Chapter 5 - Eyes on the Central Table
The candle in its glass holder would not stop flickering. I watched it instead of looking around, because looking around meant seeing all of them looking at me.
The chandeliers threw warm light straight down on the white tablecloths and it felt too bright. The tall windows behind me threw the cool blue from the skyline across my back. I was caught between them. My apron felt too white. My face felt too marked. My breathing sounded loud in my own ears, and I tried to slow it down.
His hand was no longer on my chin. He had lowered it to the edge of the table, next to the dark menu folder, but he had not leaned back. He stayed forward, close enough that I could see the gold chain at his collar and the ink moving over his knuckles when he shifted his wine glass an inch to the left.
"You okay standing?" he asked quietly.
I nodded too fast. "I'm fine."
A chair scraped two tables over. A woman whispered, not quiet enough, "Oh my God, look at her face." A man lifted his phone a little higher. I saw the black rectangle catch the candlelight. My stomach dropped.
"Harper." My manager's voice came from my left. Mr. Ellis. He did not touch me. He smiled the way he smiled at complaining guests. "Can I borrow you for one second?"
I followed him three steps toward the service aisle, my shoes silent on the carpet. The air felt colder away from the candle.
He kept his voice low, his eyes on the room. "What is happening at twelve?"
"Nothing," I said. "He just asked about —"
"Listen to me." He glanced toward the man, then back. "We have a full floor. We have people filming. You need to handle your table quietly. No more hands on faces, no more conversations people can hear. You finish the table, you smile, you keep it moving. Understand?"
Heat climbed up my neck. "Yes, sir."
"If he causes a problem, I will comp and close it. But right now you're the problem they're watching." He adjusted his cuff. "Finish without an incident."
He walked away before I could answer. I stood there with my order pad pressed against my apron, my ponytail stuck to the back of my neck. Behind me, someone passed too close on the way to the restroom and my shoulders jerked before I could stop them. I hated that. I hated that my body did it without asking me.
When I stepped back to table twelve, the man looked up at me first, then past me at the room.
The woman with the phone was still holding it up. A busboy had stopped near the red leather chairs to stare.
He did not raise his voice. He did not stand. He turned his head just enough to be heard.
"Mind your meals," he said.
It was even, low. Controlled. The kind of calm that made people listen because there was no bluff in it.
The woman lowered her phone into her lap. The man beside her cleared his throat and picked up his fork. The busboy started moving again with his tray.
He looked back at me. "You don't have to stand in the middle of it."
"I have other tables," I said, but my feet did not move. Mr. Ellis was watching from near the window, arms crossed. The candle light shook across the wine glasses.
"I know," the man said. "Sit for thirty seconds. They'll think we're ordering dessert."
"I can't sit with a guest."
"You can pour me more water and listen," he said, and nudged his empty water glass forward a half inch.
My hands were shaking, so I picked up the pitcher from the side station to give them something to do. The ice clicked. Water hit the glass. My left eye throbbed under the lights, a dull ache around the bruise that the makeup had not covered.
"They're all staring because of me," I said under my breath. "I'm going to get written up."
"They're staring because they don't know what to do," he said. "That's different."
Mr. Ellis came back, stopping at the edge of the light. He put a hand flat on the back of the empty chair at twelve, claiming the space.
"Everything good here, sir?" he asked, smile back on.
"Very good," the man said without looking away from me. "She's taking good care of me."
"Glad to hear it." Mr. Ellis looked at me. "Harper, finish the table without incident. No more delays."
"Yes, sir," I said.
May you like
He gave one last sweep of the room to make sure the phones were down, then left us in the circle of candlelight. The chandeliers hummed faintly above. The city glowed blue in the windows.
The man stayed seated, his tattooed hands resting on either side of his place setting, waiting.
