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"Can you move it? I need to have you working, not gawking."
"Of course," I say. I tug on the hem of my short skirt as I hurry to clear the table. I pull off the glasses first, then stack a pile of plates. I grab the glasses and plates and turn to carry them into the dishwashing area called the dish pit. Brian stops me, hustling up to me with a large tray.
"Get everything at once. Clear the entire table. I can’t believe I’m having to tell you this," he hisses. "Usually, when I train a new hostess, she is inexperienced. But I don’t have to tell them things that are common sense. I’m going to need you to do better if you want to keep working here."
He says it matter-of-factly, and the table to my right notices, turning their heads and arching their eyebrows. I feel my face heat as I bite my lip, feeling a wave of shame and sadness. I don’t want to cry in front of this entire room of people, but my manager is making it very hard.
Brian shoves the wide black tray at me, knocking it into my stomach so hard that I stumble backward. My breath is knocked out of me, but Brian just smirks at me, turning on his heel and threading his way through the busy, crowded dining room.
It’s seven thirty at night, and Tusk is absolutely jammed with people, every single employee thrumming with energy as they move about their business.
Gulping, I clamp my lips shut, determined not to show weakness.
As I stack plates and glassware on the tray, a vague memory swims to the surface of my mind. It’s the fleeting image of Dare leaning down to me and whispering that my face is too easy to read.
I thought that Dare was crazy and that he was making up rules for interacting with the Morgan family that would never apply outside of their fancy estate. But here I am, using some of the same emotional control that I have only recently discovered.
Who would have thought that Dare would be useful to me?
As I lift the tray onto my shoulder, I struggle under its weight. The thought that pregnant women aren’t supposed to lift anything flits through my mind.
Is that true? I don’t actually know. It’s just another thing for me to worry about.
After I rush the tray to the dish pit, I head back out front and make a beeline for the hostess stand. There is another hostess working, as is the usual schedule for hosts on the weekends, or so I’m told. I’m working with Anna, a gorgeous young blonde with a short black dress and the highest heels I’ve ever seen anybody successfully walk in. She spots me and gives me a disapproving look.
"Where have you been? I needed you to take over at the hostess stand so that I could go around the restaurant and ask everyone how their meal was. I can’t leave the hostess stand unattended."
Bowing my head, I find myself flushing once more. "Sorry. Brian asked me to…"
"Brian doesn’t know anything," she cuts in. "He thinks he does because he is the front-of-house manager, but he can’t even book a reservation. He is clueless." She rolls her eyes. "Okay, can you stay here while I do a round of the room?"
“Of course,” I say.
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. "When you have a little downtime, you should put in an order with the kitchen for a meal. We don’t have time to eat while we’re here, but getting a boxed up meal is one of the only perks for us. We get fed, and we sometimes get a percentage of the tips. It depends."
Nodding my head, I make a note. "Okay. What are the rules for food again? We get seventy-five percent off or something."
"Actually, the hostesses get their food for free, up to one hundred dollars’ worth. It’s actually a really nice perk."
My eyebrows fly up. "Oh. That’s really nice."
"Yeah. On some nights, when the restaurant is slammed and everyone is in the weeds, it doesn’t seem like that great of an upside. It is not always enough to balance out the downsides. But you know." She flips her hair back and gives me a pasted-on smile.
"I’m only doing this as temporary work anyway. I think this is the second job of almost everybody who works as a hostess."
I nod. "I know it is for me."
Anna is already turning away, starting toward the first white linen-covered table, and asking them if there is anything they need.
One hundred dollars goes pretty far, even at Tusk. It’s a huge benefit for me, although I suppose that no one else needs to realize how much it will help me out. If I don’t have to feed myself, I could save whatever I normally spend on myself for groceries every week. Probably seventy-five dollars, give or take.
A couple walks by the hostess stand on their way out.
"Have a good night!" I call out for them. The woman glances back at me and gives me a cool smile. They are outside the doors before I can say anything else.
Pulling a menu out from beneath the phone and computer that sit on top of the hostess stand, I purse my lips and peruse. Steak, chicken, lobster, fish, all kinds of different salads... I’m going to eat well while I work here.
I am too busy trying to decide on what I’ll order first to notice that a tall, extremely thin, dark headed woman struts through the doors, trailing a string of four children behind her. She walks straight up to the hostess stand and slaps both of her palms down onto the stand. It startles me, and I jump, looking up at her like a deer in headlights.
