Authors: Alexa Blair
Chapter 3
At work, I didn’t have long to get my section ready for rush. I wiped down all my tables and gave the area a quick sweep. I restocked my utensils, straws, and change.
Customers were streaming in for dinner. It was Thursday night, a money maker, but not like Friday through Sunday. Tables in each section were filling up, but being turned in a timely manner as well. Tips were steady. I was averaging eight to ten dollars a table. A night like this I could leave with a few hundred dollars, including what I earned this morning.
A large group of about ten came in the middle of rush. It was my turn in the rotation and I had just flipped two six tops. I told the hostess I could make it work and she helped me push the tables together as she led the men over.
“I can get that for you,” said a taller one who led the group.
He in stepped my place to push the table I was moving. Following his example, the guy immediately behind him helped the hostess move hers. The others all arranged their own chairs.
“Thanks, gentlemen,” I said genuinely.
They looked like some kind of white post-collegiate reunion, maybe one was getting married and they were eating before seeing strippers or something. They were dressed in mainly khakis, jeans, button-downs, fitted tees, and the leader had a blazer over his. I was just glad they were courteous. A lot of large groups I get aren’t. If I played my cards right, this was the kind of table that led to big tips, assuming I could keep them and my other tables happy. People liked a waitress who could work a room and please everybody.
Once they were all seated, I put on my best smile and began passing out menus and telling them about our specials.
“Alright, guys. My name is D’vinity and I will be serving you tonight. We have a special on pulled Southern-style pork platters or fried chicken dinners for ten dollars, Brunswick stew is the soup of the day for eight, and bottled beer is three dollars a bottle until eight. Then, it ups to four-fifty. Pitchers of tap are twelve-fifty all night. What can I get for you tonight?” I asked, smiling as nicely as possible.
I tried to make eye contact here and there around the table to the ones who looked at me instead of the menu. The guy who moved my table for me held his menu, but kept it closed. He looked at me the entire time I spoke. He had bright blue eyes that looked good with his grey t-shirt and blazer.
They started with three pitchers of beer and three pitchers of water. They needed a few minutes to order food, so I offered to bring two platters of house fries at no charge. I gathered a tray and filled it with silverware, extra napkins, and a variety of condiments. After setting those items at the tables I returned with their beer, water, and fries.
I freshened drinks at my other tables and cleared a few dishes. Then, a few minutes later they were ready to order.
“Thomas, why don’t you order first since you were the league winner?” offered Blue-Eyed Blazer
Thomas ordered and everyone else at the table followed suit. Finally, Blue Eyes ordered as well. After, he ordered three more pitchers of beer and a specialty shot for the winner.
They were all as courteous as they could be and seemed to really enjoy the food. I heard one or two make comments about the good-looking waitresses and hot black chicks. I had to stifle a laugh a few times. Blue Eyes noticed once or twice, but seemed to find humor in his friends’ comments as well. He mouthed an apology and I shrugged and smiled, continuing to remove things from their table and top off people’s glasses.
One by one they finished their meals and their drinks. Many of them offered a kind word to me about my service or the restaurant.
“If you bring the check, we can figure out who owes what,” said Thomas.
“Well, you aren’t paying, Thomas. This is your big night! One of us will take your tab,” said another.
“Here,” said Blue-Eyed Blazer, “put it all on my card. No arguments or protests, guys.”
No one did. They returned to their conversation as I took the card. I processed the payment and returned to the head of the table with Blue-Eyed Blazer’s card and receipt for signature, and left his copy.
By the time they left we were almost closed and my section was clear with the exception of their table. As I bussed the remaining dishes I saw that they had left a fifty dollar bill among the five dollar bills at the table. As I went to catch them, in case someone made a mistake, I noticed most were gone or at least already in their cars. Blue Eyes was talking to the cooks just outside the kitchen.
“You or one of your friends made a mistake,” I said offering him the money.
“No mistake, I did that. You provided good service,” he said.
“Yeah, but you left a tip good enough for your entire bill and then some,” I said.
“Worth it. Maybe even worth more,” he said with a smile. “Thank you, D’vinity.”
He wished us all a good night and complimented the chef again, as well as the staff that was still there. Then he joined the last of his friends in the driver’s side of a car so nice I didn’t even know what it was called. It had a BMW logo.
We finished closing down. As we put on our jackets I overheard some of the dishwashers talking about bars that would be open late for an after-hours drink. I took the opportunity for a quick sale. Then I grabbed a couple of to-go boxes of leftovers to take for dinner with Regina.
When I got home it was right around eleven. Mrs. Franklin, our neighbor who stayed with Regina after school when I worked, was asleep on the couch. I covered her with a blanket and left her a note to take a plate with her when she woke up. Regina was asleep in her bed, so I kissed her forehead and pulled her blankets up around her.
I weighed the rest of what I had gotten from Armand and counted my tips from the day. A few shifts like tonight and good sales on the side, and I could make enough to leave this place.
Chapter 4
A few minutes after Regina left for school, there was a knock at the door. It was Armand with the larger quantity he agreed to front me the day before.
“You have to really be moving this. Every Friday I will send a messenger to pick up cash and another messenger to drop off product. If you don’t have it, I can’t cover for you. You have to get rid of it all. You send back product, it ages and there will be a fee to take it back, because my next buyer isn’t getting the quality they could have had in the time you sat on it,” he said.
“You are all business,” I said, a little surprised at Armand.
“You moved up to big money. I like you, but you never said you were my girl. At this stage, business is business and I can’t help if you fall too far,” he said.
I thought for a long moment before accepting the package he had. Could I move a QP every week? Four ounces was a lot for me if I was only selling to coworkers. I needed to branch out discreetly if I was going to do this.
“Fair enough,” I said to Armand, taking the package from his hands.
It looked like a bakery box, and smelled like one as well. He nodded and threw up the deuce as he left. When I opened the box, there was an actual cake. When I cut into it, there was a lump in the middle. It had been gutted and filled with four individually wrapped ounces that had been tightly compacted. I had over a hundred grams to sell in a week.
I also had to get to work. I threw on my uniform, a white v-neck and a black-a line skirt today, and fixed my hair as quickly as I could. I’m not much for makeup, so a little gloss and I was ready. I opened one ounce and prepared two eighths and a few nickel and dime bags. For those of my coworkers who did buy, I needed to figure out when we had shifts together so I could drum up more business. Smokers hang with smokers.
I rushed out the door and straight to work. As I joined the other servers setting up the front of the house, delicious smells wafted from the kitchen. Our menu was always the same, but it offered a variety. Southern food covered a larger spectrum than many realized until they came in the door. Our owner was originally a Southern army brat, but he liked the hustle of the North and the food of the South.
I just liked to pay the bills, and the restaurant saved a little on groceries. There was always waste and leftovers that we were allowed to take home at the end of the night.
As we opened our doors for breakfast, there was a line already waiting to come in. That was normal. There was a familiar face that came in with the others. Blue Eyes from last night. He asked the hostess to seat him in the same area. My area.
I waited on my customers in order that they were seated. He was third.
“Welcome back. I see you are on your own today,” I said.
“Yeah, I thought I would have breakfast. Last night was my first time here, but one of the guys in the group said you all make a great breakfast,” he said, smiling.
He looked me in the eyes as we spoke, just as he had last night.
“Well, it is certainly popular. We have a variety of menu items for breakfast, but most people get the biscuits and gravy or one of our styles of grits,” I replied, trying to smile as nicely as he was.
It wasn’t hard. This white man was gorgeous. I wasn’t going to do anything about it, but I was glad I was showing a little leg today. I could flirt a little and hopefully receive another good tip.
“Well, what would be your dream breakfast from this menu?” he asked.
“Oh, personally I like the biscuits as they are, with cheese grits and bacon. My favorite breakfast item is actually our waffles, though. They are oversized, and the chef orders nice cane syrups that set them off just right. You can’t beat that with a glass of juice. I like to do half cranberry, half apple. Then again, I cover the waffle in more butter than I should,” I said in closing.
“Looks like you do it just right,” he said, giving my body a quick glance, then smiling at me again.
Well, look at him making a black girl blush. I didn’t really have time for romance, though. I gave him another smile and shifted my stance as I held the pen to the paper for his order.
“I’ll have the breakfast you last described,” he said.
I could see on his face he had hoped for a flirtatious response to his own flirting.
“All right. I will get your ticket in and your order should be out momentarily. I will be right back with the juice,” I said, leaving him silverware and taking his menu.
I included his juice with the drink orders for two other tables. I served them all quickly, took two more orders, and my first items were starting to come to the serving window.
Most customers thanked me as I set down their food. The entire time, I felt eyes on me. When I was next at the serving window, I looked around the restaurant. Blue Eyes had been watching me as I worked.
I grabbed my next completed dishes. I had an order for two, and Blue Eyes’ waffle. I placed the couple’s first. If this guy had a crush, I needed to turn on the charm for the tip without sending mixed messages.
“Alright, sir, one waffle and cranberry apple juice blend. Your butter is on the side. I brought Georgia cane syrup for your meal. It is my favorite of what we offer,” I said.
“Thanks, and you can call me Mitchell. Mitchell Durham, D’vinity,” he said.
“Okay, well enjoy your meal, Mitchell Durham,” I said.
We didn’t wear name tags. He remembered my name and was here two days in a row. This guy definitely was trying to show his interest. It was sweet, but I didn’t have time for any relationship except the one with my daughter.
I continued making rounds clearing and serving. Though Mitchell was a table of one with a small order, he managed to stretch out coffee and some kind of paperwork until things started to slow down for lunch.
“Is there anything else you would like? More coffee?” I asked.
“Um, no. I suppose I have been here a little long,” he said, blushing and looking away.
“Well, you are a paying customer,” I said with a smile, though I agreed.
All the staring had made me nervous.
“Well, all the same, I should probably go.”
“Okay, have a great day,” I said.
I continued to clear a few other tables until he left. After I felt it had been sufficient time for him to be off the property completely, I looked for his tip before I actually cleared his table.
His bill had not even hit ten dollars; he’d left one hundred ten dollars on the table. Definitely a crush.
He also left a note.
“I will be back for a late dinner. I would love if you could join me, or if we could get drinks when you get off. Mitch.”