Someone to Stay Page 2

  “What’s up?” she asked, eying his mischievous grin.

  “We get to cater to gods tonight, yes? Tell me what you think.”

  He held out a forkful of creamy white meat; she took it, used to this game, and took the bite.

  Fish with a cream sauce, very light, yet flavorful all at once. She nodded in appreciation.

  “You know, they aren’t gods,” she said. “They’re spoiled Hollywood people.”

  Muhammad tapped his foot impatiently. “Yes, yes. But what of the swordfish?”

  “It’s perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing. Chef’s?”

  He nodded, one very deliberate movement, and Cassie smiled.

  “So you get to see the big shot tonight? Jake Mason?” he asked, taking the fork back.

  At his words, Cassie’s smile evaporated, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, I do. But I’m not losing my mind over it. Just another guest.”

  “No, you’re wrong. He’s not just another guest. And if you treat him as such, Rick won’t like it.”

  She fought against rolling her eyes again - he had a point, she mused. Rick wouldn’t like it if she treated Jake Mason like any other Joe off the street. She had to be the perfect server tonight - reverently refilling his glass before he had time to think about how it was half empty, clearing his plate just after he finished his last bite, that sort of thing. But the idea of treating him this way made her stomach turn for some reason. What had he done to deserve her respect?

  “What do you think of him?” she asked Muhammad then, watching him stir the cream sauce in a giant pot. He carefully set the spoon down, his eyes on the pot, never wandering.

  “Nothing,” he answered. “He is nothing to me.”

  His answer left her feeling strangely hollow - she had expected more.

  “Cassie!”

  The sound of her name being called turned her head; it was Rick. He was underdressed in black slacks and a tucked in gray polo; his hair was uncharacteristically disheveled, his face was flushed. She noted a white dishtowel hanging over his shoulder as he made his way over.

  “Oh, hey, Rick. I was just about to come see you.”

  Once close, Rick eyed the pot Muhammad was nursing.

  “How is it?” he asked briskly.

  “Very good, sir.”

  A brief nod on Rick’s part, and he gestured to Cassie to follow him.

  “It should be a good meal,” Rick said, as they approached the dining room door. He pushed it open and they passed the drink station, passed the back of the dining room, dark with shadows, the difference in air temperature so immediate that Cassie sighed with pleasure.

  “Yeah, I’d hope so,” she said noncommittally. They were approaching the main section of the dining room, this section lit up by the overhead lighting. She had always found the dining room beautiful - dark wooden tables, the plush red and black carpeting. She looked at Rick expectantly.

  “So, Trish and Matt should be here soon,” he said. “It’s twenty people. I think the three of you can handle twenty?”

  She nodded, feeling that Rick needed the reassurance more than she. He was obviously nervous; this dinner meant a lot more to him than he would probably ever admit.

  “Great. We’re going to do two sections of ten - let’s start moving tables. I have printed menus for them - there’s a couple vegans, I guess, so I had to print the vegan option for them too.”

  His voice took on such a rambling tone that Cassie no longer believed he was even talking to her; she began to move the tables into position, the movements so ingrained in her muscle memory she hardly had to think about it.

  “...And they told me they had an open tab for alcohol. This is going to do wonders for our P&L.”

  “Absolutely,” Cassie said when he paused, not caring one whit for their P&L. She put her hands on her hips. “What else do I need to do?”

  “Oh, this is good. Just set the tables and that’s it for that.”

  Cassie nodded and began to do as he asked. She felt a slight fluttering of nerves, if only because this dinner meant so much to Rick. She knew it wasn’t his lifetime dream to be the GM of a small hotel restaurant. She knew that tonight could amount to a lot of bragging rights for him in interviews.

  And maybe she wouldn’t have to talk to Jake Mason at all. Maybe Trish or Matt would have to deal with him - she figured that they would be jumping for joy over the prospect of him here. After all, her social media had literally exploded with excitement over him, even from people she would have never guessed would care about him at all. Everyone seemed to post the same article that had displayed an up-close photo of his face; his sad blue eyes, the smile that seemed to dazzle everyone except for her.

  “Are you excited to meet him?” Cassie asked suddenly in between tables, looking over at Rick. He was wiping off tables that wouldn’t be used for the dinner, polishing salt shakers. His shoulders stiffened at her question.

  “Who? Jake Mason?”

  “Yeah.”

  She could see him shake his head, longish hair swishing.

  “No. I told you earlier. I don’t give a shit about him. I only care about the reputation of this restaurant.”

  Cassie nodded, realizing after the fact that Rick couldn’t see it.

  “I gotcha.”

  They continued in silence for awhile, rags polishing, the smell of dinner wafting stronger and stronger from the dining room.

  “Hey guys.”

  Cassie turned to see Matt, one of their newer servers, entering from the front, his overlong apron almost touching his feet. She dipped her head in greeting.

  “I’m done, Rick. What now?”

  “Go and make sure there’s plenty of room service trays ready. The dining room will be closed for dinner tonight.”

  It wasn’t exactly news to her, but she couldn’t help but feel surprised that Rick was doing that. Absolutely nobody outside of the movie was going to be able to eat dinner inside of Rivers tonight. It seemed vastly unfair, but Cassie could hardly argue. She left Matt and Rick to their own devices and returned to the kitchen, refusing to think of Jake Mason and his crew.

  Standing on the balcony of his hotel room, Jake allowed himself to relax a bit as he took in the view. He had never been anywhere quite like this - the river wrapping lazily around the hills, vivid greens splashed against the blue sky. It painted such a lovely picture of peace he wasn’t sure that he had ever known. Not since he was a child, perhaps.

  His fingers clenched the railing, quite warm from the sun. He looked down at the street, the cars trailing past the hotel. He could see people leaving buildings, entering them. Life was quiet here. He wondered when the last time was that his life had been this quiet.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Looking toward it, he clenched his jaw, seeing that it was a camera, realization dawning on him.

  Paparazzi, already.

  He fought the urge not to roll his eyes and retreated back into his room, not giving the camera another glance.

  A sudden feeling of irrational anger swept through him, but he forced himself to calm down. Some things had to be sacrificed, he knew. There was no way to have it all - his agent, Drew, had adamantly told him that. He could have the parts, or he could have anonymity. He could not have both.

  So, Jake had chosen the parts. To the best of his ability, he kept his private life private - Gina had taught him the importance of that. He kept himself hidden, just out of view from the cameras, as often as possible. He flashed his smiles, told his jokes for interviews. But he would never, ever be part of that life, not really.

  He trailed to the mini-fridge, opening it up, eying the options for bottled water and orange juice, but finding himself disinterested in the offerings. The stark silence of his hotel room was overbearing, and he closed the fridge, huffing aimlessly as he sat down on the small love seat, turning on the telly and flipping through channels, game shows and dramas filling the empty space with their noise and color.
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  He thought to himself that this was going to be a very long sixty days.

  2.

  Cassie stood back, hands on her hips, eying the dining room appreciatively.

  Everything sparkled. It was fifteen to four. Any minute now, the guests of honor would be strolling in, most likely barely look at their handiwork, to eat.

  “So, since there’s two sets of ten,” Cassie heard, and she turned her head as Trish bobbed over to her, “you take the front section and I’ll take the back. Matt can bounce between as a backup for us.”

  “Yeah, that sounds fine,” she replied, nodding. They had already spent about ten minutes speculating about what their guests would be like, earlier, as they polished silverware and folded linens. Trish had said that they would probably be very nice, but Jake would most likely be a snob. She stated that she found him quite unappealing, thank-you-very-much, and that she would do her best to avoid him. Cassie had smiled, trying not to laugh.

  Rick popped his head into the dining room; he had been setting up the hostess stand outside the doors. He had changed at some point into his customary suit and tie.

  “Show time,” he said.

  Cassie nodded. She glanced at Trish, and at Matt, who had been fixing app plates that didn’t really need fixing.

  Rick came in, all charm, smile plastered to his face as he seated the first of the arrivals: two men and three women that Cassie didn’t recognize.

  He seated them in her section, so she whisked over to them, pulling her pad and pen out.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Cassie and I’ll be the main server for your section. What can I get you started with to drink?”

  Everything else fell away for her as she slipped into that familiar role of subservience. There was something undeniably calming in it for Cassie, she realized then, taking down orders and sweeping off to fulfill them. There was never any question about what she should be doing.

  After getting the few soft drinks from the fountain she made her way to the bar. This was easily her favorite place in the hotel; it had been refinished but was an actual antique, nearly as old as the hotel itself. It was one of the only original pieces of furniture in the entire building.

  She ran her hand along the smooth wood, watching Z, the bartender, shake the couple of Bloody Marys her table had ordered. She had always enjoyed watching him work - he often bore an intense expression on his face, eyes focused on what he was doing yet clearly practiced in a way she could never fathom. Whenever she tried to make a drink, she concentrated too much, taking the art out of mixing drinks. She could never do it like Z.

  “I wish they’d at least open the bar tonight,” Z grumbled as he set down one full glass, and then another. She watched him grab olives, sliding the toothpick through them, laying them delicately on top of the drinks.

  Cassie grimaced empathetically. “I know, it seems like a waste. But I guess they wanted their privacy.” She grabbed her drinks, placing them on her tray. “Thanks, Z.”

  She made her way back to the main dining room, nodding at Trish as she passed by her, on her own way to the bar. Trish met her eye, holding contact longer than strictly necessary.

  When she approached her table, she could see why. She had walked into a full party; her table was completely full, Matt was currently refilling waters with a pitcher at her table.

  She recognized rather quickly that one of the men at her table was Jake Mason. She caught the sound of a laugh, then noticed an appreciative nod from Jake toward the man next to him, his profile sharp. He looked different from the photo she had seen of him earlier - his hair wasn’t as dark as she remembered it being in the photo, but a light sandy color, lightly brushed back and with a slight hint of curl. He was very tall - she could tell even though he was sitting - and slender, but could make out the definition of his arms through his gray button-up. Forcing her eyes away from him, she set her tray down and delivered drinks to their respective owners, trying to urge herself to get out of a sudden absurd head-space where these people were somehow above her. They were just people - they all had families and friends and pets and homes, and they were all here to eat and enjoy a meal together as colleagues. That she could relate to.

  Cassie made her way down the table, taking drink orders. She landed on Jake, who was near the end of the table, sandwiched between an older man and a younger woman that Cassie vaguely recognized.

  “What would you like to drink?” she asked, interrupting their conversation. She had become quite good at knowing when the right place was to dip into guests’ conversations, a skill perhaps any decent server had.

  The man next to Jake spoke first.

  “Scotch. Or, you know what, make it a Manhattan.”

  “Do you have a preference on whiskey, sir?”

  He waved his hand dismissively.

  “Nah. Well is fine. Whatever you have.”

  Cassie decided instantaneously that she liked this man. He had quite an impressive beard, though he looked far too young for the amount of gray within it, and he was wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt. She made a note to remember to ask someone who he was.

  “And what for you, sir?” Cassie asked, moving on to Jake, who shifted to look at her.

  “Ah, I’ll also have a Manhattan. Jack, if you’d be so kind.”

  His voice was almost too quiet; she had to stop herself from leaning in to hear him better. He spoke with a British accent, and Cassie wondered where exactly he was from. She couldn’t remember what the Wiki page had said; she realized that she hadn’t even looked. Cassie nodded at him, taken aback by how...kind he seemed, and their eyes locked; she was momentarily rooted to her spot as she asked herself if it were possible for eyes to naturally be that blue.

  It occurred to her that, perhaps, their eyes met for maybe just a little bit too long - a still sort of moment where she ceased hearing the chattering around her - until the corners of his mouth quirked and he turned back to the man next to him. And then it was over.

  “And for you, miss?” she forced herself to ask the woman next to him. Cassie realized that she recognized her from a movie she’d seen - some sci-fi thing she hadn’t cared for but Sam had loved. She was beautiful, in an ethereal sort of way. She hardly even looked at Cassie as she spoke; her dark eyes instead focused on the phone resting next to her plate, fingers sliding across the screen.

  “A glass of shiraz, please.”

  Cassie nodded, quite familiar with the tone of voice used. This woman may not have particularly felt above her, but it was obvious she wasn’t going out of her way to be overly friendly, either.

  Deciding to brush it off, Cassie made her way around the rest of the table and made notes for refills. The worst of it was over, honestly - she had expected a lot worse from these people, and she realized that she had all along been quite ungracious. Who was she to judge, really, a group of people she had never met? She cringed at the thought of what her father would think of this, the very idea causing her mind to recoil in slight horror. He had always chided her - do unto others as you would have them do unto you - and he’d certainly taught her better than this. As she turned to return to the bar, she chanced another glance at Jake, still engaged in conversation with the man next to him.

  She felt a sense of shame, then, that she couldn’t quite brush away.

  Dinner passed much quicker than Jake would have anticipated - he had had a far better time catching up with the director, Dan Hawthorne, than he originally thought he would. He realized that the limitations he put on himself, tonight, were simply an excuse to not enjoy himself. But the drinks were flowing thanks to the hospitality of the producers and the nice waitress, the food quite good, and the conversation stimulating. And not even Alexa seating herself next to him had dampened that.

  And, somehow throughout the course of the evening, he and Alexa had somehow managed to fall into that old groove they used to have - before the wrap party three years ago. He was, for a short while, able to forget that that night had even happened
at all. Jake had forgotten her laugh - the sound so authentic it seemed to fill the whole room. But she had laughed tonight, diving into his and Dan’s conversation as if she belonged there, in that skillful way she had.

  He had almost forgotten, until she placed a light hand on his arm, fingers seeping warmth through the fabric of his shirt.

  The touch wasn’t unpleasant, but warning bells went off in his mind as he told himself that it was wrong. He carefully moved his hand away, ensuring his movements weren’t too abrupt to draw attention, yet not so soft that she would have thought it a mistake.

  “Jake?” she said quietly. He turned his head, plate cleared, and looked at her. He dipped his head, a small smile on his mouth. A perfect picture of politeness, of charm.

  “Alexa, please don’t.”

  His words had more effect than he intended - Alexa’s gaze turned icy, bitter. She sat back in her chair, looking at him as if for the very first time.

  “Would you like another Manhattan, sir?”

  Ah. A perfect diversion. Jake turned his head, targeting that same smile toward the waitress, who’s name tag said Cassie. “I’d love another, thank you,” he said to her, inclining his head.

  She disappeared, and the diversion was over.

  Alexa didn’t say anything else. She was pushing asparagus around on her plate with her fork, not really seeing it as far as he could tell. He knew she was pouting. He felt a sharp stab of guilt, but knew that this was for the best - for both of them. Alexa was once everything he wanted, but perhaps on both their parts, it hadn’t worked out. Dragging it on would only make it worse.

  A few moments passed, and then Cassie was back, exchanging his empty glass for a full one. He thanked her, turned to Dan, doing everything he could to swallow that guilt down, to forget it.

  Jake had only had three Manhattans, barely enough to give him a strong buzz, but back in his hotel room after the dinner he couldn’t find his mobile and had no recollection as to where it might be.