Chapter 4: Party Pooper

Poppy tugged on her skirt, trying her best to get it just a little longer.

  “This shouldn’t classify as a skirt.” She muttered to Melissa as they changed in the employee locker room at Jack’s catering company. “This is a handkerchief.”

  Melissa snorted as she adjusted the tight black vest over her fitted white blouse. She plumped her boobs a little so they sat high and proud, filling out the snug outfit.

  “Just don’t bend over and you’ll be fine.” Melissa gave her a saucy wink before fixing her tight low bun to ensure no stray hairs escaped.

  Poppy sighed as she squirmed in the uniform. It was fitted. Too fitted for Poppy’s comfort; she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk in the thing, let alone bend over without breaking a seam or two… or six. She had to admit, though, it did make her curves more pronounced. If she didn’t move, she looked good.

  She also wasn’t sure about the heels. Sure they accentuated her legs, making her calves look amazing. But they expected her to walk around in those? All night? Carrying trays of food? And not trip? Poppy felt that was a bit too much to expect, especially from someone like her who often had trouble walking in tennis shoes. Or, just trouble walking in general.

  Eventually, she decided that there was no physical way to elongate the handkerchief posing as a skirt so she gave up on that front and turned to check her hair in the mirror. As waitstaff, they had to make sure their hair was tidy, nice looking, and wouldn’t get into the food. The requirement for their hair was to be in a low bun, pony, or pinned back, neat but out of the way.

  The problem was Poppy’s hair was curly and unruly on the best of days. She had probably a hundred Bobby pins and at least two bottles of hairspray keeping her wayward locks tamed and in the low bun required for the night, with any potential fly always smoothed back tight against her head.  Poppy was pretty certain that, shy of a hurricane, her hair would not move.  She was not looking forward to trying to take this hairdo out after all was said and done.  It would most likely mean a long hot shower to loosen the hold of the hairspray. Also, it was giving her a bit of a headache being pulled so tight.

  She looked… passable.  The uniform actually looked good, and as long as she didn’t bend over or take long strides, she wouldn’t flash anyone. She hoped.

  “Here, try some of this.” Melissa passed her a tube of mascara. “The better you look, the more tips you get.”

  “And the more handsy some of the drunk guys can be.” Another waitress, Amber, quipped as she contoured her face with the practiced ease of a beauty influencer. Which was apparently her day job. Or at least what she wanted her day job to be. It was a hard field to break into, and Poppy had heard all about it while the girls were getting ready.

  “Don’t scare the new girl.” Scarlett huffed as she rolled on the mandatory nylons that came with the uniform, carefully hooking them to the garters.  Poppy couldn’t figure out why garters and nylons.  Their skirts were (mostly) long enough to cover that up.

  Poppy was wondering if this gig was just a higher paying, classier strip job. There were no male waitstaff, at least none she’d met since the orientation at 3:30. Just a lot of college aged girls in tight skirts and high heels. And the amount of body glitter was probably the same as one would find at a strip joint.

  It made her wonder what this party was really about. The head shots also started to make sense.  All of the girls were pretty, like model worthy pretty.  Poppy wondered if she was a pity pick or they were just desperate.

  “Stop dawdling and load up!” Jack called from outside the locker room doors. “We’ve got to finish setting up. The kitchen staff is already cooking away. It’s go time!”

  In a flurry of cloying perfume and hairspray, the twelve waitresses hired for the event shuffled out of the locker room. Poppy was last, f*eling a tug at her gut. Something was going to go down tonight. She just wasn’t sure if it was going to be good or bad. She really hoped that whatever it was wouldn’t jeopardize her paycheck from this. The business office at school had given her an extension until the pay from this gig came in; it came with a slight f*e for being late, but that was better than being dropped from classes for the semester.

  They piled into the catering vans and drove to the biggest, fanciest hotel in town. The main ballroom had been rented out for the party, with many guests choosing to stay at the hotel, especially the international ones. The party was expected to last all night at least.

  Poppy tried not to gape at all the luxury around her: gilded walls and ceilings, real crystal chandeliers which sent sparkling prisms of light over everything. A live orchestra was warming up in one corner. It reminded her of a movie she had seen when she was a kid, about a fancy hotel… she couldn’t remember the name, or even what it was about, but the image of the grandeur had stuck with her ever since. It was over the top. It was borderline gaudy with the opulence. It was amazing. She couldn’t believe people actually lived in a world where places like this were the norm.

  Jack ushered the waitresses into the kitchen area where the head cook, a grizzled old man who looked more like he belonged in the galley of a pirate ship than a fancy hotel, barked orders at them. Poppy was half expecting a parrot to come perch on his shoulder as he spoke.

  Poppy was assigned a tray of crepes, Melissa had the champagne glasses. Their job was to circulate and pass out food. When their tray was empty, return to the kitchen for more.

  “Everyone gets two fifteen minute breaks and a thirty minute ‘lunch’. No more than two on break at a time. Make sure you check out with me or Tom before heading on break and check back in when you’re done.” Jack reminded them. “Also, don’t forget the patio. The gardens are open for the party so make sure you go out there on a regular basis, too. Don’t just stand in one spot, ladies. Circulate.”

  With that, they grabbed their trays and headed out into the ballroom, ready for when the guests would arrive.

  It was slow at first. Only the soft music of the orchestra and the low chatter of the hotel staff as they made sure everything was in place. Guests started to arrive in small clumps. The first seemed to be Mr. Murray’s assistant and a few others as they went straight to the event organizers and talked for a bit.

  By the end of the first hour, though, the room was teaming with people. All of whom were dressed to the nines. Women in extravagant gowns and dripping with jewels that were probably worth more than Poppy’s entire four years at college. Men in tailored tuxes and wearing almost the same amount of gems as their companions.

  One extremely rude woman was wearing a white and gold gown that almost looked bridal. Her hair was perfectly straight and almost as white as her dress with a headband that looked suspiciously like a tiara gleaming in her tresses. She was strutting around the room giving orders to staff and guests alike; acting like the party was for her. Poppy idly wondered if Malcom Murray knew, or cared. She made a mental note to avoid the white lady. She seemed like the kind of person who would trip her just to make Poppy lose her job.

Speaking of Mr. Murray, she hadn’t seen him show up, yet. Which was odd as it was his party. But who knew. Maybe he was being fashionably late. Or maybe he forgot. He was a mega billionaire or something; maybe he accidentally double booked? Who knew what went on the minds of these ultra wealthy people.  Poppy mentally shrugged and continued walking and smiling at the guests as she offered them crepes.  Some smiled back, most ignored her even as they grabbed handfuls of crepes off her tray.

Rude.  But expected. They obviously thought their wealth made them above dealing with people like her. She was nothing more than another fixture in the room, pretty to look at but completely devoid of any meaningful abilities.

Others, especially the older men, made a point to talk to her chest.  One even tried to slip a tip in her cleavage.  Poppy successfully evaded that, though she lost out on the tip.  Part of her was wondering if it would have been worth it to ignore his harassment and just accept the money.  Jack was paying handsomely for tonight, but that didn’t mean that extra cash would be unwelcome. But the thought of his dry, pudgy hands touching even part of her breasts was enough to make her shudder.

She shook her head as she continued carefully walking through the ever growing crowd of people. The tip fiasco was over now, and not like she could change the past, so suck it up and deal.

Poppy was carefully making her rounds with her tray, she had already filled it up twice in the hour. She was going to have to see if Tom, the cook, would share his recipe with her, people seemed to love it.

“Excuse me.” Poppy turned, a little too fast and almost dumped her tray all over a very handsome man in a well fitted tux that hugged his impressive physique.  He definitely worked out, broad shoulders, muscled arms, narrow hips, strong thighs… she had to pull her eyes up to stop thinking about that. His beard was neatly trimmed and his dark brown hair was pulled back into a careless but neat man bun.

“I am so sorry!” She stammered as she rebalanced her tray, hoping not to spill; Jack would kill her. Only then did she realize that this god among men was a face she recognized from magazines and news stories: none other than Malcom Murray, the man of the hour.

  Poppy felt herself pale. She had nearly dumped a tray full of crepes over the richest man in the city, if not the world. The host of the party. Her boss’s boss. She tried not to focus on the almost travesty.  She really hoped she wasn’t offending him.  That would be horrible.

  “Think nothing of it.” He smiled at her. He had a slight Scottish brogue that made Poppy’s heart flutter, “It was my fault for coming up behind ye. I was just wondering if I could have one of those?” He pointed to her tray.

  “Ah, yes, here,” Poppy practically shoved the tray into his arms and then had to stop herself from yanking it back when she realized how forceful she was being.

  “Thank ye miss…” he trailed off like he was waiting for something as he took a small plate of crepes from her.

  Poppy sat in silence a moment before she realized he was waiting for her name.

  “Poppy. Poppy Wallace.” she practically shouted at him. Why was she being so awkward? She’d conversed with men before. None as handsome or rich as this one, though, her brain piped up, unhelpfully.

  “Poppy.” He purred her name as he smiled down at her. His voice was low and deep; it did funny things to her insides, and felt strangely familiar,  “I’m happy to make your acquaintance. I’m Malcom.”

  “I know.” Poppy blurted out and then shut her mouth with a clack of teeth. She was being an utter fool.

  Malcom laughed. He looked like he was about to say something when the horrible blonde in the white dress sauntered up to them.

  “Malcom, darling, what are you doing talking to the help?” She playfully smacked his shoulder, “Be careful or they’ll start getting ideas.”

  “Ideas?” Malcom’s face turned to stone as he looked at her. Poppy suddenly realized she did not want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. “Like what? That they have rights? That they deserve respect? Just because they do a job ye cannot handle does not make them less than ye, Natalia.”

  The woman flushed at his words. She looked like she was about to retort when a break in the music allowed a presenter to pick up a microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight.” The man holding the mic was older, silver lined his temples in a too-perfect sort of way that had to be dyed, though his face was smooth and devoid of wrinkles, “It is my great honor to introduce the man of the hour, Malcom Murray! Malcom, why don’t you come and say a few words to your guests. I know you have a big announcement to make tonight, too!”

  Natalia beamed, all memory of her fight with Malcom apparently over. For his part Malcom scowled as he stalked to the stage and took the mic from the speaker, with a little more force that was probably strictly necessary.

  “Thank you, Henry.” His words did not match his expression. “As most of ye know, I am turning 30 tomorrow. And as most of ye know, that is my deadline for securing the future, not only if Intercorp, but the Murray family line. To that end, I am humbled and honored to announce that I have found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Natalia had moved closer to the stage and was smoothing out her dress and hair as Malcom spoke, like she expected to be joining him on stage. Poppy didn’t know why, but a surge of jealousy rushed through her at the thought of Malcom marrying such a woman. She was beautiful but mean and Malcom didn’t strike her as someone who had the same values as Natalia. They would make the perfect power couple, though, both stunningly beautiful. Both stupidly rich. Poppy tried to tramp down the surge of anger at that thought and the possessive idea that Malcom was somehow hers; it’s not like she had any claim on him. But the thought of him with someone else felt, wrong somehow.

Natalia was actually walking up the stairs to the stage as Malcom spoke, a seductive sway to her hips.  Poppy had to suppress a growl at that.  She was such a bitch and Poppy did not know what people saw in women like her.  All the beauty products in the world couldn’t make someone nice.  Just nice looking.  And there was, in Poppy’s opinion, a great deal of difference between the two.

But Malcom’s next words shocked the room to silence, made Natalia freeze in her tracks, and shook Poppy to her core, “It is my honor to introduce ye to the future Mrs. Malcom Murray, Poppy Wallace.”