Page 56 of Ewan

It’s a posh restaurant, indeed, hosted in a high-end hotel with a separate spacious bar and a large waiting area packed with people.

Moments later, I meet her, Sammy.

13

SCARLETT

“Oh. Look at you,”she murmurs, checking my attire as I slide off my coat and put it on a hanger in a coat room in the back.

“Is it too much?”

Her eyes beam with delight.

“Too much? It’s perfect.”

Her long dark tresses are pulled back into a sophisticated ponytail. Big dangling earrings move every time she moves her head and a dense hue of red sets off her lips.

Shorter than me, she rocks a crimson dress that looks stunning on her.

“How have you been?” she asks, a bright smile lighting her face.

Of all my friends, Sammy is the most vivacious and optimistic. I wish she and I could keep in touch and talk more often. She’s always been a great inspiration for me.

And she’s always had my back.

“I’ve been good. Just keeping busy. How about you?”

We exchange a few words––I share a few tidbits about my professional life and she does the same–-before getting to our favorite topic, money.

She’s as driven as she is pretty, and her energy is contagious.

In passing, she asks me about Joachim, and I fail to relay the incident from Friday evening.

Frankly, I’m surprised I haven’t heard from him after that night. He’s not the one to hold a grudge, but there’s unresolved anger left in him, and I expect that he’ll soon lay out his grievances against my new friend’s behavior.

New friend, right?

A smile blossoms on my lips.

“What’s that all about?” Sammy asks, perceptive as always.

“Nothing. I’m so happy that Joachim and I are over.”

“That’s the spirit, girl. Now, let’s go make some money.”

We put our little aprons on–their only purpose is to indicate that we are the servers–and get going.

The first hour is tough.

I haven’t worked an event like this since the last one––a wedding in Great Neck––this past summer.

But I soon get the hang of it, find my mojo, and move flawlessly between the tables, imagining that the guests are nothing more than first graders who are now grown-ups and are allowed to drink.

More people arrive at eight o’clock, and Sammy directs me to one of the bigger tables.

Clutching a cute little tablet, I prance in that direction, sashaying through the tables and avoiding the servers carrying the trays of food.

I’m mostly responsible with taking the drinks orders, which works perfectly fine for me.

---