The first time I saw that change happen, a young waitress was carrying a heavy tray of signature cocktails through the crowd. She looked perhaps twenty-three and had the careful expression of someone trying to remember a hundred instructions at once. Each time a guest reached for a glass, she steadied the tray with her other hand. Her black uniform was immaculate, although a loose strand of hair had escaped near her temple. She stopped beside Chloe and offered a polite smile.
Chloe lifted one cocktail and held it toward the light. The drink was a deep amber color, garnished with a delicate twist of citrus. For a moment, I thought she was admiring it. Then she wrinkled her nose.
"Is this really how they're serving the signature cocktails tonight?" she asked.
The waitress explained quietly that the bartender had prepared them according to the hotel's special menu. She didn't sound defensive. She sounded like someone giving the only answer she had been authorized to give. Chloe glanced toward the businessman beside her and laughed.
"I suppose standards aren't what they used to be."
The remark was delivered lightly enough to pass as humor, but I watched the waitress's face. Her smile remained in place while the muscles around her eyes tightened. She lowered her gaze and moved away, balancing the tray with the same careful hands. None of the people beside Chloe seemed willing to interrupt their conversation to acknowledge what had happened. In their world, the moment was already over. For the young woman carrying the tray, I suspected it would stay with her for the rest of the shift.
She approached my table a few minutes later to collect an empty glass. I asked whether she was all right. Her surprise was immediate. For half a second she seemed to wonder whether she had done something wrong simply by being asked a question.
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you," she said.
"You've been working hard all evening," I told her. "You're doing a wonderful job. I hope somebody has said that to you."
The change in her expression was small but unmistakable. Her shoulders relaxed, and the polite smile she had been wearing became genuine. She thanked me twice, then glanced down as though embarrassed by how much those few words meant. Her name tag read Mara. I asked whether she had been on her feet long, and she admitted that the terrace events were always busy, especially when the guest list included so many prominent people. She said it without complaint. I told her I hoped she would get a chance to rest when the evening ended.
As Mara walked away, I caught Chloe watching us from the other side of the terrace. The silver of her dress caught the light as she turned. Her mouth curved into a smile that looked almost pleasant until I met her eyes. There was something sharp behind it. Then she looked away, and I decided not to dwell on the exchange. I had no reason to believe I mattered to a woman who seemed determined to spend every minute near the most important guests.