Selfless

I had so many dreams when I was younger. They always told us things like, be all you can be and aspire to greatness. I watched so many of my peers take that advice, and I suppose one could say they’d all achieved success to some degree. Then there’s me, a twenty-something girl who is a little lost, at best. Life got in the way of my decision-making process, and so I fumbled any attempt to grasp my dreams I’d had and ended up here: working odd, under-the-table jobs and taking shifts no one else wanted just to be able to make rent. It’s not that I couldn’t be something if I tried; it’s that I was exactly where I thought I should be. Complacent as that might seem, I’d found a balance in the constant shift-changing and apron-wearing and all that. There was something so reliable about it, something undeniably simple at its core. And don’t we all need a little simplicity now and then? 

“Girl, what is that? Are you writing in your notes app again?”

That was Chad. Chadwick Earl Wright the third. I don’t have many friends, never had much time for them, but if I had to select one human to be my friend, it would be Chad. I don’t know why I said human, like I’m not one. For as long as I’d known Chad, he had the energy and stamina to work just as many random, odd jobs as I. He could balance it all, and not only that, but he did so with a never-ending abundance of positivity.

“Is that like a diary?” he asked, his tone warm and interested.

“Something like that,” I said, and I locked my phone and slid it into the front pocket of the faded, burgundy apron around my waist.

“Seriously, what were you doing?” he giggled.

“Oh, nothing. Just taking a little break,” I said with a shrug. “Break’s over. Back to work.”

We continued stuffing clean, linen napkins into big, plastic bins to carry out to the great room. When we were finished, it was time to fold the napkins fancy-style and set the tables. There were many among us, some permanent employees of Lindwood Catering and others, like the two of us, were hired help. Temporaries. Under-the-tables. Oftentimes, we picked up more work than the permanents, though.

Chad and I started at the same end of the great room, which was set up to be used as a dining room for this extravagant charity event. We didn’t even know what the charity was. We had signed our names on the list for this one after the last event we’d worked, with Chad claiming he wanted to “bang one of those rich buffs”, or something like that. I thought it was funny and eagerly wanted to see it go down, so I volunteered, too. We were in it together.

“Fold your fancies like this,” I said playfully. I folded the napkin in half diagonally, gave him a cautionary look that told him not to peek, continued my handiwork, and presented a beautiful, ruffle-shaped display, almost like a shell.

“That’s grand, honey,” he said, laughing. “Fold your fancies like this.” He spun around on his heel, grabbed another linen napkin from the bin, and went to work while I shaded my eyes with my hand—no peeking. When I looked again, he’d made a display that looked like an opening rose.

“Lovely. Lovely indeed,” I teased in a tone meant to mock the rich people who would likely be attending this evening’s affair. We both laughed, then got back to work folding the “fancies” the way we were expected to, in a neat triangle with a pocket for the perfectly polished utensils. Some other unfortunate souls were in the corner room near the kitchen, polishing said silverware while we laid the fancies. “For your entrée tonight, sir, we have a premium selection of steak or fish. Which do you desire?”

“You know I like my meat, girl,” he said, and he laughed hard.

“You would say that,” I said, giggling.

We moved at a much quicker pace when we were having fun, and when we worked together, we were always having fun. Chad was a sort of nomad like myself, never wanting to commit to any one form of paid hospitality or another. He hopped around to get the full experience. We both did.

By the time the tables were set with the fancy napkins, the silverware had been polished, and we started placing it accordingly at each place setting.

“Who do you think some of these people are?” I asked him, glancing at one of the calligraphed placards on the table before me.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Jeff Bezos, maybe.”

“Yeah, probably. Some rich guys who get more out of being seen at a thing like this than they do out of actually giving to charity.”

“Must be nice to have that much money,” he said.

“I don’t know, really,” I said hesitantly. “I think I’d hate it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Money is like… one of the biggest things I worry about. So, if I didn’t have that to worry about, then what would I worry about?” I questioned.

“I don’t see the problem,” he said, laughing and counting the prongs on a sparkly clean salad fork. “Hakuna matata, or whatever they say.”

“Did you just tell me to hakuna my tatas?” I said. “You know I don’t like when people draw attention to my chest.”

“It’s a nice chest!” he said enthusiastically. “You’ve got great breasticles.”

“I could totally go without ever hearing that word again,” I said, laughing.

“Okay, fair.”

“I just think worrying about things is important. It keeps you on your toes. If I weren’t worrying about money, I don’t know what I would be preoccupied with, you know?”

“Ever think maybe other things keep them preoccupied?” he asked.

“Like what?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

“Like all the women chasing after them.”

“Hmm. Fair point,” I agreed.

We finished setting the tables, and the room looked completely different from the way it had when we’d arrived that night. Marwold’s Point was a luxurious, grand, two-story hall available to rent for weddings and other lavish events like this. There were sparkling marble floors, a sprawling grand staircase, and a glass chandelier the size of a small sedan, probably. The place was fitted with many different rooms on the lower level, most of which were ballrooms meant for much smaller events. The second floor, where we were now, held a great room that doubled as a grand ballroom, designed with luxury and grandeur in mind. It was the kind of place, I imagined, a princess might attend a ball. Like Cinderella. And that was exactly how I felt stepping foot in this place: a hard-working girl in a faded apron who simply didn’t belong.

Once we were back in the kitchen, we volunteered to start prepping the hors d’oeuvres. I contemplated the spelling of that word while we stacked everything neatly and beautifully. Vegetables were displayed on crudité platters, and fine cheeses and meats were stacked in a perfect, sprawling manner on charcuterie trays.

“I want to see who’s showing up. Wanna take a peek?” Chad said.

“Sure.”

I shrugged and followed him when we were done, and we looked through the curtain off to the side of the kitchen. He was tall, much taller than I, and our two curious little faces, one below the other, peeked out over the velvet curtain’s rippling edge.

“Oh shit,” he whispered. “That’s that actor my little sister has a crush on.”

“Your little sister has a crush on everyone,” I whispered back, laughing through my nose.

“You see anyone you recognize?”

“Not really. I don’t follow celebrities. You know that.”

“What about that guy? He’s hot,” he said, pointing one finger straight out and to the side. I looked up carefully to follow his wandering index.

“Ooh, he is hot,” I agreed.

“You should…” He paused, and we both resumed our position back inside the kitchen so as not to attract attention to ourselves. He slid the curtain aside to cover the doorway, and I straightened out the edge. “You should—you should!” he cheered, getting so excited.

“I should should should what?” I chuckled awkwardly.

“You should askhimout,” he said, all one word.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all.”

“He’s rich. These people are like… loaded,” I reminded him.

“And? Look at you, honey,” he said.

“Appreciate it. Thank you very much. But still… no.”

“I think you should do it. Make you a bet,” he said.

“Make me a bet? Okay, what kind of bet are we talking? I might be interested if the terms are, you know, up to my standards,” I said, folding my arms.

“Now that’s more like it!”

“I didn’t say yes just yet.”

“I’ll take you out for drinks,” he offered.

“And?”

“And I’ll sing the birthday song next time we work at Coranita’s, that way you don’t have to,” he added.

“Ooh, okay. And?”

“You want more?” he whined, now crossing his arms. “I’ll pick up one of your shifts at Handy Mart.”

I sucked air through my teeth and made a face: a that’s-a-dealbreaker face.

“I just won you. I can see that I just won you,” he said, laughing.

“Two shifts at Handy Mart. You know I don’t like that creep who hits on me.”

“I know, I know. Two it is.”

“Shake on it,” I said, and I offered him my hand. We shook hands and turned it into a commemorative hug. “Alright. How do you want me to do this? What’s my side of the deal?”

“You get one of these rich guys to go out with you, and I’ll come through on all of the above.”

“Deal,” I said.

“Deal? You’re really gonna do it?” he said, now becoming excited all over again. I narrowed my stormy eyes at him, hoping my laser vision would stop him in his tracks while he jumped up and down.

“I’m really gonna do it. I’ll try to, anyway, just for you.”

We stayed busy until the event was about to begin, and then it was our job to stay quiet in the room near the kitchen while the keynote speaker gave his speech. We watched from the little opening in the curtain.

“Who is he?” I whispered.

“Brent Allen,” Chad whispered back. “He owns a few record labels.”

“How do you even know that?”

“It’s on the brochure,” he said, laughing quietly.

I popped my head back in and looked up at him curiously.

“What brochure?”

He pulled a folded leaflet from his pocket and opened it up, presenting it to me neatly enough in all its crumpled glory.

“This one,” he said.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked, and he just smirked. “Never mind.” I looked through it. “He’s the one,” I said, only glancing at the first page.

I was pointing to the next person in line to follow the keynote speaker. The name on the brochure said James Algoin. I didn’t bother to look at the credentials listed beneath his name; all these people were rich. All I’d done was scan my eyes over the faces on that first page and pick one that looked attractive. The goal was to get asked out and win the bet, nothing more. I couldn’t see myself dating a rich fuck, even if I wouldn’t say it aloud; I didn’t want to disappoint Chad before the night had even kicked off.

“James Algoin? Nice choice,” Chad chuckled. “How are you going to swing that? He’s very in-demand.”

“I’ll come up with something,” I said. “Don’t you worry.”

We got back to work when the speech was over, helping in the kitchen by picking up plates for the first course and stacking them on carts to take them out for serving. We’d almost made a full round in the great room when I reached James’ table. Like a bad girl, I pretended to get two plates confused, even though I clearly knew which one belonged to which person. The fancy, plated salad I’d just put in front of the guy seated to the left of James was supposed to have gone to the person to that guy’s left—and I knew that. I drew a visible I-remember-now look on my face. I smiled and laughed through my nose, feigning embarrassment, and cleared my throat a little.

“Pardon my reach, sir,” I said softly, glancing down at James and locking eyes with him.

Before he could accept my apology, I was leaning over him—and over the table—to swap the two plates and place them correctly. The two gentlemen to James’ left gave me a polite nod, and I smiled in return. Everyone had the correct plate now.

When I leaned back from my overreaching position, I faked a stumble, becoming unsteady on my feet, even though these were my comfy, reliable penny loafers. They had a little bit of a platformed heel, so it seemed believable. James shifted in his seat right away and placed an arm behind me, one that inadvertently landed behind my thighs, just beneath my ass. I planted my feet firmly and righted myself, then bit my lip.

“So sorry,” I whispered, peering down at him once more.

“It’s not a problem,” he said, now smiling up at me.

He was handsome, no doubt. I finished handing out the first course plates at his table, occasionally stealing glances at him while I got the job done, and as soon as I wrapped up, I wheeled the cart back to the room by the kitchen. I waited in line behind Chad, and, noticing over my shoulder that Mr. James Algoin was still looking at me, I touched my flushed cheeks and fluttered my little Bambi eyes for dramatic effect—just enough to show him that I was truly, horribly embarrassed and would never recover unless he sought me out to tell me it would all be okay. He could make it up to me, I thought.