Chapter 4: The Service Hallway
The service hallway was ten degrees colder than the terrace and it smelled like ice melt and mop water. The air conditioning hit my wet clothes and I started shaking for real. My shirt was plastered to my back, my vest dripped onto the concrete floor, and the towel they’d handed me was already spotted red where I’d pressed it against my shin.
Daniel walked behind me, not touching me, but close enough that I felt steered. He didn’t say anything after that line by the fountain. He just nodded toward the catering staging area past the locker row, where a woman in a black catering manager’s polo waited with her arms crossed.
“Maya, right?” she said. She didn’t offer her name. She looked at my legs, at the water pooling under my shoes, and then at Daniel. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes before you get sick. And get that cut cleaned.”
She had a folded stack in her hands — dry black trousers, a white shirt still in plastic, and a first-aid kit on top. She set them on the metal prep table like she was doing me a favor.
“I’ve got an incident form,” she said, flipping a clipboard around. It was one page, with a lot of small print and a signature line at the bottom. “Standard. Says you slipped carrying the tray, no fault, no injury claim against the estate or the catering company. You sign, we get you bandaged properly, we pay you for the full shift plus tomorrow if you need off. We keep it quiet so the gala isn’t disrupted. Everybody wins.”
I didn’t take the clipboard. My phone was still in the side pocket of my vest, sealed in its waterproof case. My fingers had found it by the fountain and left it there. I could feel its hard edge against my hip through the wet fabric. I didn’t move my hand.
“I didn’t slip,” I said. My voice sounded thin in that hallway. “Someone’s foot was out. I was tripped.”
The manager’s smile tightened. She glanced at Daniel again, then back at me.
“Honey, there were a hundred people out there, low light, trays everywhere. You lost your footing near the fountain. It happens,” she said, and she pushed the clipboard an inch closer. “You’re cold, you’re bleeding. Sign this and I can get the nurse in. You don’t sign, I can’t authorize treatment here. Liability.”
Daniel shifted his weight against the doorway, not blocking it exactly, just standing in it.
I pressed the towel harder against my shin. The tear in my trousers was about three inches long, the edges dark with water and blood. “I don’t want a payoff,” I said. “I want an incident report that says what happened. And I want the camera footage from the terrace. That’s it.”
The manager’s expression went flat. She pulled the clipboard back toward her chest.
“Maya, listen to me,” she said, quieter now. “I staff half the county. Weddings, country club, the foundation events. You don’t sign, I can’t put you back on the schedule. Not here, not at the resort up the highway. You understand what I’m saying? You’ll get flagged as a risk. No one wants a server who sues when she trips.”
The cold was making my teeth want to chatter and I locked my jaw so they wouldn’t.
“I’m not suing,” I said. “I’m asking for a report and the video. That’s normal.”
“It’s not normal to demand footage the same night you had an accident,” she said. “You’re making this bigger than it is. Take the clothes. Take the bandage. Take the pay and go home. That’s the smart move.”
I looked at Daniel. He hadn’t moved, his hands clasped in front of him. He wasn’t looking at me now, he was looking at the floor like this was awkward for him too.
“What’s your name?” I asked her.
She hesitated.
“You want me to sign something, I need your name,” I said. I tried to keep my voice even. “And the time. For my own notes.”
She sighed and tapped the top of the form where it said MANAGER ON DUTY. “Linda Cho. It’s 8:47 p.m.” She said it like she was indulging me. “There. Now can we do this the easy way?”
I let go of the towel with one hand and pulled my phone just enough out of the vest pocket to check the screen through the clear case. It was still recording time on the voice memo I’d started before service. I didn’t press anything, just let her see me look at the time on it.
“I’m not signing that,” I said, pushing the clipboard back across the table toward her. “You can write that I refused at 8:47 with Linda Cho as witness. I’m keeping the towel for pressure until I can get real care on my own.”
Linda stared at the unsigned line, then at my wet clothes dripping on her clean floor.
“Suit yourself,” she said, snapping the clipboard shut. “Don’t change in here if you’re not signing. You can wait outside after you clock out.”
She picked up the stack of dry clothes and put them back on the shelf behind her, out of my reach. The first-aid kit went with them.
May you like
Daniel finally looked up, his eyes flicking to my shin, then away.
I stood there in the cold hallway, soaking wet, bleeding through a bar towel, with an unsigned form between us and no bandage, holding my vest pocket closed with my palm so the phone inside stayed hidden and dry.
