Caitlin chuckled. “You? I have been over here all evening! I don’t think this accounting firm even realized it was Halloween when they booked the party. I’m not sure they know what Halloween is.”
“Why did they book this party? It’s horrible.”
“I think it’s someone’s retirement party,” said Caitlin, looking around the room. “That guy at the head table seems to be getting some sort of parade of people.”
“This is worse than my seventh-grade Sadie Hawkins dance.”
“Yes,” agreed Caitlin, “it is. And the tips are even worse.”
“You should ditch out.”
“What?”
“You’re coming up on your break. I can cover you for twenty minutes. Pull your apron off and go hit the dance floor over there. I bet no one even notices.”
“Oh. Uh… no. I… no. I don’t… I don’t like the Deverauxes.”
“Really? Weren’t you on some sort of Progressive minimum wage rant the other day?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, that Eleanor Deveraux said the same shit a month ago. Don’t you read the Huffington Post? They’re always quoting her. She’s basically like a grandma version of Bernie Sanders.”
“Yeah, come on. Eleanor Deveraux is rich as fuck, and she can spout whatever soundbites she wants. I’m not buying it. Hard to be one with the proletariat when you live in a mansion in Carnegie Hill.”
“OK, I have no idea what she’s like, really, but it doesn’t matter because she’s not over there. Her grandkids are, and what I know about them is that they throw banging parties.”
“What are they like?” asked Caitlin, unable to stop herself. Why did she care? It was like poking at a scab.
“Blonde? I don’t know. I only saw the one dressed like Prince Charming, and he was dancing with a complete Cinderella. Imean, the dress… It was so poofy. If she went somewhere, they’d have to stand her up in the back of a flatbed truck. It was the stuff of my childhood dreams.”
Caitlin laughed. “It must be nice to have enough money to make your dreams come true.”
“Yeah,” said Jessica. “Too bad most rich people are such boring motherfuckers. I swear most of them couldn’t come up with something good to do with their money if they tried. Anyway, you should go take your break. Even if you won’t go over to thegoodparty, at least stop staring at this void of humanity. Are they demons? Maybe this is hell? It is. We’ve wandered into the fourth circle of hell. Run, Katie, run while you can.”
Caitlin tried to think of a reason to object and then shook her head. “Yeah, you know what? You’re right. I’ll see you in twenty minutes. I’m going to go get a cup of coffee and look at…” she gestured to the tables in front of her, “not this.”
“I’ll scream if more of my brain goo drips out my ears.”
“You do that. I’ll send Vince in.”
Jessica laughed as Caitlin slid out the bar entrance and into the back hallway.
“Hola,Katie!” called Diego as she entered the kitchen.
“Hola!”she called back to the chef. He was Angela’s second-in-command and head of the kitchen. Mostly everyone loved the round-faced Guatemalan, but he had a temper, and usually Caitlin was glad she worked for Vince. Not that Vince couldn’t be a hard ass, but he didn’t yell much. Angela ruled over catering, food, and clients, and Vince was in charge of staff and security. It was a system that worked well for them and the rest of the business because they were busy these days. Caitlin was grateful since it meant she could always pick up extra shifts.
She went toward the back corner, where they kept a carafe of coffee for the staff. She poured herself a cup. She wantedsomeplace quiet, but the kitchen wasn’t it. The dinner service for the accountants was about to happen, and the place was buzzing. She pulled her off her apron andKatiename tag, and shoved them into her cubby before grabbing her jacket off the hook. She pulled on her coat, rotating her cup carefully from hand to hand, and went to the back alley. It was cold but quiet, and Caitlin leaned against the wall and breathed out a sigh of relief.
It was at times like this that she thought about taking up smoking. Smokers always had something to do and never had to explain breaks—theyneededa smoke. Caitlin couldn’t afford cigarettes and, therefore, always felt like she had to justify breaks. It was the myth of productivity. Busy people were doing and accomplishing. Busy people were good people. And if she stayed active, she wouldn’t notice that her life was in the shitter. Quiet moments could be hell, but God, did she crave them.
She was almost to the bottom of her coffee cup when she became aware of someone walking toward her from the far end of the alley. The man was wearing a white suit and seemed to glimmer a little in the ambient glow of street lights.
“Yes,” he said, his voice bit at the word as if annoyed. “Yes, I understand, but what I’m telling you is that there is nothing I can do about it right now. Your choices are that I can come talk about this more in person, even though there is literally no action we can take or discuss it in the morning. Considering that I told Nika I’d be back in five minutes, ten minutes ago—”
His stride checked, and she realized that he must have seen her. He was probably a Deveraux party guest. He paused a distance away, his shoulders turning slightly away as he finished his conversation.
“Yes, all right. Great. I’ll see you in the morning. Yes, I will tell Nika that. Yes, bye.”
