“Let’s sue the district,” Abe shot back. Rick and Courtney laughed, and the other teachers broke into relieved smiles, then went back to their tables.
Chris smiled, but he knew that the Wyoming questions wouldn’t go away forever. Abe would want to reminisce and compare notes.
Which presented a problem that he needed to solve.
Chapter Five
Heather Larkin stood by the entrance to the Lafayette Room, scanning the tables in her station, four eights in the left corner. The luncheon was for the Auxiliary Committee of Blakemore Medical Center, and fifty-two well-dressed women had been served their appetizer, mixed-greens salad with goat cheese crumbles, beet shavings, and walnuts.
Everything was going smoothly, and the room looked perfect. It was storming outside, but indirect light poured from Palladian windows and the occasional clap of thunder didn’t disturb the chatter and laughter. The lights were low, emanating from tasteful brass sconces on the ivory damask walls, which matched the ivory tablecloths and slipcovered chairs. White tulips filled the centerpieces on each table, and the air smelled like costly perfume and raspberry vinaigrette dressing.
Heather kept an eye on her tables, since it was a club rule that members shouldn’t have to wait for service. She wondered if they knew how many eyes were on them, waiting on them so they didn’t have to wait. Waiters. Waitresses. It was even in the job name.
Heather’s makeup was light, and she’d pulled her straight, brown hair back into a low ponytail. She had on her uniform, a mint-green dirndl with a drawstring bodice intended to show her cleavage to golfers on their third Long Island Iced Tea. She hated the uniform and the required shoes, which were white with a stacked heel. But she picked her battles, and her uniform wasn’t one of them.
She had waitressed at the Central Valley Country Club for fifteen years and was excellent at her job. But lately she’d been wondering if she’d gotten too good at waiting. Patience was a virtue, but there were limits. She wondered if a decade of waiting on people had trained her to wait for things to happen, rather than making them happen, or to meet other people’s needs instead of her own, like an expert codependent.
Still Heather was lucky to have the job, especially as a single mother. There were cost-of-living increases, pooled tips at Christmas, plus full benefits that she and her son Jordan were eligible for. Jordan was a junior in high school, hopefully heading for college on a baseball scholarship. But what was she heading for? She only had two years of college because she quit when she’d gotten pregnant. Still, she never thought of her son as a mistake. Marrying his father was the mistake. Divorcing him corrected the mistake.
Heather scanned the tables. The women looked so nice with their highlights freshly done, and they had on pastel pantsuits with cute cropped jackets, undoubtedly bought at the mall. Club members didn’t shop at the outlets, so they didn’t have to hide the Sharpie mark on an irregular or the pulled thread of a defective garment. Heather had stopped wanting to be them, but would have settled for being somebody who wore her own clothes to work. She wanted a desk and chair, so she could sit down. She wanted a job that went somewhere, with a brass nameplate with her full name, instead of a name tag, HEATHER.
“Heather,” said a voice behind her, and Heather came out of her reverie, turning. It was Emily, the new Food & Beverage Manager. Emily was still in her twenties, but her heavy makeup made her look hard and her short brown hair was stiff with product. She had on a mint-green polo shirt with khakis, the uniform upgrade for management employees.
“Yes?”
“I need you to stay until six tonight. The luncheon is going to run late because they’re going to do the silent auction and raffles after the speeches.”
“Sorry, I can’t. Like I said, I’d like to be home for Jordan.” Heather picked her battles, and this was the one she’d picked. Her regular shift was breakfast and lunch, from 6:00 A.M. to 3:00 P.M. That would get her home so she could make dinner and they could have a meal together. It had never been a problem with her old boss Mike, and Heather had assumed that a female boss would be even more understanding. But nobody could knife a woman like another woman.
“I need you to stay.” Emily pursed her lips, shiny with pink lip gloss.
“Can’t Suzanne?”
“I’m not asking Suzanne. I’m asking you.”
“Can’t you ask her? She doesn’t have kids.” Heather reflexively scanned the tables but nobody needed anything.
“Your kid is in high school.” Emily’s blue eyes glittered.
“So?” Heather didn’t explain that in one year, Jordan would be gone, off to college. Everything felt like the last time. “You said you’d accommodate—”
“I said I’d accommodate you if I can.”
“But you’re not trying to accommodate me. You didn’t ask Suzanne—”
“Heather, if you value your job, you will do what I ask, when I ask it.” Emily glanced around the dining room.
“What’s that mean? You fire me if I say no?”
“Yes.” Emily met her eyes directly. “When I took over, I was given carte blanche to do what needed to be done. You can take the job or leave it. Your choice.”
Heather felt the blood drain from her face. She had heard the rumors that new management had been hired to cut catering costs. If Emily was looking for reason to fire her, Heather couldn’t give her one. “Okay, I’ll stay until six,” she said quickly. Suddenly she noticed one of the women lifting an empty glass to signal a refill. “I’d better go.”
“Hurry,” Emily snapped. “You should’ve seen that earlier. Don’t you know who that is? That’s Mindy Kostis. She’s sponsoring the luncheon.”
“Okay, on it.” Heather recognized the name because Jordan was on the baseball team with Evan Kostis, Mindy’s son.
“Whatever. Go, go, go.”
Heather made a beeline for Mindy. The Kostis family was in the Winner’s Circle, the top tier of contributors to the Building Fund. Heather hadn’t met or served Mindy and felt suddenly relieved that her name tag didn’t have her last name. Even so, she doubted that Mindy would recognize the name, since Jordan had just made varsity.
Heather reached the table, extended a hand for the empty glass, and smiled pleasantly. “May I get you a refill, Ms. Kostis?” she asked, since it was club rules to address members by name.
“Yes, please. Tanqueray and tonic.” Mindy smiled back, pleasantly enough. She had curly blonde hair, round blue eyes, and a sweet smile. She was dressed in a pink-tweed suit with a patch that read Chanel, and Heather tried not to let her eyes bug out of her head. She had never seen a real Chanel jacket.
“My pleasure,” Heather answered, a scripted reply, also per club rules.