Page 75 of A Thin Line

I put the key back on the hook and rushed back into the kitchen, realizing my coworker had returned before I had. Edna then had a quick meeting with the four of us, discussing our duties. First would be to get any drinks required by the guests. We had regular iced tea and decaf raspberry. We also had wine that would be served by two of the servers, while Rodrigo and I would take care of the non-alcoholic drinks, including water.

Once everyone was settled, we would take in the first course. When I got confused over all the courses—from an amuse-bouche, something I’d never heard of before, to soups and appetizers and salads long before the main course—Rodrigo said, “Don’t worry. You don’t need to know what the courses are called. They give us the food to take. Just pay attention when chef says what it is and what’s in it in case a guest asks.”

Suddenly, I felt woefully unqualified to do this job, and I felt stupid in this outfit—especially since my plan had already failed. Sinclair probably would not appear in the kitchen at all tonight.

Meaning he likely wouldn’t even notice my defiance.

Chapter 27

Edna entered the kitchen and announced to all of us that the guests had arrived. It was hard to tell by anything we could hear, because classical music was being piped through the hallways using a sound system I hadn’t even known existed until then. The music sounded familiar but I had no idea what it was. Rodrigo, a handsome young man with dark eyes, grinned at me. “I get tired of hearing The Four Seasons. For some reason, they all play it. Every last one of ‘em.”

Nodding, I realized I’d heard of the music before, but I didn’t find it comforting.

Rodrigo leaned close to me and said, “I think this bunch would freak the fuck out if we snuck some Jay-Z or Kendrick Lamar into the mix.” My eyes grew wide as I imagined Sinclair the angriest I’d ever seen him. A stunt like that would top anything I’d ever seen—I was certain of it. “I wouldn’t do it,” Rodrigo assured me, “but it makes me happy as hell thinking about it.”

As we awaited instruction, I became a little wistful because Rodrigo felt like the friend I’d never had. We seemed to have the same sensibilities and, best yet, he didn’t know a thing about my past.

Finally, it was time. The four of us made our way across the hall to the dining room just as people were getting seated. Although I made sure not to make eye contact, I couldn’t help but notice that the guests were well dressed. There were three women in the whole group, outnumbered by the men two to one. As we began filling glasses, Rodrigo with the raspberry tea and I with the regular, I snuck additional peeks at them while avoiding their eyes. Fine jewelry and beautiful fabrics, the men wore suits but the women were dressed for an elegant night on the town. One woman had on a satiny strapless white dress, emphasizing the beautiful gold necklace she wore. Another woman, from what I could see, was wearing a little black dress and the other woman also wore a dress, but it was a modest red-and-white number.

Even though we were pouring tea for most of the guests, they were also having wine poured for them. I reminded myself that Edna had said it was going to be a long night—and that merely underscored it.

By the time I’d worked my way to the end of the table, I finally looked toward the head where Sinclair was standing, speaking to his guests. Just as I’d thought, he hadn’t noticed me. It was just as well, because I was feeling quite foolish at this point.

The final man I poured tea for asked, “What’s your name?”

Obviously, he wasn’t listening to whatever Sinclair was saying—not that I blamed the guy. Sinclair was talking about numbers and goals and next quarter’s outlook. It sounded pretty boring.

I was going to pretend I hadn’t heard the guy, but he touched my arm. “What’s your name?”

I finally said, “Lise.”

“What?”

“Lise,” I said more precisely, hoping Sinclair wouldn’t hear my voice. That would certainly get me in all kinds of trouble.

“Short for Lisa?” he asked, a common mistake made by many—but, rather than correcting him, I simply nodded. It wasn’t like I was going to see this guy again.

Back in the kitchen, the chef already had trays for us—two plates for each, except for the most mature of us servers, a woman who looked to be in her thirties. She carried three. Chef Theodore said, “The amuse-bouche is parsnip chips with goat cheese and caviar.” I picked up my tray, marveling at how little food was there—and disgusted that people thought the height of wealth was eating fish eggs.

I was relieved that I didn’t have to serve my newfound friend this round but knew my luck wouldn’t hold out. I glanced at Sinclair again but, if he’d noticed me, he wasn’t letting on.

The night continued with the four of us retrieving dishes and delivering others, filling up drinks on occasion. I was shocked at all the courses. Even though none of the plates seemed to have much to eat on them, it was crazy to me how many times we had to bring in different food. There was a cold soup, a weird take on gazpacho, an appetizer and salad followed by fish and, finally, the main course.

Then we got to rest for a bit. Rodrigo and the older woman went out to the alley to “have a quick smoke,” something authorized by the chef, while I and the other young woman were told we could sit for a bit. But I felt too nervous to do that.

Edna asked if we wanted anything to eat. Again, I said no, but the other girl said she’d love some of the lamb “if there’s any left.”

Chef Theodore’s voice was tight, his words curt. “There is always some left. What do I always say?”

“Be prepared,” said the girl, properly chastised. The chef already placed some of the lamb we’d just seen during our last round of serving on a plate and he was heading to the table. He lifted the lid off one of the trays and scooped out some of the roasted brussels sprouts before lifting another lid, adding a big spoonful of the wild rice pilaf for the girl.

It all smelled so good, but my stomach was in knots. Maybe later I’d be ready to eat.

Right now, though, I just wanted this to be over.

When Rodrigo and the other woman returned, she grabbed a roll off the island and both of them sat across from me and the girl. We were tightly packed because we otherwise would have been sitting right in front of the serving pans—and the Sterno had a bad enough smell as it was.

At first, Rodrigo and the woman were talking about visiting Elitch’s in September, hoping the lines would be better after tourist season. But then Rodrigo asked me, “How long you been workin’ for the Whittier family?”

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