“What would you say to me if I was being all self-doubty and whiny?” she asks.
“Pull your head of your ass, you beautiful goddess?”
“Exactly. Now go find a mirror and say it to yourself.”
“Will do.” I take a deep breath. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Stand tall, shoulders back, and tits out,” I say.
“That’s the way.” She laughs. “You’ve got this.”
By the time I get back to the Heritage in the early afternoon, it’s coffee time. Except the coffee shop is still handling a roaring lunchtime crowd and there’s nary a seat to be found. So I head inside for the cocktail bar where it’s not quite so crowded. Still, the bartender/mixologist is working her ass off and the waiter on duty is all but running back and forth from the kitchen to serve meals to many groups of people seated around the low tables. Seems like the Heritage is very popular.
I take a seat at the end of the bar and wait.
“Miss Lawrence.” The waiter appears like magic. “What can I get for you?”
“Coffee, please. But there’s no rush. I can see you’re busy.”
He puts the order into the computer. “I’ll get that for you right away.”
Sure enough, a couple of minutes later a coffee sits in front of me. I don’t even bother asking how he knew who I was. The man is either damn good at his job, or Beck has been thorough in ensuring I feel at home here, or gossip has been going around. A mix of all three perhaps? Whatever.
“They called around. We can’t get anyone else in on such short notice,” says a voice nearby. A woman dressed in a black pantsuit. “It’s going to be a couple of hours at least.”
The waiter’s face tightens.
“I’m sorry, I have to get back.” She heads into the hotel restaurant next door. It’s busy in there as well.
“Problem?” I ask.
The waiter, his name tag says Isaac, gives me a wary look. “No, Miss Lawrence. Just some members of staff are off sick. It happens. Everything is fine. Is your coffee okay?”
I climb off the stool. “You need help for a couple of hours? I’m a waitress. Tell me what to do.”
His mouth just kind of hangs open.
“Isaac, I can help,” I repeat.
“Oh, no. Mr. Elliot—”
“Won’t mind in the least. I promise.” I survey the room. “Tell you what, I’m going to start by clearing those tables and giving them a wipe down. You let me know what you’d like done after that.”
And off I go. If I want to be part of this world then I need to be on the lookout for ways to contribute. This is a pretty straightforward way to help Beck.
Of course, the only downside to getting a whole bunch of new shoes is having to break them in. My feet are going to be sore by the end of the day. Lucky I wore low wedge booties with my Oscar de la Renta black sleeveless midi dress. Both are black so I mostly blend in with the staff. They don’t seem to have a uniform in this area so much as just wear clothes that are black or white. Makes sense. Those colors tend to be easier to clean.
I raise a few eyebrows back in the kitchen, but it’s easy enough to figure out where the dirty dishes go and where to find a cloth to clean off the tables. Isaac handles the computer for ordering and taking payment, while I deliver and do cleanup. We work well together and the time goes by quickly. It’s actually kind of nice to be doing something in my comfort zone. Not that waitressing is how I want to spend all of my days.
By the time the extra person appears, we’re edging into happy hour, so I hang around a bit longer to help out with the larger crowd. In fact, everything is going great right up until a group of four men walk out of the restaurant. And at the front of the group is Ethan. Beck’s brother freezes in place at the sight of me carrying dirty dishes. The man has an impressive frown. I have never been quite so thoroughly disapproved of. Such condemnation. Like shame on me for existing in his general vicinity. These damn people.
“Alice,” says Beck, stepping around his brother.
“Hey. Some of your staff are out sick. I’m just helping.”
“Thank you. Let me grab those for you.” He picks up the used glassware and follows me back