The woman frowned. “Jaday?”
Jayda wanted to roll her eyes. “No ma’am. Jayda. J-A-Y-D-A. My last name is Robinson.”
The woman exhaled as if it was such a bother to her, and then she began pressing buttons on her computer and looking at a screen Jayda couldn’t see. But when it took longer than a few seconds, Jayda began to get worried. It was two weeks ago when she was invited to work this party. Maybe they forgot, or forgot to tell the front desk. Maybe they changed their minds and they had enough servers after all. What if she would have gone to all of this trouble, taking the night off from the restaurant, and would make no money at all? She’d already cashed that advance check, but she was determined not to touch of dime of it until after tonight.
But if they canceled on her and tried to demand that money back when it wasn’t her fault that they didn’t want her anymore, she was going to lose it. That just might become the straw that would break it for Jayda.
Then the woman began typing. “They have your first name spelled without the y.” Then she looked at Jayda. “May I see some identification, please?”
Jayda knew she hadn’t asked the others to produce their papers, but she produced them anyway. She had too much to lose to get into some tiff with a clerk. She pulled out her driver’s license and showed it to the woman. The woman then nodded. “Thank you, Miss Robinson. You may go up.”
Jayda started to ask go up where, but she didn’t want to give that woman the satisfaction. But she would never let her pride get in the way of her common sense. She had no earthly idea where she was going. “Which apartment, ma’am?” she asked the woman.
But the clerk only motioned toward the elevator again. “Have a nice evening,” she said and looked past Jayda at the man standing behind her.
Jayda wanted to lash out. She wanted to tell that heifer about herself. But she wasn’t about to put on a show for anybody that night.
She clutched her big shoulder bag tighter against her small frame and walked over to the elevator the woman had motioned toward. As soon as she got to the elevator, the door opened and a very serious-looking man, the elevator operator, motioned for her to come onboard. “Good evening, Miss Robinson,” he said with a slight bow.
Jayda was shocked to hear him say her name, but given where she was, she should not have been shocked at all. Her name was on that computer that somehow the elevator operator, probably through some P.A. system or some othercommunicative device, could tap into too. This was how the rich folks rolled!
“I’m not sure which floor,” she said to him after she got onboard, but he ignored her the way the desk clerk had ignored her and he pressed the button that closed the doors.
And just like that she not only felt nervous, but insignificant too. Invisible again. She wanted to shrink into herself. She could have bought in to how they saw her too, but she didn’t. Something inside of her wouldn’t let her. She stood straight-back and looked ahead. He knew her name, surely he knew her floor too. She was going to shut up and enjoy the ride.
But that wasn’t her style either.
“They not like us,” she joked out loud as they rode up. She was certain that the operator, another older black man, wasn’t about to get the joke. But when he glanced back at her and smiled, and then nodded his agreement, she laughed.
And even though he turned back around and got serious again, that little gesture let her know how to approach that night: not with fear and nervousness. Not giving in to intimidation either. Because whether they liked it or not, she was going to be her authentic self. She wasn’t going to do any shrinking away. She wasn’t going to minimize herself just to make a much-needed buck. She was going to do the work and get it done to the very best of her abilities, but she wasn’t compromising her values in the process. She reclaimed her power and felt better already.
But as the elevator took her and its operator all the way up to what she saw on the buttons was the penthouse apartment, all of her big thoughts of reclaiming power and not giving into fear crashed back down to earth.The penthouse? This dinner party was going to be held at the most exclusive residence in that entire exclusive building? And they wantedheras a server? She could hardly believe it.
But it apparently was true. But thepenthouse? That got to her. She couldn’t lie. She was already feeling intimidated.
When the elevator doors opened again, the operator motioned for her to get off. All she saw was a long corridor that led to gigantic double doors. She headed for the doors.
But before she could ring the bell, the doors were opened by Allan, Harrison’s house manager. “Welcome, Miss Robinson,” he said. “Please enter.” He stepped aside to allow her passage through.
Jayda looked down at the doormat to wipe her feet, a normal habit she had before entering people’s houses, but there were no doormats in that world. She walked on in.
But oddly enough, when she walked in she felt an instant sense of relief. Not because the place wasn’t beyond lavish: it was. From the ceilings that were as high as she could look up, to the crystals and marble and massive paintings and gold vases, it reeked of money.
But her relief came because there were people around, all dressed in servants’ uniforms, and they were busy preparing for what appeared to be an actual dinner party. Because of the way she was selected to work the party, she had assumed it was going to be some type of frat party or some wild bachelor party that could easily get out of hand. But from the way the table in the dining hall was being prepared and the flower arrangements were being laid out, she knew it was going to be high-class all the way. And she wasn’t going to be just one of a few ladies either. There appeared to be an army of servants: male and female, black, white, and other races, working that party.
Which made her more hopeful that she would get that high payday Raymond said she should get. Which meant she could blend in with the others and follow their lead on how it was supposed to be done. And for the first time she felt as if there was light at the end of this night. She felt good.
“Right this way, madam,” Allan said to her.
But instead of leading her to the kitchen and dining area where most of the workers were preparing, he led her up the spiral staircase to the second-floor landing. And then down a long, winding corridor that led to massive-sized French doors Allan opened out onto a terrace that overlooked a sweeping view of Central Park. The view was so high up and so magnificent that Jayda didn’t see the man for looking at the view. She couldn’t take her eyes off of that view.
Until she heard the French doors close behind her and she turned and saw that the man she assumed was the butler had left her out there. And that was when she looked over and saw the person she still only knew as “the perv” seated on a lounger in a tan suit and matching ascot, and with leather dress shoes so large that they looked like boats on his feet. Her heart sank again. Why did he bring her up here? Why wasn’t she downstairs with the others? Was this payback time for her little comment? For that dent she put in his limo? Had she read himthatwrong???
“Have a seat,” he said to her.
He hadn’t looked up at her at all, which she found rude. But he appeared to be working. He was looking down, intensely, at his iPad, and was making notations at the margins.
But when she sat down in the chair in front of him and stared at him rather than at the view that had so mesmerized her, an unusual current suddenly rushed through her body as if she had been electrically shocked.
