“Be there seven-thirty sharp,” quipped Carter, snapping her out of her reverie, as he left too.
When they all were gone, Jayda quickly went to a cabinet above the microwave, found a pen with black ink, and wrote her name on thePay to the Order ofline. Then she signed her name on the back of the check too. Then she pulled out her phone, went to her bank app, and immediately online-deposited that check into her dismal bank account. She knew it could bounce. She knew he could try to put a stop payment on it before the bank approved it. But at least she had hope again. At least she could pay her rent if all went well next month again. At least that.
After she deposited that check through her bank app, she looked at those digits again and exhaled. And then she smiled a smile of undeniable relief. Then she hurried to her locker and put the actual check in her big shoulder bag in case she needed it later. She locked it back up.
She leaned against the locker thinking about that tall handsome man that had given her that money, and why he would have chosen her of all people. And just the thought of it made her smile again. She wasn’t accustomed to being singledout in a good way, and it felt so different, but so great too. Because maybe he liked her. Maybe it was as simple as that. And because he liked her, perhaps he wanted to give her that opportunity to make big money fast, and not give it to somebody he didn’t like.
Maybe.
But why would he like her? She was the one that called him a pervert. She put a dent in his limousine. Why would she be so convinced she was singled out in a good way? But that was how she felt. Looking in his eyes, and shaking his hand, convinced her. And the fact that he gave her a four-thousand-dollar advance convinced her pocketbook.
The party was two weeks away. That was plenty time for that check to clear, and for her to purchase some Mace and pepper spray. If they tried any funny business at that party, she was going to spray the shit out of them and get out of there. But somehow she felt that wasn’t going to be necessary.
She could have been deluding herself, she knew, but that was how she felt.
Then she realized she wasn’t living over the rainbow somewhere, but was still in the real world, and still on the clock, and still had a job to do. She forgot about that handsome stranger who could write a big check and hand it over as if it was chump change, and hurried her butt back to work.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Shalimar building fit in perfectly with the enormous skyscrapers that populated the luxurious Midtown Manhattan street. They didn’t call it Billionaire’s Row for the hell of it, Jayda thought. Every time she was in that area, she understood the name.
She had to park her e-bike nearly a block away, but the walk did her good. They didn’t mention any dress code, but she was going to be prepared just in case. She wasn’t stepping up into a place like The Shalimar in jeans and a t-shirt even if she was going to be a server. She wore a pair of dark, skinny-legged slacks, a tucked in sleeveless peach-colored blouse, and a dark blazer: the style she used to sport when she worked as an executive assistant. If they had a uniform waiting for her, that would be fine too. But just because she was going in as a waitress, that didn’t mean she had to look the part.
The African-American doorman recognized her from all those days she rode by on her bike, and he smiled at her when she walked up. “I thought that bike was attached to you,” he said and they both laughed. “How you doing, little lady?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“My feet killing me. But what do they care, right?”
“You know it.” She was waiting for him to open the door.
When he realized she was waiting, he was surprised. “You going in?”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh no. No no. They don’t allow outside deliveries in this here building. Somebody gave you wrong information.” Hewas looking down at her hands and was confused, she could tell, when he didn’t see some sort of bag or package in her hand: Just her oversized shoulder bag with its strap slanted across her chest.
But she didn’t blame him. He knew what she was. But Raymond warned her not to go around to the servants’ entrance since that was reserved, he claimed, for the on-the-payroll workers employed by the various households inside that building. She was to go to the front desk and say just two words and the staff would take it from there. He never mentioned she would need to say those two words to the doorman too. “I’m expected,” she said to the doorman.
At first he looked at her as if she was joking. Then he realized she wasn’t. “Oh!” And just like that his look changed, and she wasn’t the little lady he enjoyed waving at anymore. He quickly opened the door for her. “Have a nice evening, madam,” he said to her with a slight bow the way he said to all those other “ladies” that walked through that door.
Jayda should have felt good that he was at least respectful. But she didn’t. She felt bad for him. He always viewed her as beneath him. As just a nobody gig worker while he had a real, steady, stable job with benefits. And he was more than twice her age on top of it. But yet he, undoubtedly, had never been “expected” before. She could see that bitterness in his eyes as she walked past him and went inside.
Once she walked in, it felt as if she was stepping into a dream. It was even more grand than she had imagined. She couldn’t stop looking up at the beautiful ceiling and chandeliers and all the pure richness inside that lobby. She tried not to look out of place, but she realized at once she automatically did. The lady at the front desk proved it.
First Jayda had to stand in line as two other people were waited on. Both gave their names, the woman looked them upon the computer, and then she motioned toward the elevators and they headed in that direction. Jayda hoped she would be given such an easy pass too.
“May I help you?” the desk clerk asked.
It wasn’t her tone. That was pleasant enough. And she even had a smile on her face when she spoke. But her eyes gave her away.
But Jayda could be a firebrand herself. She wasn’t about to let that woman’s bad manners get her down. “Yes, ma’am, you can certainly help me. I have a---” She caught herself. She almost said gig. “I’m expected,” she remembered to say.
The woman at first seemed as if she knew she was in the wrong entrance. As if she desperately wanted to tell Jayda that she needed to go back out of those doors, hook a left, and go down to the servants’ entrance. To godown. But Jayda had a look about her too. A look that told non-street-savvy ladies like that desk clerk that she was not to be trifled with.
“Your name?” the woman ultimately said.
“Jaydawith a y.”
