by Nikki Wild
That’s why I was plenty surprised to find out that they had only put twelve of us on the payroll for the shift. I’d expected something kind of small, given that server count. Most of our banquets were under a hundred people. Our usual ratio was one server to every ten guests, waiting on them hand and foot.
But this event seated over four hundred misogynistic Marines, half of them lecherously watching our asses as we strolled around.
Oh boy, did they love keeping us busy.
We were divided up to take roughly thirty-two Marines apiece, seated in groups of eight at large round tables. They’d specifically requested female servers, which hadn’t struck me as anything I’d necessarily label a good omen.
But, you know, whatever. It’s a gig. Another couple of hours’ pay in my back pocket, although I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the cleanup phase. I wasn’t expecting to get out of here until midnight.
Not like I have a life, anyway.
At least it took some stress off of me about visiting my Mom. She had met this guy something like half a year ago, and they’d really hit it off. I’d spoken to him over the phone awkwardly a few times, but this was the big one. This was the part where I had to go physically meet him, him and his son.
I wasn’t exactly looking forward to that. Moving into the city for school had successfully put an hour between us, and I’d been enjoying the degree of separation.
I mean I had lunch with her all the time.
Well, every two or three weeks.
Did I say weeks? I meant months.
Point is, I liked not having her stress over every facet of my day-to-day life, or following me around the house and venting about the most inane shit I could fathom.
Living on my own had been stressful and terrifying in its own right, but it seriously helped that I lucked out with the best roommate in the world – my rich bitch (I say that affectionately) best friend, Natalie. Her parents had put her up in a high-rise condominium apartment that gave her a stunning look over the river, under the condition that she not live alone. Natalie, through virtue of being my friend since late junior high, offered it to me first.
Reluctantly, I said yes. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with the arrangement and didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness, so I spent a lot of my free time keeping the place spic and span from top to bottom.
In fact, that’s pretty much what I’d spent my morning doing while she was out trying on new clothes and shopping with her rich friends. There was a distinct parallel to the way my work life lived… always getting to see that world, but never interact with it.
Sure, I lived in a nice apartment with a great friend who came from a super wealthy family… but none of that really belonged to me. It just wasn’t my place in the grand scheme of things.
While I raced around to accommodate my guests, I started to grow flustered. The Marines were running me completely ragged, although I couldn’t fault very many of their requests… it seemed like they were just particularly needy.
From the start, I noticed that there was a conspicuous missing person from one of my tables. As I filled a few glasses of water at their side, I snuck a peak at the tri-fold placeholder on the table:
LCpl. Dalton Carlyle, 184th Steel Division.
“Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle should be joining us shortly,” the disgruntled leader of this table’s cozy little wolf pack told me. “He appears to be running late.”
“Maybe a little bit,” I replied, topping off his glass with the most professional grin I could muster. “Your man’s already twenty minutes behind.” I expanded my attention to the rest of the table. “Your salads will be out shortly. Does anybody need anything else?”
“No, ma’am.”
“No, thank you.”
“Negative.”
“Very well then,” I nodded politely, scampering off to fill up other water glasses with one hand, and sweet teas with the others.
I’d lucked out with most of my Marines. There were a couple of randy types, checking me out or watching me as I strolled away, but nobody had openly engaged me in harassing dialogue.
Even with that false sense of security…
I really should have seen it coming.
It was while I was handing out salads that he strolled in, his suit slightly rumpled and a bounce in his step. The late Marine looked startlingly handsome, with a broad build and strong jawline. Other tables paused to watch as he confidently sauntered towards my area, taking his seat nearby with a chirpy smile.
I tried to keep my eyes off of him as I focused on dispensing salads, but we made eye contact right before his ass hit the chair. It’s when he opened his mouth that my knees almost quivered.
“Hullo, love. Sorry I’m late.”
His rich English accent was music to my ears. Sophisticated, gritty, and yet somehow smooth, I could practically feel my panties moisten at the very sight and sound of him.
“Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle, I presume?” I asked, trying to keep my voice straight.
“In the flesh,” he smiled coolly, watching me with a faint mixture of amusement and arrogance. “Does my reputation precede me?”
“That, or your name card. I’ll let you decide which,” I indicated politely enough as I handed him a modest house salad.
“Thank you… Clara,” he replied, preparing to dive into the bowl.
“Wait. How do you know my name?” I asked. My thoughts went erratic as I watched him glance up, a cruel smile crossing his handsome face. Oh god, does this guy know who I am?
Dalton merely chewed as he pointed vaguely towards my breasts. I glanced down in confusion. There it was… my silver nametag, pinned against my chest, with my first name spread across in invisible tape.
“I always forget I have this thing on,” I chuckled nervously. “Anyway, do you need anything else for the moment, before I tend to the others?”
“Yeah, actually,” Dalton smiled. To my horror, the other Marines at the table started to sigh, some of them smiling at each other and shaking their heads. “Got a menu?”
“This is a closed-course meal,” I answered mechanically, not liking how they were apparently waiting for something.
“Well, that’s a shame. I was going to ask for something sweet… Something that would melt in my hands and taste delicious… Can you think of anything you have that might satisfy my cravings?”
My smiling façade cracked for a second. Who does this guy think he is?
Dalton continued: “You’d realize what I really wanted… We’d have this great, big laugh and you’d find it really endearing, and in a few hours you’d be fucking me.”
The Marines burst out in laughter. While one of them smacked the table, I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders up. “Right. Well, if that’s all for the moment…”
Dalton half-smiled at me. “Lighten up, love. Take a bloody joke. I’m good.” He glanced around the table. “You boys don’t need anything, do you?”
They all shook their heads, composing themselves, and I drew in a deep, calming breath before turning on my heel… but not before accidentally making eye contact with Dalton again. He was looking at me curiously, his half-smile still plastered across his face.
What a prick, I thought to myself as I tended to other tables. Dalton was an absolute dick. I couldn’t fathom how I found him attractive at all when he strutted into the room…
Except, he was always looking at me when my gaze went in that direction. I could feel his smoldering gaze on my back as I raced around, taking care of my guests.
Soon afterwards, it was time to line up and dispense the main courses to the guests. For the banquet, the organizing party had established sautéed salmon, grilled asparagus stalks, and a hearty helping of garlic red-skinned mashed potatoes. The chefs were running frantic in the kitchen, determined to keep the presentation as stellar and spotless as possible.
“Move along, ladies! Once this is over, the hard part’s done!” Arnold rang out, quickly makin
g minute modifications to the placement of details against the plates as he swiftly racked up six or seven entrée plates to a large, black, oval dinner tray. His primary foodrunner was helping servers shoulder them between running plates and opening tray stands for us in our sections.
Unfortunately, the seating meant that we perpetually left a couple of Marines at the tables without food until returning a few minutes later, but they seemed to understand that we were doing the best we could.
If anything, it appeared that they enjoyed the additional opportunities to watch our asses strut along as we power-walked back and forth across the banquet hall.
Out of pure self-interest, I left Dalton’s table last in the dropping off of entrees for my section. I could deal with him ogling me after seeing to it that everyone else was satisfied.
“Is there anything else I can get you gentlemen for the moment?” I asked his table politely, sliding the final entrée plate to one of his seated companions.
“No, ma’am, I think we’re all good here,” the leader of the table smiled. “That’ll be all.”
“Actually, there’s something else you can do for me,” Dalton piped up.
I flashed him a smile, but my eyes said it all.
“Sure. What can I get for you, sir?”
Dalton’s whites showed. “Well, I’ve taken a few bites of this, and it’s quite good. It’s missing a little something, though…”
He patted his thighs under the table.
“Why don’t you come sit on my lap and give me a second opinion, hmm? Take a few bites. Tell me what can be done to give it a little kick.”
I’m about to give YOU a kick, you smug son of a bitch, I muttered in my head.
“That… won’t be possible, I’m afraid,” I hastily but cordially answered.
“Oh, go on, humor me. I don’t bite. Unless that’s your fetish, that is…”
I started to grow red.
“So, you like the biting, huh? Nice little nibble into your shoulder while you’re in the throes of love?”
The other Marines were snickering again, looking backwards and forwards between us. Only the leader was letting out a sigh, palming his face with his elbow against the table.
“Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle…”
“You can bite me too, if you’d like,” Dalton smiled wickedly. “But only if you’re being a bad little girl. And the thing about bad little girls is that, well… they get punished.”
I swallowed my anger and gave him a curt little smile. As much as I wanted to retort back… I couldn’t let him get to me, particularly not at work.
“Enjoy your meal,” I replied, turning on my heel and strolling back towards the kitchen. I was done with that jackass.
“Actually, I could use a little salt!” Dalton called after me.
With an exasperated sigh, I whipped around, snatched an unused shaker from a nearby table outside my section, and slammed it down beside his wrist. To my surprise, he actually flinched, and Marines at surrounding tables looked up from their meals.
“Your salt, Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle,” I muttered furiously between gritted teeth. “Will that be ALL for you now, SIR?”
He looked into my venomous eyes with his usual confidence, only tempered now by surprise. “Yes, I believe that will do nicely.”
“Very well then.”
I started to pull away when his voice piped up one last time.
“On second thought…”
I turned back, staring at his beautifully chiseled face. I didn’t know if I wanted to punch him or kiss him.
Probably both.
In that order.
“Pepper?”
Taking a second to get myself under control, I reached back out and grabbed a pepper shaker, setting it down calmly.
“That’s a good girl,” he said before smiling coyly, his hand just barely brushing mine as I stepped away from the table.
I hated to admit it to myself… but I enjoyed his antagonization. It was a break from the usual hum drum routine. He was effortlessly making my blood boil, but I had to concede that his hot body and total fucking arrogance was kind of exciting for me… what can I say?
Pissed me off, but it was working for me.
The rest of the night went off without much of a hitch. Dalton left me alone after my brief snap, although I could still feel his eyes on my back – or my ass, more accurately.
That’s why I was a little confused when I swung back by a little later on to pick up discarded dishes, only to find out that half the table had already left – including him.
Before I could focus on that, our serving team was whisked back away from the chamber so that they could have their little post-banquet award show, or whatever they were doing. All I knew was that the lights were dimmed, the stage was lit up, and we were banned from entering until afterwards.
We made use of our hour-and-a-half of free time by cleaning up the kitchen. We went ahead and started closing up everything in the hidden corridors – racking up the sodas, cleaning out the tea urns, breaking down refresher tables, cleaning and stacking the small, black, rounded drink trays, cleaning and breaking down our equipment, and generally just willing the night to finish out and let us all go home.
When the banquet was finally over, we were only barely notified. Most of the Marines disappeared without a word, and we were left with a huge room that needed to be disassembled and cleaned.
Luckily, the closing sidework went quickly. The other servers were apparently just as anxious to get out as I was, and we quickly scrambled around to rip up the tablecloths, help the couple of maintenance guys roll the closed tables backstage, and rack up all the glasses and silverware.
We still had an hour of polishing glasses and wiping and rolling silverware to look forward to, but hopefully that would go quickly enough.
“What a night, huh?” One of my coworkers, Beth, quietly asked. I didn’t know her all that well, but she was one of the friendlier, more down-to-earth servers on our little freelance brigade.
“Yeah,” I nodded, wiping the sweat from my brow. “That was way more trouble than I thought it would be.”
“You’re telling me. Seriously, he only scheduled ten of us? What the fuck was Arnold thinking? We’ve never handled more than ten people apiece, let alone three dozen…”
“He wasn’t thinking,” I grumbled, glancing around to ensure that our boss wasn’t around. “If Arnold’s going to keep stacking us with hotel work, he’s gonna have to figure out how to either pay us better, or put more people in the trenches…”
“No shit,” Beth nodded. “Tonight was not worth ten freaking dollars an hour. Twelve, maybe thirteen would have been a bit more acceptable…”
“Preaching to the choir.”
We shut up and focused on wiping down soaked, steaming drink trays as Arnold pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen area. With his usual air of controlled dignity, he quickly summoned everyone’s attention and clasped his hands together.
“Excellent job, everybody. The event was apparently a hit, and we can look forward to additional jobs here in the future.”
Those of us in the room stifled a collective groan. We hated hotel gigs.
“I hope you’ll all forgive me for the short staff tonight. I had planned additional servers, but I needed to cut an operations costs deal with hotel management. Since we performed to our typical high standards, they’ve agreed to allow the morning staff to handle everything from here... an arrangement that will extend to all future events here. You’re all dismissed.”
A tired cheer rang out from us all. We had never left a gig early, and all of a sudden Arnold went from incompetent villain to heralded hero.
The servers began flocking to notify everyone else still in the banquet chamber. Before I could join them, Arnold threw me a meaningful glance, and I reluctantly dragged myself to his side.
“Clara, we need to talk about your performance for a moment,” my boss told me when all others were
out of earshot.
“What’s the matter?” I tried to sound less exhausted than I was.
“There’s the matter of your tardiness tonight,” he replied coolly. “That, and I am led to believe that you engaged were in, uh, misplaced banter with one of the guests?”
“I’m… not following, sir.”
Was he talking about that ass-hat Marine?
Arnold sighed briefly. “I’m going to be frank with you for a moment. I don’t know why you were late earlier, and quite honestly, I don’t care. But it pains me when this happens…”
I braced myself.
Am I getting FIRED?
“I knew our crowd was going to be either incredibly polite and restrained, or a bunch of wild animals. Military types tend to go one way or the other. I have it on good authority that you comported yourself with grace tonight, and I wanted to commend you for your professionalism.”
“I’m afraid I’m still not following.”
What the hell is he talking about?
“One of your guests, the, ahem, other tardy party,” Arnold clarified. “A few members of his table apologized to me on his behalf, and another server clarified that he had been engaging in harassment against you. I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your care in representing us under that kind of attention. I hate to put you people in a room with crude animals like him.”
“Oh. Why, thank you,” I replied awkwardly. I’d already kind of moved past that, and didn’t honestly expect that it would wind up in his ear.
“Try to not be late again, Clara,” he told me, a sincere smile on his lips. “And thank you. I value your contributions to this team, and I want you to know that you have premiere call for future events. I’ll be adding you to the mailing list when I’m in my office tomorrow morning.”
The way Arnold handled things was to organize catering or serving events, then blast out an email of the week’s openings every Sunday morning. Premiere call was his phrase for the four or five servers who were able to cherry-pick shifts in advance on Saturday, before the other forty servers had any clue of the coming work opportunities.
This meant better shift opportunities, and as much work as I could possibly want. It was a distinction for only the most veteran or competent servers, neither of which I thought were particularly applicable in my case.
