"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
Maya hurried over to table 7 and began arranging the place settings with practiced efficiency. Dinner plate, salad plate, bread plate, fork, knife, spoon, all aligned perfectly. Wine glass, water glass, folded napkin. She'd done this thousands of times. She could probably do it in her sleep.
Other servers moved around her, everyone working quickly and quietly. They all knew the routine: be invisible until you're needed. Be polite but not familiar. Never, ever draw attention to yourself. The guests were the stars of the show; the staff were just props in the background.
As Maya worked, the guests began to arrive. They came in laughing and chatting, air-kissing friends they'd probably seen just yesterday. The women wore gowns that cost more than Maya's car, diamonds glittering at their throats and wrists. The men wore perfectly tailored tuxedos, their shoes polished to a mirror shine. They moved through the space like they owned it, which in a way they did. This was their world; Maya was just working in it.
She recognized some of the faces from previous events. There was the tech entrepreneur who never said thank you, the fashion designer who always sent her food back, the lawyer who'd once snapped his fingers at Maya like she was a dog.
And then there was tonight's host, Richard Westbrook, a real estate billionaire whose face appeared regularly in business magazines. He stood near the entrance, greeting guests with a wide smile and firm handshakes, his ego filling the room even more than his 6'3" frame.
Maya picked up a tray of champagne flutes and began circulating through the crowd.
"Champagne?" she offered with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Hands reached out without looking at her, taking glasses without acknowledgement. She was a moving table, nothing more.
As the evening progressed, Maya fell into the rhythm of service: take orders, deliver food, refill drinks, clear plates, smile, nod, apologize when someone complained.
The pianist continued playing throughout dinner, his music creating a pleasant ambiance that no one really listened to. Maya tried not to listen either, but she couldn't help it. She heard every note, every phrase, every tiny mistake he made. It was torture and comfort all at once.