Dances Under The Harvest Moon. Joanne Rock
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Her face went warm again, and she looked down, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Aren’t you enjoying your party?”
“This isn’t what I’d call a party,” he went on. “It’s more of a social obligation. Every summer I have one of these,” he nodded at the room, “soirées for the New York bigwigs and corporate head honchos. Got to keep in touch with them, know who’s who. I’m in the real estate business, you see.”
She was tempted to tell him she knew all about him, thanks to Marta, but decided instead to say, “I heard something like that.”
He studied her for a moment before continuing. “So this is what you might call good business. Bad party, good business. It happens a lot. I’m sure you see it all the time.”
Rose laughed in admission. “You’re right. But most people don’t admit they’re having a miserable time.” She picked up the last fallen appetizer, plopped it on the platter and stood up. “But why bother if you know you’re not going to like it?”
He stood up beside her. “See that woman?” He indicated a matronly-looking woman, perhaps in her eighties, dripping with diamonds. The woman had a sour expression on her face, with thin lips, pursed tightly together. “That’s Mrs. Winchester, the mayor’s mother. Word is, he doesn’t make a move without her approval.”
“So you need her to approve of you.”
“Bingo. So I’m plying her with good food and wine.”
“What if she just doesn’t like you?”
“She does.” He was absolutely confident. “At least for now. She does have her moods, and if she turns against you,” he gave a low whistle, “look out.”
“She reminds me of a woman I knew when I was a kid. Mrs. Ritter. She owned a flower shop in Brooklyn, which was ironic since she always looked like something smelled funny.”
“You’re from Brooklyn?”
She nodded. “You?”
He hesitated, then said, “I’ve spent most of my life right here.” He eyed her. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Rose. Rose Tilden.”
Surprise flickered across his features. “Tilden?”
She nodded.
He frowned. “That’s not a name you hear every day.”
“I do.” She smiled. Almost every day, that is. Since she was two years old. The Barrie Home for Children was on Tilden Street in Brooklyn. All the children who came in without names or identification of any sort were assigned “Tilden.” Rose and her sister had come in wearing bracelets that identified their first names but not their last, so they became Rose and Lily Tilden.
“I guess you do,” he conceded, but the easy smile he’d worn a few minutes earlier was gone. “Interesting.”
“Rose, dear.” Marta’s voice sounded as if she were two inches behind Rose. “Could you please help Tonya in the kitchen?”
Rose turned to see a look in Marta’s eye that she had never seen before. It was sheer anger. “Is something wrong?” Rose asked.
Marta gave a thin-lipped smile. “Certainly not. Tonya simply needs help preparing the dessert tray.”
Rose gave Marta a long, hard look, then glanced at Warren and said, “Please excuse me.”
He gave a slight nod, then lowered his gaze onto Marta.
Rose didn’t see what happened next. She walked to the kitchen resolving with every step to quit this job. She loved the work and really enjoyed most of the people she worked with, but Marta had become more and more of a tyrant lately. Every time a party guest so much as asked Rose if she knew where the ladies’ room was, Marta was there, nosing her way in, trying to find out if Rose was being overly familiar with their clients. As if it were a bad thing to be cordial in a service-oriented business. What did Marta prefer? That Rose make the “zipping my lips” motion familiar to every third grader in America?
Rose just couldn’t deal with her anymore. Serragno might have one of the best reputations in town, but it wasn’t the only game in town. And Rose would probably be better off working for someone less tempestuous than Marta, even if they weren’t as high-profile. Her résumé would survive. She could still have a career.
When she got to the kitchen, Tonya was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the entire room was sparkling clean; there was no food prep out at all. Rose glanced out the opposite doorway and saw that the dessert had already been set up on the table.
“Just what do you think you’re doing flirting with the client?” Marta’s voice snapped Rose to attention.
“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s your job, right?”
“You bet it is.” Marta’s face went red like the top of a cartoon thermometer. “And I don’t want you getting in the middle of my affairs.”
“I wasn’t flirting with him.”
“That’s what it looked like to me.”
“We were just talking.”
“I don’t pay you to talk, I pay you to cook, serve and clean. That’s all. Got it? I don’t want to catch you doing this again.”
“What did you want me to do? Ignore him when he spoke to me?” Rose frowned. “What do you mean again?”
“I mean, as you well know, that over these past few months you have gotten bolder and bolder about speaking to our clients. And I don’t like it. Every time we do a partly lately, it seems as if you’re spending more time chattering with the guests than you are working.”
“That is absolutely not true,” Rose returned hotly. “I have never shirked my duties. As a matter of fact, I defy you to tell me even one time when I didn’t do at least fifty percent more than my job description called for.” She began untying her Serragno Catering apron. “See? You can’t. Because it hasn’t happened.” She pulled the apron off and folded it. “Look, this isn’t working for me and you’ve made it really obvious it’s not working for you, either, so let’s just call it a day, okay? Tonya, Keith and the rest of the gang can clean up without me.” She put the apron down on the counter. She was so angry her hands were shaking, but she hoped to God that Marta hadn’t noticed that.
Marta glanced out the door and then back at Rose. Like melting wax, her facial features relaxed. “Oh, Rose. I’m so sorry. Can you possibly forgive me?”
Rose was taken aback. “What?”
“This has just been so stressful for me.” She drew in a shuddering breath and dabbed at her dry eyes. “I just…I’ve been awful. I know it. I can’t blame you for quitting.” She gave a humble smile. “I’d do the same thing in your place.”
“You would.” Something wasn’t right here.
Marta nodded. “But the thing is, this is a very important party for me. The mayor is out there! He could bring so much business our way. Would you consider staying on at least for the rest of the night?”
“I don’t know, Marta…”
“I’ll double your pay. Honestly. I’ll pay you now. Hand me my purse.” She gestured toward a garishly shiny leather purse on a wingback chair in the other room.
“That’s not necessary,” Rose said, with a sigh. She took the apron off the counter and tied it back on. “I’ll finish the night as we agreed. But after that, you’re going to have to accept my resignation.”
“If you insist.” Marta sniffed, then crumpled into a heap on the gleaming tile floor. “Oh, I’m such a mess!” she said in a harsh whisper. “How can I face everyone out there?”
Rose felt completely helpless.