Summary:Jon and Allison discuss career options at the Empire Diner. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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Somewhere, a radio plays: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NMNgbISmF4I
Allison's by herself. There are a lot of pretty people in New York City, and she's no exception. That also means that she doesn't really stick out; she's just another pretty blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl in the crowd. Early twenties. Sort of skinny. Minding her own damn business, reading off of her smart phone like it's no one else's business.
Were this the 50s, it'd be a newspaper.
The Diner itself is busy. It's always busy. Whether regulars or tourists, there are people all the damn time around here, soaking in the atmosphere or meeting for business. But whether the lonesome girl is waiting for food or waiting for the bill is a tough call. She only has a cup of not-steaming-hot coffee sitting near her hands, practically begging for attention.
Or at least to be consumed.
Jonathan Gallo comes pushing through the doors at the front of the diner, backpack slung over one shoulder, blue cord that leads up to the blue earbuds in his ears snaking out of it. He's got on a dark blue t-shirt and jeans with a pair of running shoes, everything a kind of relaxed fit that doesn't restrict movement. He's got ink that runs along his arms, colorful tattoos, the wings of a butterfly showing beneath his sleeve on one side, a compass on the other. He flashes a grin to one of the servers behind the counter who gives him a thumbs-up, clearly recognizing one another. He then scouts around for a place to sit.
Which lands him sitting at the counter fairly close to Allison. He tugs the earbuds out of his ears and pulls his phone out of the pack to flip off the music for the time being, and then drums his fingertips lightly on the surface of the counter, as though the music were still playing in his head. He's not all that unusual looking. Near platinum-white hair goes right down to the roots. It's not dyed. It's actually that color. The ink is bright against his pale skin, but then, tattoos aren't all that uncommon either.
The scene plays out with the exquisite direction of a prize-winning director.
Something draws Allison to motion. She picks up her coffee cup, and turns to walk away from her table all of a sudden. Along the way, a waitress approaches on quick feet. "Excuse me!" The exclamation gets the blonde to dodge out of the way adroitly, and to side-step towards the counter where Jonathan conveniently ends up. In a smooth motion, Allison turns to right herself, only to set herself on a crash course against the platinum-haired young man.
Who may or may not have the reflexes to dodge what would otherwise be a sure-fire coffee shower.
Of the benefits of having a kind of sixth-sense for danger and superhuman reflexes means that one wears far less coffee than one might otherwise. When Allison suddenly comes around and is just a hair's breadth from crashing into him, he makes a neat turn in his seat, getting to his feet, catching her elbow lightly and using her momentum to help her sit down where he had been just a moment ago rather than stumbling, cup of coffee still in hand and only a single drop falling to the counter and causing a small droplet to land there.
"You okay?" he asks her, taking a quick survey to make sure that she seems to be alright and in one piece. The waitress gets a grin at her apologetic look and he shakes his head at her. He's just fine. Not a drop on him.
And, just like that, Allison is sitting again.
Her yelp of surprise is quick and short. She looks at Jonathan, momentarily guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't — I mean, I must not have seen you — did — ?" She points at the waitress that is hustling away. " — you just come in, or — ?" And then, she laughs a nervous, tittering laugh. "I'm sorry, I nearly soaked you with this." She holds up her cup.
Or luke-warm, old coffee.
"That wouldn't have been polite, would it?" Her amusement dies away quickly; she puts away the phone in her other hand into a pocket. Then, she gets back up to her feet, slowly and carefully. "But thank you for not letting me fall. Or letting me make this more awkward." Because it is: she seems to be, at least. "I don't think I'll get used to how busy this place can be."
New York? The diner? Hard to tell where she's referring to.
Jonathan Gallo grins when she starts to apologize and shakes his head again, same as he did for the waitress. "Yeah, I just sat down. Really, it's okay. I just didn't want you to fall and hurt yourself." He really didn't seem all that concerned about the coffee, one way or another. "It was a close call, but it seems we both came out of it unscathed," he laughs. When she gets back up, he says, "You'd be surprised. I've met some of my best friends in more awkward ways than this." He flashes a grin then and offers, "Jon. Not from around here?" New York? The diner? Probably New York.
"No," remarks the blonde, shaking Jon's hand firmly.
Her hand feels warm. Her fingers and palm have calluses. "Allison." Beat. "Sort of made my way here, actually." She has a British accent to her voice, which may be a clue as to where she's from. "I, ah — I suppose I'd say the same thing, but I can't say I've many friends. Work's got me like a dog's body, and most of the time I'm too bloody knackered to do anything."
She smiles very briefly.
"Can people actually make friends in New York City, Jon?" That's probably a rhetorical question. "It seems that all I hear from customers are how fleeting friendships last. Either they fizzle out because of some catty beef or the two've them end up knocking boots until one of them decides to go on the pull and fuck it all up." Snort. "Miserable way to live, if you ask me."
She wraps her arms about herself, coffee cup still held.
As soon as she starts speaking for any length of time, her manner of speech does give her away, and Jon nods his head, apparently catching on to where she might be from. "Sounds exhausting," he chuckles, not quite following the turn of phrase, but getting the gist. His own hands have their own callouses, a couple of little scars, nicks, fingers long, grip strong but friendly, and shake brief before he releases her hand.
"What sort of work do you do that all your customers can't keep any friends?" It's about that point that he realizes they're both still standing next to the empty stool and he chuckles. "Want to join me?" He nods toward the open seat next to his own. He then settles back down where he had been sitting as his own coffee arrives. "I'll buy you a fresh cup?" He nods toward the cup she's still holding.
"I'm all right, thank you."
Initially, Allison remains on her feet. She unravels her arms, and for a moment stares at her cup. Then, like magic (magic!), the coffee in it starts to steam. "It's still good." Maybe she thought that Jonathan wouldn't notice. "But I — well, to be honest with you, I'm sort of looking around for a new job, and this one just popped up — " Her brows furrow. " — it's not perfect, and — well, it's all the way across the city, so — " She appears to think about the opportunity a little more, her voice trailing off.
And then, the thought is gone.
"What do I do? I'm a server right now." Like half the city. "But I'm looking? I'm looking to work as a cook or chef somewhere." There's a 'but' in her voice. "Thing is, you sort of need to have some sort of training or degree, or experience." She raises a hand, and then drops it to slap against her thigh. "And I don't have any of that right now." Annoyed, she takes a sip from her coffee.
The heat doesn't seem to bother her.
Jonathan Gallo does notice that the cup that was not steaming before is suddenly steaming again, and one brow quirks, but he doesn't comment on it, just smiling idly as he lifts his own cup in her direction, then adds some cream, stirring it slightly and taking a sip. "Or you just need to be discovered by the right person, or find someone who knows someone who needs a chef and dazzle them, or.." Jon rambles a little bit, grinning. "Or you could save up while working and go into culinary school or something." He shrugs his shoulders slightly. "You a good cook?"
Allison makes a face.
It's not a bad face. It's a face that is a mix between 'well, duh, Captain Obvious' and 'haw haw, you're a smartass'. There's an eyebrow lifted. There's a smirk formed. It all fades away quickly to a neutral look. "I suppose I could make a retirement plan that would culminate with getting into a school — " Snort. " — or I could see if someone will take a shot on me." Shrug. "And I'm not bad. I sometimes get kicked back to the kitchen when things are busy where I work."
"But the owner's handsy, and I'd rather not assault him."
"So, I figure it's better to bow out gracefully and try to find a boss that's faithful to his wife and doesn't try to sleep with every comely thing that puts on an outfit at his behest." Scowl. "Trying to do that with finding a place that'll balance out tip-wise, and, well — " She makes a gesture with her hand. " — that's the place I find myself in, Jon." There's a pause after.
"So, what do you do?"
Jonathan Gallo just grins when she makes that face at him, "There are worse retirement plans." He's clearly kidding. He nods when she explains the current situation, a disgusted look when she mentions the handsy owner, and a shake of his head. "Yeah, sounds like time to move on." Though when she asks what he does, he takes a sip from his cup of coffee and then says, "I teach gymnastics and acrobatics to kids."
"Oh."
She frowns. "I wouldn't have expected that," Allison says with a short chuckle. "I judge too quickly, I guess." Shrug. "That sounds rewarding. At least, more rewarding than being touched inappropriately." Which sounds about as appealing as it sounds. "But, anyhow — " She draws her free hand through her hair slowly and gently. " — I do need to hunt down something better." Beat. "And I guess I should look into that opening."
She doesn't sound convinced of that.
Jonathan Gallo raises both brows at her surprise, and then he grins, "Why? What would you have guessed that I did just by looking at me?" He seems genuinely curious, and amused. "Unemployed bum? Professional slacker?" He takes another sip from his coffee, regarding her over the rim of the mug curiously. "But yeah, it's actually pretty great. It's a lot of fun, and sometims a challenge. And uh yeah, inappropriate behaviour is really not tolerated.. at all." He glances around, "Which opening? One here?"
"Model."
Allison reaches up to her head, and touches her hair. "It's this. Your hair. It's very fit. You're very fit." She does not seem at all abashed in saying this. "But working with children? That does sound rewarding. And, no, not here — it's about ten blocks from here, actually. And I'm thinking that if I get there quickly enough, I might be able to catch the boss."
She finishes off her steaming coffee in one long quaff.
That clearly wasn't what he was expecting, but then he nods and says, "I guess I can see that." He glances up, as though he could see his hair. "That's just.. the way it's always been." When she finishes off her coffee, he smiles and says, "Well, best of luck to you on getting a better position. I hope it works out. Was nice to meet you."
"Aye, you as well."
Allison half-turns to leave, but stops herself. A thought occurs to her. "You know — " She turns back to Jonathan. " — if you wanted? Maybe I could cook for you and some friends, like — be a personal chef?" Beat. "Figured maybe — well, if you've the time, that is — then I could maybe make some extra moonlighting." Beat. "But I'd need to start somewhere, yeah? And — " Beat. " — well, you have to have some other model friends, I figure, being as fit as you are."
"What do you say?"
Jonathan Gallo looks a little surprised at the question, again not quite expecting that. He does consider for a bit and then he says, "Actually.. maybe, yeah. I have an idea.." Then he reaches over the counter to grab a pen and scribbles ona napkin his name and number as well as an email address. "Here, give me a call or a text.. and I'll get in touch." He hands her the napkin.
She kind of snatches the napkin, eagerly.
"All right." Clip. "All right." Allison looks at Jonathan, her eyes alight. "An idea? What kind of idea?" Excitement gives way to a little suspicion. "I cook with my clothes on, by the way." Beat. "I've been asked." Maybe not, but this is New York City, after all. She seems to say that, however, with a bit of lightness. A joke, probably.
Sort of.
"I read about a chef who did this pop up restaurant thing. It was a limited seating thing. They'd get a space, cook up an amazing meal, and people would pay to go to it, to have the personal chef experience, get to meet the chef, see the meal prepared and stuff. People paid bank because you know, it was kind of an exclusive deal," Jon says. "We could set something up like that, and then I could see if I can get people to come who would put out word of mouth, see if we could get some repeat business. It could flop miserably or it could work." He laughs a little bit and says, "Duly noted. Uh, I wouldn't have asked. But good to know."
"You wouldn't?"
Allison scoffs, and clearly seems to be taking things lightly. "I don't know if I should thank you for being polite or smack you for suggesting that I wouldn't look good naked." Snort. Laugh. Snort. It's /kind/ of pretty? A silly laugh, but a genuine laugh. "My word, Jon, I needed a laugh like that." Her smile is pretty. "Thank you. And that sounds like a smashing idea, but — I have to get clientele first, yeah?"
She tucks the napkin into her jeans.
"I'll see how this scouting trip goes first, and then call you? Maybe e-mail?" The blonde continues to smile. "Maybe everything'll work out." And maybe not, her tone suggests. "Guess I won't know until I actually do something." She sets her cup on the counter. "But I plan to do that." Beat. "Again, thank you."
And then, she starts towards the exit.