me to make a good impression.

I showed him some of the moves I would’ve brought to the chorus line.

That might be why he sent businessmen my way.

June 29, 1978 – 1 am

We get one day a week off. It doesn’t leave much time for auditions or anything, really. But the money is getting better.

I have a few regulars already. One just back from Florida brought me a shell necklace and a sea sponge. He asked, “Have you been a dirty girl? I could give you a bath…”

There’s only a shared tub and I had two more after him so I replied, “How about I wash your mouth out with something you can’t get in Florida?”

July 14, 1978 – 11 pm

I had the strangest john last night. He could only afford the hour but he was my last so I let him stay a little longer.

He said he heard me singing off my balcony the other night. I thought the middle of the night would’ve been a good time to practice. It took him a few nights but when he came in, “looking for the songbird,” Cook told him to “order the roast beef and take a seat.”

We just talked. He’s a playwright, currently unemployed. He wants to be one of the greats but no one will take him seriously. He has curly hair and a chipped tooth

I couldn’t help taking him seriously. He felt so alive. So full of energy and ideas.

I should’ve got his name.

July 17, 1978 – 3 am

A couple of my regulars came in last night. Usually a treat to have two in one night. One of them brought me an eclair, my favorite. But it felt different.

I felt different. I can’t stop thinking about the other night, with the playwright.

I doubt they could tell.

July 21, 1978 – 7 am

His name is Leo.

He came in and sat at the counter while I waited tables and poured him coffee until the sun came up.

And he asked me questions. “Do you like it here?” “What other things do you like?” “Why did you start singing?”

I’m not used to being asked about myself. It felt nice.

“Let me think about it,” I’d say. And he’d wait, sip his coffee, and wink at me whenever Cook shot him daggers on his way out for a smoke.

Cook caught me just now and said, “It looks bad to see a customer sweet-talking the counter girl.”

I thought sweet-talking looked good on him.

July 27, 1978 – 3 am

Has it already been a month? I can’t remember my last real day off.

I got a tacky necklace from a john that this new girl said she’d trade me for her free Tuesday.

Maybe Leo would spend the day with me.

July 28, 1978 – 6:30 am

Leo. He was here, his eyes wild. He was barely coherent when he arrived, and it was my turn to ask questions.

He’s spent the last week writing what he says is his magnum opus. It gave me butterflies to see him so passionate.

As the sun threatened to rise, I couldn’t resist. He stood looking out the window, breathing heavily after a long thought.

I slipped underneath his arm and kissed the softness behind his ear. He tensed. I took his hand. He said, “You don’t have to.”

I wanted to.

August 4, 1978 – 4 pm

We agreed to meet at the Gapstow bridge. I felt so romantic standing there, like I was in someone else’s story.

But I saw him first. Walking arm-in-arm with a nicely dressed girl with a fresh Hamptons tan.

Who am I to be jealous? All my johns have their girls. I’m just a – what, to him?

I think he saw me hurrying away.

August 5, 1978 – 2 am

Leo is impossible to ignore. He’s got this charm that draws me in. And it doesn’t help that while my back is turned he’s tucking paper napkin notes in between these pages.

Leo was here! Immortal forever amongst your secret desires.

Impossible.

Apparently, Hamptons girl is an ex he ran into en route to the bridge. He said, “I know better than to dally with her.”

Dally. Silly word. I was still upset but I laughed out loud.

He told me about “this investor who believes in the vision” and that he’s signing a deal in the morning. A big deal.

He wants me to come with him, to live in his flat, to help him “work out the story.”

I wanted to yank off my apron and run away with him right then. But I didn’t. I can’t afford to lose this job without a guarantee.

I told him, “Come back tomorrow if you mean it.”

August 6, 1978 – almost midnight

I’m sitting on the balcony to escape the heat inside. Not watching for him, just catching a breeze.

The Holy Cross Cathedral bell just rang for midnight.

I can’t believe it — he’s here.