Chapter 3 - The Service Hallway Smelled Like Champagne
The service hallway was colder than the ballroom by ten degrees and smelled like spilled champagne and hot dishwater. My ears were still ringing from the quiet in there after Alessandro stepped between us.
I kept walking because I didn't know what else to do with my hands. My tray was empty. I held it against my stomach like it could keep me upright. Behind the double doors, the quartet started up again, too bright and too fast, like they were trying to cover something.
Denise was waiting by the ice bins. She'd been lead server for the catering company for six years and she didn't rattle easy. She took one look at my face and pulled me by the elbow into the narrow stretch by the linen shelves, out of the path of the guys running plates.
"You need to stay back here for a minute," she said, low.
I couldn't get air right. I tried to breathe through my nose. "Did I— did she say something to you?"
Denise glanced toward the kitchen pass. Two bussers were pretending not to listen while they stacked saucers. She lowered her voice even more. "Mrs. Romano went to Mr. Keller right after. She said you were rude to her in the ballroom. She asked for you to be taken off the floor."
My throat went tight. "Rude how?"
"She didn't give details to me. Keller just told me to pull you." She studied me. "What happened out there?"
I shook my head. I could still feel Victoria's eyes on me, that cold stare with her mouth pressed flat. I could still feel everyone else looking. "She came up to me. She was angry. I didn't say anything. I swear, I didn't say anything to her."
Denise frowned. "You didn't spill? Bump her?"
"No." My voice cracked and I hated it. "I don't think so."
She nodded toward my dress. "Check yourself. Check your tray."
It was such a practical thing that it steadied me for a second. I stepped back under the bare bulb by the shelves and looked down. Plain black dress, the one I'd steamed that afternoon in my apartment. I turned my hands over, checked my sleeves, my front, my skirt. No wet spot. No smear. No lipstick transfer from that beaded gown. My little studs were still in. My hair was still pulled back the way I'd left it.
I lifted the tray and turned it in the light. Clean stainless rim. No sticky ring, no champagne drip, no red wine. Nothing to explain why a woman in a champagne gown would look at me like I'd ruined something.
"See?" I said. I held it out to Denise. "There's nothing."
She ran her thumb along the edge anyway. Clean. She checked my hem like she was looking for a scuff. "Okay," she said quietly. "Okay. I believe you."
One of the bussers, Marcus, leaned in with a stack of water glasses. "They're saying out there you mouthed off to her," he whispered. "That you answered back when she told you to move."
"I didn't," I said. "She was talking and I just stood there. Mr. Romano had to— he stepped in."
Denise and Marcus exchanged a look I didn't like. It wasn't mean. It was worried, which was worse. That look meant they were already doing math about tips and the rest of the night and whether I'd get cut.
"Look," Denise said, "Keller's in with the client right now. Victoria's still talking to him by the bar. If you go out there now, it'll look worse."
My hands had started to shake. I set the tray down on a folded tablecloth so I wouldn't drop it. The paycheck from this gig was supposed to cover my electric and half my rent. I couldn't lose it over something I didn't do.
"But I need to know what I supposedly did," I said. "I can't fix it if nobody tells me."
Denise hesitated. She was trying to protect me and follow Keller's order at the same time. I could see it in her face.
"Please," I said. "Just tell me who I ask. I won't make a scene. I'll just ask for the specific complaint."
She sighed through her nose and jerked her chin toward the kitchen pass where our supervisor's clipboard hung by the expo window. Steam was rolling out from the dish pit. Someone called for more clean flutes.
"Keller'll be back there after he smooths things over," she said. "You wait for a gap, you ask him straight. Calm. Don't cry in front of him."
I nodded too fast. "Okay."
"And Mara?" She put her hand briefly on my forearm. Her fingers were cold from ice. "Don't go back into the ballroom until he clears you. Stay on this side of the doors."
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I picked up my tray again because I needed something to hold. Through the round window in the swinging door, I could see the blur of warm light and the chandelier and the dark shapes of guests moving like nothing had happened. Somewhere in there Victoria was still watching, I knew.
I turned toward the kitchen pass to wait for Keller. I didn't know what she'd told him, only that it was enough to pull me off the floor. I was going to get the exact words, even if my voice shook when I asked.
