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The mass lay-offs in the editorial industry were hardly over with, and Julia was lucky to have gotten her job back in the midst of the Depression. She couldn't deny that her connections made it easier to worm her way back in, but no one she worked with had to know about that. It was enough that she was back at her typewriter earning them money—and of course she was happy to be writing again.
But despite the recent good fortune she'd attained, Julia was far from content—how could she be when every day she walked into Salieri's Bar, Sam Trapani took one look at her and walked the other way?
She tapped her pen against the tabletop, eyes darting to the street every time some car shone its headlights through the slits in the blinds. She worked late that night, 'til nearly midnight, editing articles and finishing some things that had been left undone since she was laid off several months before. No one had her work ethic.
A door at the back of the bar swung and so did her head, looking to see who was coming out of it. Paulie.
"What're you doing here so late, huh Julia?" he questioned, adjusting his hat back on his head.
She raised the mug of coffee she'd been nursing since she got there around an hour before. It was far from hot now, but she didn't care. She wouldn't be finishing it.
"Just thinking is all. Working a real job is a killer." Thinking indeed. What was she doing sitting there daydreaming about Sam Trapani?
"You know, you don't have to do all that. The big man's got lots of stuff for you to do." He tapped the side of his head as he leaned against the booth opposite hers.
"I prefer my money to be clean, thank you, and I can't sit around here all day like the rest of you."
"Hey, we don't sit around all day. At least I don't. Sam's the one you're thinking of, always sitting on his ass."
Julia scoffed at that, a small smile playing across her face. "I bet that's true. I bet he's back there right now, isn't he? Filling the back room full of smoke." It was a casual response, and she knew Paulie was too dense to understand the true meaning behind her questioning. She almost imagined Sam's laugh carrying in from the back.
"Yeah, how'd you know?" He snorted and opened the front door to the bar. "Well, I gotta get going, Julia. See you tomorrow morning at breakfast."
"If I'm around. Goodnight, Paulie." She waved at him as he set off down the street. She hadn't shown up for breakfast in months, not since she got her job back and stepping foot in Salieri's sent her anxiety through the roof. Paulie expected to see her face every morning just the same. All was well; she knew he likely forgot every day as soon as Olive walked through the door.
Julia went back to her coffee and pen, absentmindedly skimming the open newspaper on the table before her. There was just barely enough light coming through the back room and the blinds that she could see what she was reading. Luigi closed up the bar around thirty minutes before, and he had to shut the front lights off to remain respectable.
The door to the meeting room in the back opened again. She kept her gaze on the table this time, knowing that it had to be Sam. Tommy left some time prior, and Salieri and Frank would remain for much longer, just as they always did.
She glanced up once she spotted movement. Sam was looking at her already.
He nodded once and looked away, reaching for his hat and coat beside the door. His hand was already on the doorknob when she stood without thinking. He glanced over at her, seemingly surprised by the sudden movement and nothing more. Her face was already burning. She had no plan.
"Sam Trapani," she said with a huff. "What are you doing ignoring me all the time?"
He looked away, his hand sliding off the handle. "Don't know what you're talking about, Julia. I gotta get home."
Julia started towards him, and her hip collided with the table she was sitting at. The mug of coffee toppled over and soaked the newspaper, its chilled stream spilling over the edge and splattering on the floor. "Oh, nuts," she hissed under her breath, straightening the mug and using the newspaper to stop the dripping.
"Be careful, will ya?" Sam snapped at her.
"It doesn't matter, I'll take care of it." Julia turned back quickly, forgetting about the coffee as she steadied her voice. She didn't think she was in danger of flipping her lid, but she knew she didn't want to make a fool of herself in front of him just the same. "I wanna talk to you, Sam."
"What about? Can't it wait 'til tomorrow? Now look at the mess you made." He threw his coat over the back of the booth and replaced his hat on the rack, walking past her to the bar counter where some folded cloth napkins sat.
For a moment she was surprised as he pressed them into her open palm, but she shook herself out of it. She had no idea what she wanted to say, but she'd be damned if she didn't say something anyway. "I don't give a damn about the mess. I've been sitting up waiting for you."
"What for? You feelin' alright?" The irritation that was in his voice moments prior seemed to have dissipated a little, and she noticed. She also noticed that his right hand fiddled with the end of his left sleeve, adjusting it where it didn't need to be adjusted.
"What did you go and get me those napkins for?" she asked in a rush, crumpling them into a ball in her fist. Sam Trapani didn't help anyone.
"That's what you wanted to sit up all night for and ask me about?" He rolled his eyes—that stupid roll of his eyes—but his fingers kept fidgeting with his cuffs.
"No!" Julia snapped in a voice that came out far too high-pitched. "You ignore me all day long, but you still act soft sometimes. You sure know how to confuse a girl." She knew she was being confusing, too, but it was hard not to be when she couldn't clock what his feelings were whatsoever. It was embarrassing enough she was still thinking about a single hand hold. But maybe he couldn't stop thinking about it, either—for better or worse, considering the total lack of attention he'd been paying her the past two months.
He dropped his hands to his sides. "I told you, I don't know what you're talking about, Julia. I'm a busy man. You of all people ought to know that."
Her face went hot when he said her name. "I do know that." She felt calmer; it certainly wasn't because of him. She took another breath. "Of course I know that. All shot up lying on my couch a couple of months back."
For once, Sam didn't cut back immediately. He looked at her, at the napkins in her fist, then back to her eyes. It was too dark to see the color of his properly. "Haven't I thanked you enough for that already?"
She let out another sigh, trying not to sound too frustrated. He had a talent for managing to ignore her even when she was standing right in front of him. "Yes, you're welcome, and you're welcome for me driving you home, too."
"I think I already thanked you for that, too." He furrowed his brows. "Look, I don't know if you ate some bad pastrami, but you better get home. You're acting all funny."
"I don't feel funny at all. I think you're the one that's acting funny, Sam." Julia crossed her arms across her chest, painted nails—she could afford it now—digging into her arms. Why was she bothering?
"Oh, yeah?" A slight shake of his head as he walked back towards his coat, a quick edge in the way he walked.
She stepped around him, cutting off his path, her slightly taller height more obvious now as they stood only inches apart. She realized she had blown her cool a long time ago. "We could be close again if only you didn't act like you didn't want to so badly."
"I was sick and out of it," he replied, and she expected him to shove past her with his things and drive off into the night. But he didn't.
"So the idea of holding my hand is really so bad?" Her chest tightened as he stared intensely in return.
"I ain't got time to think about things like this. You got a job again now, yeah? Why don't you worry about that?"
She inhaled sharply. "Every day when I walk into this bar you walk the other way. You're what's worrying me, Sam."
Every damn day, worrying he won't come walking back in there, rolling his eyes at another one of Paulie's stupid remarks. Worrying that the next time her dad fixes him up, it won't help. Worrying he's going to be her next headline—Mob Shootout in Little Italy.
"Well don't worry about me. The last thing I need is some dame acting like I'm a kid."
"You know it's not like that." Some dame.
"Sure as hell feels like it. You wanna hold hands, go talk to some boy next door." He stopped meeting her eye directly a long time ago.
"You act like a real ass sometimes, you know that?" But she wanted him to hear her just the same; wanted him to understand that he didn't have to act like he was alone and fighting everything and everyone on his own.
"Yeah, I know that, so why don't you take the hint and leave me the hell alone? You don't need to get mixed up with some guy like me." She was too angry to notice the softening of his voice. "Go home, Julia."
She snatched her things from the table. "I will go home, Sam. You go home too, to wherever the hell you go home to, and enjoy going to sleep alone for the rest of your life." She rushed past him and pushed the door open. The bell above it swung and rang wildly from the force, and her heels clicked as she walked as fast as she could without running down to her car parked along the street.
She didn't dare look back.