Frank lifted something black and slimy. “You should try this, it’s great. No, wait. What are you doing here? I fired you.”

“I need my job back.”

“You attacked a Bronx Bolt! And he’s a homey, no less! Of all the famous people who come in here, you go after a beloved Bronxite? You couldn’t throw something at Tom Cruise?”

“I can if you want me to.”

“You know what, Angel, I can joke. You can’t. Your problem is, you don’t know your place.”

“Frank.” She swallowed, hard. “I am sorry. If you are willing to let me come back, I’ll be a model employee.”

“I don’t know. The staff don’t like you. You snap at people. You’re bitchy.”

Angel bit her lip. It was true, she did snap at the workers—they were slow and lazy. “What if I promise to be sweet as pie?”

“I’d like to see that.”

Let it go.

Then he offered a grin that instantly made her suspicious. “If you promise you can get the Duke to come back in, you’re on. I saw the kiss. He must like getting drinks thrown on him. I wonder if he’s one of those guys who likes golden showers.”

“Why you always gotta go there, Frank?” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ll get him to come back in.” Not in a million years. “Can I work tonight?”

“Can you get him to come in here tonight?”

She stammered. “No, no, not tonight.” Even if I wanted to ask him this favor, I don’t have his number.

“Then, no. Like I said, get him to come back, maybe even have his picture taken by the marquee, and we’ll talk.”

“Fine.”

She stomped back out into the daylight. No way am I asking Duke that. I am not asking anyone for anything. I’ll be damned if I have to lower myself again. I’ll clean hotels until I get a nursing job.

A few minutes later, trudging up the narrow stairs to her apartment, she calculated how many hours she had free to study. Jose would be home from school around three. In the meantime, she could take a practice test, review two or three medical articles, and vacuum up the daily layer of dust provided by the number 4 train. She tried to remember what was in her cupboard. She was pretty sure she had enough ingredients for sopa de pollo con mofongo, the traditional soup her mama had made. She’d have to substitute canned ham for the chicken, and a bag of frozen vegetables for the fresh carrots and peas and celery, but Angel had plantains and couple strips of bacon left—she could make the mofongo balls she and Jose both loved. It would not be nearly as good as her mama’s, but comfort food was comfort food.