Chapter 9: Side Station Notes
The check was still warm from his hand when I got to the POS station. I didn't put it down right away. I held it by the edge like it might smudge.
The leather folio was closed. When I flipped it open, his signature was large across the tip line, looping over the total. Underneath, in the same black ink, he'd written a note in small tight letters next to the printed thank you. It wasn't about the food. It was my name, or what he thought it was, with a question mark, and a number. Ten digits. And underneath that, "ask for me next time."
My throat did that shallow catch again. I didn't read it twice. I just stared at it until the letters stopped swimming.
Jenna came up behind me with two dessert plates balanced on her forearm. "You good? Table twelve's been staring at the pass."
I turned the folio so she could see without touching it. She leaned in, her mouth tightened.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "That's him."
"What do you mean that's him?"
She set the plates down and lowered her voice. The printer behind us spat out a ticket for table four and kept humming. "The guy in the black suit with the chain? Red dress wife or girlfriend or whatever she is? He's in like once a month. Last time he did the same thing to Maya. Asking her name, telling her she had nice hands, left his number on the check. She told Luis and Luis said to just throw it away and not make a thing. He's a regular. He orders the Bordeaux."
I felt my hand tighten around the folio. "Maya didn't report it?"
"She mentioned it. Luis said the guy spends eight hundred on wine, we don't need drama." Jenna glanced toward the office where Luis was visible through the glass, on the phone with his back to us. "Maya asked not to be sat on his table again. Luis put her on patio for a month during winter like it was a favor."
I pulled my phone from my apron pocket. My hands weren't quite steady. I opened the camera and laid the check flat on the stainless shelf under the POS screen, smoothing the corner where his thumb had bent it. I took one photo straight on, then another closer where the handwriting was legible. The flash bounced off the glossy paper and I turned it off and took a third.
"You're documenting," Jenna said. It wasn't a question.
"I have to," I said. "If I don't, it's just his word."
I tucked the phone away and pulled the server log out from under the terminal. It was a black binder with wrinkled order pads shoved in the front pocket, where we wrote comps and voids and notes for the next shift. I found today's date and wrote in small print so I wouldn't take up space.
9:47pm - Table 12 - M. black 3pc suit/silver chain + F red dress - asked personal name repeatedly, leaned in, left personal number on check. Photo taken. Check #1847.
I stared at the line after I wrote it. It looked too clinical for what it had felt like, but it was there. Time, table, what he wore, what he did.
Luis came out of the office then, still holding his cell against his shoulder. He stopped at the station and reached for the folio in my hand.
"Table twelve closed?" he asked.
I handed it over. He flipped it open, saw the tip first, nodded once. His eyes flicked over the note and didn't pause.
"Good tip," he said. He closed the folio and slid it into the stack for processing. "You handled that table well tonight. They were demanding. That's good service."
Jenna looked at me and then away.
"He left his number on the check," I said. My voice was lower than I wanted it to be. "He was asking for my name all night. It felt personal, not service."
Luis gave me that tight smile he used when he wanted something to be done. "Some guests are friendly after wine. You kept it professional. That's what matters. Don't carry it home with you." He tapped the stack of checks. "Let's get these batched before close. You can head out after your side work."
He didn't look at the binder where I'd just written. He didn't ask to see the photos. He walked back toward the dining room where table twelve's empty plates still sat, and I understood the shape of it then. Not that he didn't believe me. That believing me would cost him something he wasn't willing to pay tonight.
Jenna waited until he was out of earshot. "You want me to be on that note too? As a witness?"
I swallowed. "Would you?"
"Yeah," she said. She took the pen from my hand and under my entry she wrote: J.M. - witnessed prior pattern w/ same guest 3/12, 4/28. Mgr informed. Then she capped the pen.
May you like
I closed the binder and put it back under the terminal. The photos were in my phone, the ink was in the binder, the check was in Luis's stack. It wasn't a formal report. Not yet. It wasn't going to HR or anyone who could actually do something before tomorrow. But it wasn't just in my head anymore.
I looked toward the dining room one more time and felt the choice settle, heavy and clear. I could let Luis batch that check and let the number disappear into the trash with the receipts, or I could carry what I'd just written into the next shift and make someone read it.
