Chapter Two: Am I Dreaming?

Anastasia Greene Johnson

  I was so disgusted when the alarm went off for the third time and the sunlight hit my face.

  Monday. A darned Monday. Again!

  My arms messily reached to grab my phone on the bedside table. I barely opened my eyes and turned the alarm off.

  5:00 in the morning.

  I screamed internally.

  Darn it! The same hectic day again.

  There were days I wished I could just quit the job whenever I wanted but then I remembered Ruslan’s face. . . every time.

  I flipped the comforter away, the cold February air leaving me shivering. Dragging myself off the bed reluctantly like every other day, I quickly completed my usual workout routine, pilates and stretches. It left me gasping for air and a bit warm in the coldness of February.

  After the comforting hot trail of the shower water washed down my sweats and exhaustion, I finally felt a bit motivated to continue with my day. I picked a warm oversized sweatshirt, a pair of faded blue baggy jeans and a crochet scarf that I finished a few days ago. As usual.

  It was surprising how my little monster didn’t already wake up from his slumber. He was a very light sleeper and always woke from slight noises. I got a little worried, thinking that he got sick or something, so I hurried to his room to check. He hadn’t moved an inch from his previous position from last night.

  Was he that tired after coming back from the school field-trip? I wondered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and looking down at George.

  Ruslan — my six year old son who I loved the most in the entire world. He was everything I needed in my life. He was the only reason why I was still living this crappy life of mine.

“Wake up, honey. It’s morning already, you gotta go to school,” I ran a hand through his fluffy hair, making him flinch a little at first.

  Are my hands cold? But I made sure that they were warm enough before waking him up.

  He opened his eyes abruptly.

  Yeah, no. That was just his way of waking up all the time because as I said, he was a very light sleeper and woke from even the slightest noise ever.

  He  rubbed his eyes adorably with his little hands, making me chuckle. “Is it morning already, Mama? I only just went to bed. . .” he groaned like a baby.

“Yeah, I know, baby, you’re tired. But you still gotta go to school and learn stuffs, right? Now, come on, get up, get up, get up.” I said, pressing a kiss on his forehead.

  He groaned at first but eventually, got up. On his way towards the bathroom, he muttered under his breath, “Hmm. . . it’s annoying going to school so early in the morning. Well, it’s not like I hate going to school or learning though. . . but still. . .”

  A soft chuckle escaped me as I listened to him ranting like a grown-up. But I didn’t have much time to savour my son’s adorable antics, so I went to the kitchen to make his favourite breakfast while he showered — avocado toasts and blueberry pancakes.

  Yet somehow, Ruslan’s school bus was a bit late, so I had to wait till 6:45. And that messed up with my schedule big time. I had a little more work out done as I practically ran to the bus-stop to reach work in time.

  I hate running. . . or anything that makes me feel like dying.

  That was right, I hated hyperactive workouts, the only reason why I wasn’t good at any sport. . .just Ballet. But that too, was a distant dream now.

  On the way, I met an old woman who was having trouble to cross the road. Reluctantly, I found my hurried steps come to a halt to help the elderly.

“I’m sorry for taking so much of your time, kid. You might be late for school, huh?” she said regretfully.

  Oh, my God. . . here we go again.

“I—I’m. . . a grown woman, ma’am,” I stated a bit irritably for the nth time to the nth person this week. “I’m twenty-five years old and I have a child of my own. But, uh. . . you’re welcome. Anyways, be careful on your way, ma’am. I have to go, bye.”

  I ran again. But in the end, it was of no use because I still reached ten minutes late.

  Fudge my life! I should’ve went to bed earlier last night so I could just drop Ruslan to school by some public bus. That way, I could come in time, too but dang it!

  I pushed the thick glass doors of the restaurant, checking around me like a thief. Turned out that other people already started working and a few customers were occupying the tables.

  Looks like she hasn’t arrived yet, lemme just hurry up.

  I ran towards the kitchen and finally, I could catch my breath. Everyone glanced at me for a split second and immediately looked away to do their respective jobs. But the only person that was still staring at me. . . practically squinting at me, was greeted by me,

“Hey, Brynn, what’s up?” I said with a dull smile on my face to my only friend and my best-friend. But her squinting face turned pale hearing my greeting. . .or probably not because of that. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I asked her worriedly and she answered with a trembling and whispering tone,

“B-behind you.”

  I looked back and saw Mrs. Stanfield.

  Dun dun dun!

  It made me flinch at first and take a few steps back. Then I immediately lowered my head and started reciting, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Stanfield. I’ll surely come on time the next day. It’s that my son’s school bus was—”

“It’s alright, honey. I understand. Raising a child as a single mother is no joke. But try to be early next time, okay? Now, get to work.” Mrs. Stanfield cut me off with her usual soft and warm tone.

“Y-yeah, of course.” I stuttered before she left with a satisfactory smile.

  Mrs. Alessia Stanfield, the manager of the restraunt. She was clearly born and raised in London, as her polished British accent said, but then, she married an American man and shifted to the US. She was in her mid-forties — still as beautiful as she would have been in her twenties, blonde with gorgeous emerald-green eyes. Honestly, she was a lovely woman and treated her employees with so much respect, she was never rude to anyone, at least I hadn’t seen it in the last three years of my life.

  That was why everyone loved her back and worked really hard for the sake of the restraunt.

  It wasn’t a Michelin Star restaurant or anything but it was still quite reputable in Brooklyn. Most people would know it by the name already — ‘Cloud Nine’.

  The good news was that the 25th anniversary was about to take place in a few weeks and a grand celebration was to occur. All the employees had already been preparing for that, too.

“And how’s everything going?” Brynn asked me from behind what made me jump a little, before I replied,

“Not good, as you just saw what happened. And someone speculated that I was a highschooler again on my way to the restaurant.”

  My response made Brynn laugh.

“I mean, I won’t blame them.”

“Honestly, I just don’t understand! I don’t even look like a kid! Why do people keep assuming that?!”

“Because you do look like a friggin’ teenager, Ana. Look at that baby face, look at your height, look at the way you dress,” she pointed at my over-sized top, baggy jeans and white shoes. “That’s how highschoolers dress nowadays.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Good morning, I guess?”

“Good? It’s anything but good, baby. Well. . . I’m pretty pissed, if you ask me.” She sounded annoyed, intriguing me.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Well, clearly, we’re gonna have to do some extra work today. Guess what Mrs. Stanfield told everyone before you arrived?”

“What?”

“That some honorable guest is about to come today, so we have to be done with all the other customers before he arrives. We have to serve him well and have to represent ourselves nicely so that he wouldn’t be able to complain. HA!” she rolled her eyes. “Tell me why all these people have to get special treatment all the time and not everyone else?”

“Umm. . . that’s just. . . how the world goes, I guess. We can’t just change it like that even if we want to.” My answer seemed to make her even more annoyed and she rolled her eyes.

  I asked curiosly who the special guest was but she said she didn’t know as Mrs. Stanfield didn’t break that information.

  Well, we’ll see anyway.

  Around nine o’clock, we could finally slack off a little as always as there were only few orders left and most of it was the waiters’ work, so us chefs were off the load. . . but that was only until around lunchtime. We had to get to work again.

  Around 12:30 P.M., we found out that we were out of lettuce, so I had to go to the market to fetch some. As everyone else seemed to be busy with orders, I had to volunteer. Anyway, when I came back, surprisingly, a black Lamborghini Venono Roadster pulled up in front of the restaurant.

  Yes, a friggin’ Lamborghini!

  Not just that, it was being followed by two black SUVs and that, too, Rolls Royce. Honestly, never before had I seen that many supercars pull up outside ‘Cloud Nine’ at once.

  It was not a rare incident seeing expensive cars passing by the streets of New York but it was definitely not natural to see a string of them, especially outside our restaurant. It certainly had to be a VIP.

  Wait a minute. . . don’t tell me. . . this is the guest that Mrs. Stanfield was talking about?

  Dang. . . no wonder she told us to be so cautious about how we serve this supposed guest, they really seem quite an aristocrat.

  I was only pushing the thick glass door of the restaurant to get in and my pace slowed down seeing those cars slowly park outside the restaurant. I kept staring at it through the glass doors after I got in.

  A tall (almost 6'5") guy came out of the car, he had sunglasses and a mask on, it was hard to see him because bodyguards surrounded him all the way. I could only see him sometimes from the gap between bodyguards. Then, another tall and handsome guy appeared beside him who also seemed to come outta the Lambo.

  He looks a bit familiar. I thought while squinting at the masked guy.

  He’s pretty tall. Is he an NBA player? Perhaps a model?

  Weird speculations spawned inside my head until my eyes landed on to the other guy. He was super tall as well, even taller than the unmasked guy.

  As they seemed to head towards the restaurant, I hurriedly ran away towards the kitchen and watched them approach the door, surrounded by the bodyguards in black suits.

“What happened? Why do you look like you’re hiding from the FBI?”

  I heard Brynn ask suspiciously from behind but I was way too focused on what was happening outside than on what she was saying at that moment. So I didn’t answer her and anticipated for those guys to come in.

  Mrs. Stanfield rushed toward them as soon as they entered and greeted them with a broad smile. Surprisingly, the masked guy hugged and kissed Mrs. Stanfield on the cheek like she was a relative or something. She ushered them to their table which was reserved from before, I guessed. Even though there were not many customers at the restaurant at the time, they all seemed to be curious about the mysterious guy that suddenly appeared with a lot of scary-looking bodyguards. And after a long wait, their curiosity was quenched as the masked guy finally revealed his face.

  The customers immediately started to gather around him and his bodyguards were immediately on action to stop them from jumping on him.

  As for me, it was a bit of a late reaction as I was too shocked at the moment to react. But as soon as I had a good look at his face, the carry bag that contained lettuce leaves fell to the floor from my hold.

  What the. . .! There’s no way! I have to be hallucinating.

  I rubbed my eyes and looked again only to be confirmed that I was right the first time. My voice came out squeaky,

“It’s him. . . Oh, my Gosh, Brynn! It’s. . . it’s really him! There’s no way! Am I dreaming or something?!” I didn’t know what I felt at that moment, perhaps a mixture of too many emotions.

  I looked at Brynn, she  was as much shocked as I was and it gave me some assurance that I wasn’t in fact dreaming.

  It was no one but the Oscar-winning-actor, the rising star, Hollywood’s latest obsession and my celebrity crush. . . Alexander Finnegan Robertson!

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