It was at that moment that Mr. Peterson made a decision that would change everything. “Sir, we do have someone who can play. Mateo here studied music at the conservatory. He can fill in.” Mateo’s blood ran cold. Every head in the nearby area turned to look at him. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. He could only shake his head slightly, his heart pounding.
Westbrook’s eyebrows raised as he looked him up and down, taking in his server’s uniform, his practical shoes, his neatly pulled-back hair. A slow smile spread across his face, but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was the smile of someone who’d just found an unexpected source of entertainment. “The waiter,” he said, loud enough for surrounding tables to hear. “Our waiter plays saxophone.” He turned to his nearby guests. “Well, isn’t this interesting?”
Murmurs spread through the crowd. People were setting down their forks, turning in their chairs to see what was happening. Mateo felt like he was under a spotlight, even though the lighting hadn’t changed. His face grew hot with embarrassment. “I… I don’t think that’s appropriate,” Mateo managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m working. I should get back to serving.”
“Nonsense,” Westbrook boomed. He’d had several glasses of wine with dinner, and his inhibitions were lower than usual. “If you can play, then play. Consider it part of your service duties tonight. We need music, and apparently you’re our only option.” Some of his friends at the nearby table laughed. It was a sound Mateo would never forget—that casual, dismissive laughter. To them, this was amusing: the help performing for their entertainment, like a trained animal doing tricks.
“Please, sir, I really don’t think—” Mateo tried again. “Are you refusing?” Westbrook’s tone shifted, becoming harder. “Because if you’re unable to help us in our time of need, perhaps we need to reconsider your employment here.” The threat hung in the air. Mateo looked desperately at Mr. Peterson, hoping he would intervene, would tell Westbrook that this wasn’t part of his job description. But his manager only nodded at him urgently, his eyes pleading.
He needed to keep the client happy, and if that meant sacrificing Mateo’s dignity, so be it. “Come on, don’t be shy,” someone called out from the crowd. More laughter followed. “Play us something,” another voice added. “Let’s see what our server can do.” The other servers had stopped what they were doing, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of sympathy and relief that they weren’t the ones being put on the spot. Mateo felt utterly alone—surrounded by people, but completely isolated.
“I studied classical saxophone,” Mateo said quietly, trying one last time to make them understand. “That’s not really appropriate for a dinner event. I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone’s conversations.” “Oh, I think we’d all enjoy a little concert,” Westbrook declared. He was playing to the crowd now, enjoying being the center of attention. “Besides, how good could you really be? You’re a waiter, not a concert saxophonist. Just play something simple. Background music. That’s all we’re asking.”