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I spin on my heels and go back to the kitchen, still scanning for the groom on the way. No sign of him. He hasn’t got wind I’m coming and made a run for it, has he?
No, there’d be more of a scene. He’s probably gone for a piss or a line or to fuck a bridesmaid or something. He’ll be back. I just got to kill a couple of minutes.
I get back in the kitchen. The catering boss is outside. I can hear her yelling at someone else. The girl from the back of the van is here, though, got her back to me. She’s pouring champagne into flutes, one after another. “Having a good night?” I ask, making her jump as she glances back at me.
“Give me a hand, would ya?”
“Sure thing.” I pick up another open bottle and start pouring. “Gotta love the catering game, am I right?”
She snorts out of her nose. “Yeah, right.”
“Hey, you’re doing the job, you must be into it.”
She pours out the last drops into a flute before glancing my way, fixing me with a pair of emerald green eyes like nothing I’ve ever seen before. “You think I like this job?”
“Don’t you?”
“No, I fucking hate it.”
“Then leave.”
“Course. That simple. Get paid zippity shit for the night and get dumped by the temp agency as well.”
I set my empty bottle down and scoop up the tray. That’s enough loitering. Time for another scope of the function room. Yet, before I can move, I open my mouth again. “You said you hate it. Why stick with it?”
“Because I need the money, genius.”
“Lot of other jobs out there.”
She picks up a tray of drinks, carrying it out without another word. I’m scooping up my own tray when the catering boss reappears.
“You,” she says, pointing at me. “Go give them a hand bringing the beers in.”
I point to the tray like I’m already engaged, but she just takes it from me. “I’ll take this out. You go give them a hand.”
“Sure thing, boss.” I go outside, grab a couple of crates from the pile and bring them into the kitchen, dumping them on the nearest surface. I grab a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses and set them on one of the silver trays. Tray in hand and hurrying, I go back out just in time to see the groom disappearing through a door on the far side of the room. I get over there as fast as I can, difficult with the drunken guests doing their best to crash into me as I go.
A maiden aunt squeezes my ass, telling me I’m a fine piece of meat. I ignore her. She won’t even remember the shape of my face by the time the cops get here.
I’m in the zone. I keep moving forward until I’ve made it across the dancefloor.
I push the door open and find the groom hovering over my girl from the van. “Fuck off,” he says to me without looking behind him. “We’re busy in here.”
The girl looks at me, her eyes pleading for help. The groom’s leaning right over her, talking in a low voice. I don’t need to hear the words to know what he’s saying. “I’m more powerful than you. I’m more important than you. A mafia Capo. No one will believe you. You better give me what I want or you’ll get hurt.” Stuff he’s said a dozen times to a dozen girls.
“Little old for you, isn’t she?”
He spins around, coke still frosting his nostrils. “Who the fuck are you?”
I point at the girl. “Off you go, sweetheart.”
“Did you hear what I said?” the groom asks.
I show him my card. His face drains of all color as he looks at it like he’s seeing the Grim Reaper in front of him. I guess he is.
“It’s you,” he says. “Oh, shit. You’re him, aren’t you?”
“Off you go, doll,” I tell the girl as I set the tray down on a card table between two armchairs.
