Chapter 2 - Stay Where I Can See You
I didn't move after I said it. My mother taught me. The words sat there in the warm air and I wished I could pull them back, because everybody heard and nobody breathed.
The man in the pinstripe suit didn't look at the plate. He looked at me, then past me, at the men standing up along the wall. His voice dropped lower.
"Nobody touches her."
He said it the same way he'd said everything else, but slower, like he wanted to make sure each of them caught it. One of the associates, a thick guy in a dark suit near the wine storage, shifted his weight and glanced at the floor manager. The floor manager, Dale, gave a short nod toward the kitchen, like he wanted someone to come take me by the arm. The man saw it.
"I mean it," he said. "Clear the aisle."
Dale blinked. "Sir, we need to —"
"Now."
That one word moved people faster than any push. Two servers in black vests stepped back against the white tablecloths. A busboy froze with a water pitcher in his hand. The thick associate took two steps back but didn't sit. Dale lifted both hands, palms out, and waved the servers off to the sides. The chandeliers hummed above us. I could smell the garnish on the plate, something lemony and hot, and my own apron starch.
"You," the man said to me, without taking his eyes off Dale. "You stay beside this table."
I nodded before I realized I was nodding. My shoes felt glued to the carpet runner. The white porcelain dish was right there at elbow height, steam gone now, the garnish wilting at the edge. The silver fork and knife lay exactly where they'd been, fork on the left, knife on the right. A hand — his hand — rested near the fork, not holding it, just close enough that the metal caught the light when he moved his fingers.
I kept staring at that hand. I thought if he picked up the fork he was going to taste it again, and I wasn't sure I could watch him do it. My fingers were cold. I tucked them into the sides of my apron.
Dale leaned in a little, trying to keep his voice polite. "Miss, why don't you step back to the kitchen with me and let the gentleman finish his dinner? We'll sort this out."
"No," the man said.
Dale stopped. His smile stayed, but it went flat.
"She doesn't go to the kitchen alone," the man said. "Not tonight."
I looked at Dale because I didn't know what else to do. He was my boss. He signed my checks. Twice this month he'd warned me about being late after the bus ran slow on the highway. Now he looked at me like I was a spill he couldn't wipe up in front of guests.
"You hear that?" Dale said to me, quiet. "Stay put."
"I — yes," I said. My voice sounded thin. I hated how small it was.
One of the other waitresses, Carla, mouthed something at me from behind a table. Are you okay? I couldn't answer. The man pulled out the chair at his table just a few inches with his foot, not for sitting, just to make space.
"Stand here," he said to me, tapping the carpet beside the table leg. "Where I can see you."
I took one step, then another. The bow tie at my throat felt too tight. The updo I'd pinned that afternoon was slipping, a strand stuck to my neck. I could feel every eye in the dining room. The men in suits. The couples who'd stopped eating. Dale with his hands now clasped in front of him.
I stopped beside the table, close enough to see the faint smear on the rim of the plate where the sauce had slipped. Close enough to see the gray at the man's temples when he turned his head.
"You don't talk to the kitchen," he said, not unkind, but final. "You don't carry trays. You stay here."
I swallowed. "Okay."
Dale cleared his throat. "Sir, if there's a problem with the dish, I can have the chef —"
"There is no problem with the dish," the man said. "There is a problem with the room. Fix the room."
May you like
Dale nodded and started moving tables back, telling people in a low voice to please continue their meals. Silverware clinked. Someone laughed too loud and cut it off. But nobody came near our little square of carpet. I stood there beside the white tablecloth with the plate cooling in front of me, and I understood that I wasn't part of the staff anymore for tonight. I was something set apart, kept.
The man's hand was still near the fork. He didn't touch me. He didn't need to.
