Burn the Place by Iliana Regan

Author:Iliana Regan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2020-08-04T00:00:00+00:00

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I worked at what I thought was an upscale Vietnamese French restaurant, and I guess it was. Mimi’s Viet Brasserie was cute, and it was only about three blocks from my apartment. I still had a scrape across my upper right cheek like a football player’s eye black, and I was smoking a cigarette as I reached the front door. Mimi had her arms folded across her chest and was watching out the window. The snow fell around her reflection in the glass. I threw my cigarette down.

Without looking at me as I walked in, Mimi said, “You smell.”

I thought she meant the smoke, but she could have meant alcohol from the night I went to jail. It was still coming from my pores.

Mimi was mean. She was tall and stood even taller because of her Coach stilettoes. I felt small next to her. She was sort of like a Vietnamese Cruella de Vil. I didn’t have dogs back then, but if she could have skinned my dogs for coats, she would have. She liked to entertain men at night—not like a hooker, I mean she just liked being with the boys. I’d have to stay late while they all sat at tables in the front half of the restaurant, near the bar. They played card games. Gambling with real money. The room thick with blue smoke. Why the fuck did she shame me for smoking when the whole place was smoked out?

I sat at the bar in between serving them. I read a book on bartending and studied the drinks. It was an old book with old-fashioned drinks. There were no new, fun drinks that people wanted, like apple martinis or things like that. I didn’t know at the time how useful this would become, but I couldn’t just sit there, and every time I brought homework like biochem or statistics to the restaurant, Mimi made me put my books away. So I just stopped bringing it altogether. I had to work. At the time, I was studying chemical engineering and not doing too well either. It was hard to make it to classes.

Most of the time, the Brasserie was slow. The only busy night I ever remember was one Valentine’s Day. I served about fifteen bottles of Santa Margherita pinot grigio that night.

There was another woman who was also a server, Jackie. She was younger and shorter than Mimi and very pretty. She was nice to me. She asked me what had happened to my cheek, but I didn’t tell her. She looked at me sympathetically and told me stories about her friends who were lesbians. But she called them “resbians,” making air quotes with her long, painted nails every time she said it: “resbian.” We both laughed.

Nam and Dam worked in the kitchen. They were two old Vietnamese grandmas, sisters, but they didn’t look similar except for their height, hair color, and eyes. They were both nice but a little leery of me. Nam and Dam meant “five” and “eight.

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