Sarah dropped three heavy ceramic mugs onto the laminated tabletop, the clatter rattling the metal napkin holder.
I rubbed the bottom of my left foot, trying to press the ache out of my arch through the thin canvas of my sneaker.
“That is all of it,” Sarah said, sliding a small pile of wrinkled one-dollar bills and a handful of nickels toward me. “Seventeen dollars and forty cents.”
I sorted the bills into neat stacks, matching the corners. My rent was due by five o’clock, and even with this breakfast shift, the drawer in my bedroom held only two hundred and eighty dollars.
“I am twenty dollars short,” I said, my voice barely carrying over the hum of the diner refrigerator.
Sarah pulled a pencil from behind her ear and made a mark on the daily schedule hanging near the kitchen door.
“The Plaza Hotel called for extra banquet staff tonight,” she said, looking back at me. “Eight dollars an hour, plus tips, but you will be on your feet until midnight.”
I reached down to touch the worn blue woolen blanket I kept on the booth seat to wrap around my shoulders during my breaks. The wool was thin and frayed at the edges, but it was the only thing that kept the draft from the back door off my neck.
“I will take it,” I said.
The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel smelled of expensive perfume and melted candle wax.
A silver tray loaded with twelve filled champagne flutes rested on my shoulder, the metal edge cutting through the fabric of my white polyester uniform shirt.
The room was a sea of dark suits and glittering evening gowns, all moving under the massive crystal chandeliers.
My ankles had gone numb an hour ago, and as I stepped around a low circular table, my heel caught on the thick edge of a Persian rug.
The silver tray tilted, the liquid in the tall glasses sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
A firm hand caught my right elbow, stabilizing my arm before the first drop could spill onto the carpet.
“I have you,” a deep, slow voice said.
