Filling In For A Friend
CALLIE
“Come on, Callie, can you please do me this one favor?” Asks my best friend since high school, Tori Miller. She’s lying on a black microfiber couch in the Living room in the flat we share, bundled up in my favorite Sherpa blanket with the remote control in hand, suffering through another hang-over. That’s what she gets for not listening to me. She never listens to me.
I roll my eyes because we both know I’ve already done my fair share of favors for her. “No, the last party I catered for you was absolute hell!”
I cringe at the memory, crossing my arms firmly against my chest. All it takes is the sheer mention of the night, and my mind drifts back to the last time I filled in for her at her catering job. It was a cold winter night, and I’d insisted that I was not capable of wearing the high heels she suggested I wear. Well, I should have listened to my intuition because I tripped and spilled an entire tray of expensive champagne in front of the room of people—and it was humiliating, scrambling to gather shards of glass as eyes watched me like lasers.
I wanted to die that night.
I think a part of me did die.
“Please.” She starts to beg now with pouty lips and a scrunched nose, her pitchy voice breaking through the horrific memory to bring me back. “I swear it won’t be as bad. This will be the last thing I ever ask you to do. I promise.”
We both know it’s a lie. “I’ve got to be to work at my job early tomorrow morning.” I sigh, but I’m slowly giving in. Damnit. “I wanted to catch up on some paperwork before I went in.”
A small, subtle smile takes over her lips. She knows me too well. I’m too predictable, in which she tells me all the time.
“You are my lifesaver!” She celebrates prematurely.
With a hard sigh, I glance down at my wrist and read my watch. It’s nearly seven o’clock, and since I’m going to fill in for Tori tonight, I’d better get going. “What is the event you were supposed to serve tonight?” I ask, my voice betraying the fake interest I’m trying to portray.
She shrugs her shoulders and relaxes more against the couch now that she’s gotten her way, “Some rich bastard’s charity event, I believe. It’s being held at the O’Hare mansion.” She explains calmly, unaware that the last bit of information makes my skin crawl with tension.
“The mansion?!” I complain.
“Of course, the family is rich. They own a marketing company or something like that. Petrov Industries. They are from Russia or France, I think, or at least the father might be.”
“Great,” I mutter under my breath.
She senses my reserve and reaches her hand out to grab me, “Callie, I love you for this. Anything you ever need, don’t hesitate to ask.” She insists with a weak smile curving her lips. Her blond bangs fall over her powder blue eyes, so she shakes her head.
“Yeah, you do owe me,” I blow out a breath. “This is not going to be fun for me. It’s probably going to be worse than the whole Morrison debacle.”
She nods, “I’ll let my boss know to wait for you at the restaurant. Thanks again!” She claps her hands together.
“What do I have to wear? The usual white button-up and black pants?” I question, feeling my heart swell with unease.
“Yes. And don’t forget to put your hair up into a high ponytail.” She adds.
“Right,” I mumble before turning away and heading down the small hallway in our two-bedroom loft apartment.
Inside my bedroom, I rummage through the closet in search of the white button-up shirt I wore the last time I played server for Tori. I find it at the very bottom of a hamper filled with clean laundry that I haven’t yet had the time to fold and put away. Miraculously, it’s not wrinkled.
I quickly tear my yellow sweater off and get into the shirt, choosing to leave the top button undone so I won’t feel claustrophobic beneath the scrutiny of the night to come. I pull a pair of my favorite black skinny jeggings from my dresser and shimmy into them, bending to run my fingers through my wavy brown hair so that I can put it up. My bangs fall to the side of my face as I tighten the hair band to send the ponytail higher until it’s perfectly placed at the top of my head, as asked. Before leaving my room, I quickly step into a plain pair of black flats at the door.
Tori places her iPhone down on the coffee table in the Living room after she sees me standing before her and an appreciative glow captures her face. “I can’t thank you enough for this.” She says. “I let my boss know. They are waiting for you before they head out.”
I say nothing to her and instead gather my small silver wristlet and stash my phone inside, and then I grab my car keys and exit our loft. I walk the long hall and then take the elevator down to the ground floor.
Outside, there is a brisk breeze in the autumn night, so I quickly make a beeline for my small Neon, blast the heat, and then set off across town.
I arrive at the restaurant to employees rushing to pack three highly detailed vans with trays, linens, silverware, and food. The doors are wide open as people dressed just like me, rush in and out, shouting as Tori’s boss stands on the side, ticking things off a list written on a yellow notepad she holds in her hands.
“Callie.” Todd sees me looking baffled as he darts past, carrying a heavy box of wines. I remember him from our last job together. He was the only one to help me after I humiliated myself by crashing and burning the last time I helped out.
“Callie, get on in there. We still have the napkins to go.” The owner of the restaurant informs me without looking up from the notepad. “They are right inside the bar. We don’t have all night.”
I nod quickly before joining in the chaos, darting inside the restaurant to find that the bar has been taken over by piles and piles of boxes stacked high. I’m only able to carry three boxes at a time, but even then, I can still feel the burn in my forearms as I help load them into the vans. It takes us another half an hour before the vans are all packed with everything for the evening’s event. And then we set off.
It feels like hours have passed before we begin to ascend a long winding road found on the outskirts of the city, but when the vast mansion finally comes into view, my heart jumps inside my chest. The estate is a large stable piece of white architecture, with four tall pillars that hold up a wide balcony. The front door is double in size, with dark wood that curves into a perfect arch with a beautiful mosaic of stained glass for its windows. A dominating fountain is placed thoughtfully in the middle of the circle drive, outlined by rows of manicured grass. I watch closely from the window as clear water spills from a cherub’s mouth into the pool of the fountain, colored by the changing lights all around it.
“Damn. I think this place trumps anything we’ve ever seen before.” Says a fellow employee. She’s a tall redhead with freckles that litter her cheeks and nose.
Debra, Tori’s boss, clears her throat, “Remember, we are professionals. I don’t want my client to see you all drooling in there.” She informs all of us in a strict but proper fashion. “Once inside, we will go straight to the kitchen to divide into our groups. There will be food servers, beverage servers, and my cleanup crew.”
When the vans come to a stop, I quickly take a deep, sobering breath before we begin to unload and prepare for the eventful evening that is sure to drain me. One by one, we file into the house through the massive wooden doors, following behind Debra as she leads us across beautiful black, sparkling marble floors in search of the kitchen. We pass beneath an extravagant chandelier that shimmers with strands of diamonds and gold just before entering the Kitchen through a pair of black swinging doors.
The kitchen is a Chef’s dream come true, fully equipped with stainless steel appliances and countertops, with cabinets filled to the brim with more stainless-steel cookware.
“All right, the guests are set to arrive in a few hours, so we’ve got some time to prepare the tables.” Debra stops the group to give us a pep talk. “Make sure you are aware of your surroundings. If you see an empty glass, fill it. If you see an empty plate, clear it. If you see someone without a glass of champagne, hand them one. If someone appears bored, make sure to give them an appetizer. I’ve found that it always helps set the mood. Remember, we are all professionals, and I want you to act as though you’ve done this a million times, and it’s like second nature to you.”
“This is a high-end charity event for breast cancer with a silent auction and a live band, so make sure you are floating amongst the tables and dance floor. Act with etiquette and confidence. Let’s all have a great night.”
We all clap and cheer, hooting and hollering to get pumped before the event begins, but I’m not so excited for another night of awkwardness around a bunch of hoity-toity-rich snobs. I’d rather be at home with my face stuck in another book from my list of novels to read for work, stuffing my belly with a bowl of popcorn.
“The linens have been brought in, so begin to prepare the tables. I want a pink satin bow on each of the chairs.” Debra instructs as she looks over to me and nods, gesturing it’s time for the group to get moving.
I follow behind a line of employees carrying boxes of table dressings as they walk through another pair of massive wooden doors that open into a grand ballroom.
On the ceiling, more regal chandeliers hang over glittering white marble tiles. The dance floor and stage are at the front of the room, while tables and dining chairs line the walls. A large banner draped across the back wall reads Petrov Industries 6th Annual ’Breast Cancer Awareness charity Gala’. White Christmas lights weave around the room in beautiful vines to mix with the rest of the party decorations, and glass tables are set up with soft white cushioned chairs. Whoever designed this room went all out, from the tiny flecks of gold on the floors to the deep burgundy drapes covering the tall windows, filling the atmosphere with lavish finishes that I’ve never seen before.
We begin to cover every glass table with soft cream-colored linens, making sure they cascade down each side of the table evenly. Next, we fit each chair with a silk cover and tie a perfect light pink satin sash around each one.
When we finish decorating the final table, I stop to take a breath and look around the outrageous room to watch as everything comes together slowly. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s extravagant and elegant. It’s impressive and mesmerizing, and I can only imagine what it’d be like to attend one of these functions instead of catering it.
“Okay, I think that’s it. We are all set in here.” Nods José, the head supervisor. “You’ve all done a wonderful job. It looks wonderful.” He’s too enthusiastic about his job, but I guess it’s the reason he’s the supervisor and not just another employee who only works for the paycheck.
I only hear him briefly because I’m too busy taking in my surroundings, and I don’t notice when my fellow employees make their way back to the Kitchen. I’m awestruck by the beauty of it all to realize that I’m now standing alone in the massive ballroom.
I spin around to see as much as possible, twirling in circles beneath more chandeliers that send prisms of light off in every direction around me. My mind wanders, and I imagine for a second that I’m dressed in an expensive gown with my hair and makeup done, dancing on the arm of my handsome and rich husband because in this fantasy this is our party.
But the daydream is short-lived and shatters around me suddenly when a hard, unmovable wall of muscle stops me in my tracks.
