Chapter 3 - The Steak Goes Cold
I could feel the rest of the room pulling at me while I stayed locked on his table.
Table six needed drink refills. The couple by the window kept glancing toward the kitchen like I'd forgotten them, which I had. From over by the bar, Dana gave me that tight-lipped look managers do when they don't want to make a scene yet. He tapped two fingers against his wrist, mouthing wrap it up.
I turned back to the man. The steam had stopped rising off his plate. The edge of the steak was going gray around the pink center, the carrots losing their shine. In a nice place like ours, a steak sitting that long was already dead.
"Sir," I said, and I kept my voice low and practical. Work voice. "Let me fix what I can fix. I'll have the kitchen re-fire that steak fresh, no wait on my ticket. I'll comp dessert for the table. And I'll make sure my busser gets an apology for what happened earlier."
That was the best offer I had. It cost me nothing I couldn't cover and it gave him a way to be the big guy without anyone else getting hurt.
He didn't look at the plate. He tapped his cigarette once against the rim of the glass ashtray. A thin line of ash fell.
"I don't want another steak," he said.
"The kitchen can have one up in eight minutes," I said. "Medium rare, hot this time. You won't have to—"
"I said I don't want it."
His voice stayed calm. That was worse than yelling. Behind him, the bald guard shifted his weight, hands folded in front. He wasn't looking at me exactly. He was looking past me, at the room.
"Then let me get you—" I started.
"Bring the kid out here," the man said.
My stomach dropped. I kept my tray tucked against my side so my hands wouldn't shake where he could see it.
"No," I said.
He lifted his eyebrows a fraction. "No?"
"He's seventeen," I said. "He's in the back doing his side work. I'm not pulling him onto the floor for this."
"You said an apology," he said. He tapped the cigarette again, slower this time. "I want to hear it from him."
I glanced toward the kitchen pass. Through the little round window I could see Leo's shape moving by the dish pit, head down, stacking ramekins too fast. He'd been on the verge of tears when I'd sent him back there after the man had told him he was too stupid to clear crumbs without breathing on people. Told him to get out of his sight.
"He apologized already," I lied. "In the kitchen. He feels bad. You don't need him out here."
"That's not your call."
"It is my call," I said. "I'm running this section. He's a minor and I'm not putting him in the middle of your dinner."
The man leaned back a half inch. He brought the cigarette up near his mouth but didn't smoke it. He just held it there, watching me.
"You protect him like he's yours," he said.
I didn't answer that. Dana was moving now, weaving between tables with a rag over his arm like he just happened to be heading our way. Table six tried to catch my eye and I gave them a quick nod I'll-be-right-there that I didn't mean yet.
"Look," I said, quieter. "You haven't touched your food. The candle's burning down. Let me at least—"
I reached to shift the steak plate so the wax wouldn't drip on the rim. At the same second, one of the other suited men behind him stepped in too close to the table leg trying to let Dana pass. The table jolted hard.
The candle holder tipped. Hot wax sloshed over the edge and hit the white tablecloth, then ran in a fast little river toward the charger.
"Careful," the bald guard said, sharp, to his own guy.
I grabbed a cocktail napkin and blotted at it before it set. The wax was already skinning over, pale and sticky against the linen. It got on my thumb and burned.
"Dammit," I muttered, then caught myself. "Sorry. It's— it'll stain if I don't get it."
The man watched my hands. He didn't move to help. He tapped his cigarette one last time and set it to rest in the ashtray, smoke curling up between us.
"Leave it," he said.
"It's going to—"
"Leave it."
I left the napkin pressed to the cloth. My thumb throbbed. The ruined steak sat there congealing, the spilled wax hardening in a little misshapen pool by the candle. It looked like evidence of something.
Dana was three tables away now, smiling at guests as he came, eyes fixed on me over their heads.
The man noticed him too. A small smile touched his mouth.
"Looks like your manager's coming," he said. "You want to tell him you're refusing a guest's request? Or should I?"
May you like
I straightened up. I didn't step back. Leo stayed in the back where I'd put him, and I was going to keep him there if I had to stand in this spot all night.
"We're still talking," I said.
