Bloom

01 | mystery man

Giselle "G" Rowe
Tuesday, September 13 | 6:13pm
Heated Prime - Michelin star restaurant

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Neo-soul instrumentals hum gently, meshing with the clanking of glasses and soft conversation throughout the building. The atmosphere is serene for the guests, but absolutely nerve wrecking for the staff, especially me.

Left foot, right foot. Keep your head up, G. Straighten your posture. Chin up. Now smile! Wider, they're looking at you. Don't spill anything, girl. You're almost there. Be careful, this shit is hot. Whew!

I set down table number four's appetizers with a practiced smile. Of course they ordered the crab spinach dip; it's the best.

"Here you go! I've already put in your entrée orders. Can I get anything else for you?"

"No. We'd just like to be left alone to eat. Thanks," the woman replies curtly.

Her blonde hair is pinned behind her head and her eyes are a cold shade of pale blue. She and her date are dressed in expensive clothing, a silk dress and a crisp suit. Not very different from the other guests here. It's what most people wear to a five star restaurant.

"Ok, ma'am." I don't let my smile fade at her rudeness. I'm willing to put up with the bullshit for a good tip. I walk away from her just as she scoops some of the spinach dip up with a toasted piece of bread and brings it to her companion's mouth. I swing by my other tables to check on them and end up spilling a little vinaigrette on my fingers while removing an empty dish. "Shit."

I discard the messy plate and make my way to the bathroom. Once my hands are washed, I touch up my lip gloss and smooth my hair back. I worked hard to get this bun to lay down super flat, using a gel with maximum hold to keep my edges in place. The lighting in here is beautiful and it really highlights the delicate amount of gold shimmer that I've brushed onto my brown skin. I've been here for hours and I still look good. The black pencil skirt is accentuating my ass, just as I intended. The heels that I chose force me to have better posture, and the white blouse is just a professional touch. It's all perfect.

As soon as I'm back on the floor, I swing by table number one and take their now empty dessert plates, promising to come back with the check in no time. They actually return my kindness with warm smiles and I'm appreciative. Two East Asian business men. Maybe in their forties. Soft spoken and easy to serve.

I take the dirty dishes to the back and give table number two more napkins and ice water before returning to table number one to give the men their bill. I try to seem slightly uninterested in the number that is written down, just accepting it with grace and bidding them goodbye as they put on their jackets. A small smile creeps on my face when I see that they've tipped over thirty percent.

The bartender lets me know that the second order of martinis for table number three are ready and I set them down with ease in front of the four giggling women who are swapping scandalous stories.

They'll be drunk by the end of the night.

I scurry to the back again when I hear the cooks yelling out the orders for table number four. Both of them are surf and turf dishes and they smell amazing. I take a deep breath and carry them over to the guests, remembering to smile and keep my posture straight. I need to seem like I'm having the time of my life, especially around this bitch.

"Steak and lobster tail with garlic mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus for you, sir." I set down the older gentleman's plate and he gives me a closed mouth smile. He's got deep brown skin and huge rings on almost all of his fingers.