Page 2 of Notes About Vodka (Happily Ever After Hangover #1)
Chapter One
VAL
"The word 'vodka' comes from the Slavic word ‘voda', which means water, reflecting its clear, pure appearance."
Pianissimo is the kind of place you could easily miss if you aren’t paying attention, but once you’re inside, the world fades into the soft glow of candlelight, the gentle hum of piano keys, and raspy voices from the wait staff.
Many who are hoping to become famous here in the Big Apple.
Others are just using their talents to scrape by and survive the dirty streets.
Pianissimo sits tucked between the looming skyscrapers of Manhattan.
Its sleek black awning blends into the cityscape.
The marquee lights are off, but the sun hits it just right, bouncing off the deep red letters.
The cursive writing is bold, yet understated.
For those passing by and notice the deception behind the broken wooden shutters to the weathered glass, it's like a silent invitation into classy, underground New York City .
Outside, the noise of the city thrums to its own beat of fast paced business, but here, it’s like stepping into another rhythm, one that pulses slower, more deliberate, beneath the racing heart of upper Manhattan’s city dwellers.
The sunshine glares into my eyes, forcing me to squint as I slip the keys to my MazdaSpeed6 into my pocket.
It's dark gray, sleek, a high-performance sedan with turbocharged power and a rare gem that stands out among the usual city cars.
It's one of only 3,000 made in the U.S., and I couldn’t help but purchase one on a random road trip to Atlantic City when my best friend Alexei came to visit from the Motherland a couple of years ago.
It felt like fate, seeing it parked on the used car lot, as if it were waiting for me.
My pride swells as I rub my thumb over the key fob. What feels even more exclusive is having a car in New York City and actually being able to afford parking for it. This machine, with its powerful precision, is proof that my decision to stay in America has been a good one. A lucrative one.
It’s not easy to maintain balance here, but I thrive in a city where most people are lucky if they can get around without hailing a cab. The challenges make the successes that much sweeter.
I grin to myself as I light a cigarette I pulled from my pocket.
Arriving at Pianissimo a little earlier than my usual 2 p.m. shift, I take my time walking along the sidewalk, taking in the energy of the street as I blow smoke rings into the air.
Stretching my neck side to side, I hear a satisfying pop underneath the leather jacket I have on over my bartender uniform.
A black button down over black slacks, the outfit matches how I feel all of the time.
With a sigh, I flick my cigarette to the curb, knowing that in a few minutes, I’ll be swapping the comfort of worn leather for the stiff, stifling weight of a suit coat.
It’s too hot for layers, especially this time of year, and the tie I’ll have to knot at my throat will feel more like a noose.
I know I look good in the full suit—better than good, if I’m being honest—but that doesn’t mean I have to like wearing it.
One day I’ll find a place where I can dress more casually for work. Until then, I sigh.
I push my hand through my dark brown—almost black—hair as I reach the entrance. Taking a moment to look back over my shoulder, I gaze into the August sky before I’m stuck inside these walls for the next twelve plus hours.
It’s hot as Hades in the city but there’s not a damn cloud in sight; I’m sure this heat has translated inside the building because it has been the hottest summer I’ve ever experienced.
The humidity is suffocating, the kind that sticks to your skin and follows you around like an unwelcome shadow.
It’s as if the incoming rain has already pushed its way into the Manhattan streets, even though the weather man says we are not due for any storms until later in the week.
With the long days continuing for another couple of months, it's not going to cool off anytime soon—I fucking hate it. I’m ready for colder days and snow covering the ground, the kind of cold that numbs your face, freezes your fingertips, and makes you feel alive.
Taking a final puff, I quickly stamp out my cigarette before going inside. Picking up the butt from the sidewalk, I dispose of it in a nearby trash can. Only then do I finally open the door, take in a long deep breath, and step into the walls of Pianissimo .
The familiar scene of the piano bar greets me as I enter. This place once was my haven.
Most nights I find comfort within the dim interior.
I love the warm lighting, the polished wooden surfaces that smell like almonds, the sound of glasses clinking, and the piano keys being played.
It's a comforting soundtrack, and one that has become as much a part of my life as the heartbeat in my chest.
But lately, even though the money is excellent, it has started to feel more like a gilded cage—a beautiful yet confining place where every night feels the same, and my ambitions are stifled by routine.
The sense of freedom I once felt has gradually turned into a sense of entrapment, with every performance and every drink I serve becoming another lock on the cage.
I can almost feel the weight of the invisible bars, hemming me in, keeping me from the dreams that used to light me up inside.
Dreams of when I thought I was learning how to have my own restaurant.
“BLYAT, eto ochen zharka! For the love of Karelia, why the fuck is it boiling in here?” I complain to the hostess, Isabella.
“Val, you are always sweating, even during the frigid winter wind,” she replies. She smirks, not even looking up from the reservation book. “Go stand in the freezer room for a few, you’ll be fine. Plus, I heard Dante needs you to redo some of the kegs. The new bar back fucked it up last night.”
“Great, pohui. Why do they keep hiring dumbasses who can’t read the fucking directions?” I complain as I walk away, my voice trailing off. I can feel Isabella's amused gaze following me, and I shake my head, half-smiling despite myself.
As I walk through the empty bar, heading to cool off in the back and fix the kegs, I hear someone playing the piano from the main dining room.
Being an upscale piano bar, it is normal for the wait staff to come in early to practice their pieces before we open for the evening. So, this is not unusual.
But…
The melody is completely different from the upbeat pop-tunes that Dante, the bar’s general manager, has everyone learning these days.
This tune is rich and sultry, it’s laced with desire.
Capturing my attention immediately, I change course and walk towards the main dining room where there are two pianos on a stage set up for late night duets and duels.
As I draw closer, I hear her voice, raspy and full of soul. Full of longing.
I can’t see her yet, but her voice. She’s singing Black Velvet as her fingers dance across the piano. It sends shivers down my spine.
The combination of her voice and the notes she plays feels almost hypnotic, pulling me in. I step closer, peeking into the main room to get a better glimpse at whoever is on the piano. There, sitting in front of our talent manager, Tony, is a new girl auditioning for a job.
He’s sitting on the other piano bench with a clipboard in hand. Making notes as this siren performs.
Head bobbing in time with the beat of the song, fiery red curls fall down her back, framing a black cocktail dress that exposes an open back that drops in a deep V-shaped all the way down to the top of her ass.
Even in this dim light, I can make out the faint glow of a long scar running along her spine.
The bright white line shimmers in stark contrast against her milky skin.
When she finishes the piece, she looks back at Tony. He gives her a nod. She glances my way. From this angle, I catch a glimpse of her bright blue, almost gray eyes. I swear she notices me in the archway as she begins a second piece.
I’m lost to her .
This girl’s presence is magnetic, and for a moment, I forget all about my frustrations. The daily grind, the homesickness, the feeling of being stuck—it all melts away as I listen to her sing her own soulful, bluesy rendition of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s, Have You Ever Seen the Rain .
The mesmerizing music causes me to think back to my journey from Russia and how I got to New York City and Pianissimo . It all feels so distant now, but in moments like this, I can almost trace the journey that brought me here, the path that has been both beautiful and painful.
At sixteen, I came to America as an exchange student. Planning to return back to Russia after high school graduation two years later, I moved from Florida to New Jersey with my host family.
Right before graduation, life had other plans, and suddenly, I couldn’t travel home and found myself stranded. Everything unraveled so quickly—visa issues, unexpected setbacks, and a host family that grew more distant as my problems piled up.
You know, what do they say here in America? When it rains, it pours. I had no visa, no ticket home, and a mountain of bills and credit card debt all by the time I was 19.
So, I stayed, went to community college, and financed my first two years by owning several gum-ball vending machines.
You would be surprised at how many quarters you can collect and how much money that equals.
It wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills, and there was a certain satisfaction that came from it.
My little machines were scattered across local businesses, quietly earning me the quarters I needed to survive.