Chapter 10: The Parking Lot After Close
I pushed through the staff door at 11:14 and the night air hit me cold after the kitchen. My blazer was folded over my arm, my apron balled up underneath it, and my non-slip shoes were still damp from mopping the server station. The lot lights buzzed overhead and threw that yellow-white glare across the asphalt.
My car was parked on the far side near the dumpster enclosure, but I cut left toward the sidewalk to get air first. That's when I saw him.
The man in the black three-piece suit was standing under the awning by what used to be valet. No car in front of him. His jacket was buttoned now, his hands in his pockets, the silver chain catching the light. He wasn't looking at his phone. He was looking at the staff door.
I stopped with my hand still on the push bar behind me.
He smiled like we'd agreed to meet. "There you are," he said. "I was waiting for my car."
The valet stand had been closed for an hour. Everyone who worked that station had clocked out at ten. There were three cars left in the lot, and none of them were near him. I could see his didn't have a ticket in his hand. He took a step toward me, just one, onto the edge of the sidewalk where the concrete met the asphalt.
"The woman you were with," I said, because I didn't say her name. "Is she waiting in the car?"
He shook his head. "She went home earlier. We had separate cars." He said it easily, like it explained something. His eyes stayed on my face. "You worked a long shift. I wanted to say goodnight properly. Without the menu between us."
That was the move, putting it outside. Inside, there were tables and managers and rules. Out here there was just the lot and the dark and the sound of the highway beyond the hedge.
I felt my shoulders pull up. I shifted my blazer so both hands were holding it in front of me. I didn't step closer. I didn't step back yet either, because backing up would have meant pressing against the metal door and looking trapped.
"I appreciate that," I said. "But I'm off the clock. We don't do personal conversations out here."
I had practiced that line in my head on the way to the POS to document everything. My manager had told me once, if anyone ever approached you outside, keep it short, keep it professional, move back to the building. I could hear her voice saying it word for word.
He tilted his head a little and kept that calm smile. "I just asked your name. You never answered me in there."
The parking lot felt bigger suddenly, emptier. The kitchen vent was humming above the door and the lot lights made a hard shadow under his chin.
"I'm not comfortable with that," I said. My voice came out smaller than I wanted, so I said it again and made it flat. "I'm not comfortable. I need you to stay over there."
He lifted his hands slightly, palms out, like he was proving he hadn't meant anything. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I thought we had a nice exchange. You have a memorable voice. When you read that wine list—"
I cut him off. It was the first time I'd interrupted him all night. "Sir, I need to go back inside. My manager is still in there."
That wasn't quite true. My manager was in the office counting drawers, but the office door was locked. It didn't matter. It was the boundary I could say out loud.
For a second he didn't move. He looked at the staff door behind me, then back at me, and I could see him weighing whether I'd actually turn around or just stand there arguing. I didn't give him time to decide.
I turned and pulled the door open and stepped back into the fluorescent hall. The door was heavy and it clicked shut hard behind me. I turned the deadbolt from the inside. My hand was shaking against the metal.
Through the small wired window in the door I could see him still standing there. He didn't come toward the door. He just stood for maybe five seconds with his hands back in his pockets, then he looked down at his shoes, then he walked away toward the far end of the lot where a black sedan was parked under the street light. He didn't look back.
I stayed against the door until his car lights swept across the asphalt and turned out onto the main road. I could hear my breathing in the narrow hall. The dish room was still steaming and someone had left a bus tub by the sink.
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I didn't go back out that night. I texted my coworker to walk out with me in ten minutes and waited by the office until she was ready, my blazer still clutched in front of me. When we finally left together, the valet awning was empty.
But I kept seeing it — how he'd known which door I'd come out of, and how the woman in the red dress hadn't been with him at all.
