The unplanned surrogacy

Where it all began

Mariam was accustomed to two worlds. In one, she was a girl with a flawless smile and photospread confidence, strutting down runways and photo shoot sets with the name Mariam Harrison. On the other, she was simply a waitress at Palazzo Bistro who was trying to juggle trays, avoid obnoxious clients, and live on tips barely adequate to cover rent.

This morning, she had overslept, once again. Her body had finally protested against late-night gym workouts and the fatigue caused by pursuing auditions to be a model. The blinding sun piled through her blinds and a knot of panic knotted in her chest woke her up.

Shit, she thought, which woke her up.

Her uniform was suspended on the chair next to her bed. Instead, she leaped in with her long black hair, where she had twisted it into a sleek bun, and had no use of foundation or lipstick. She did not like being in a hurry, but her boss, Mr. Johnson, did not reward tardiness and should she lose this job, she had nothing to fall back on.

She was breathless, and her heart was banging by the time she got to the restaurant. The odor of the espresso and the newly baked pastries of the coffee shop across the street had been stifling in the air of the late morning, reminding her cruelly about the breakfast she had not been able to have.

Very nice of you to come with us, Miss Superstar, said a voice that was teasing her.

Mariam swiveled around to see Jayden, her best friend at the workplace, lean on the counter with a self-satisfied smile. His coarse, curly hair cut around his small, sportive features, and his apron was knotted into a melodramatic knot as usual.

‘No, Jay, not now’, attempting to tie the apron, she panted. “Johnson’s going to kill me.”

Jayden laughed. “Girl, I said that last week and somehow you are here. You’ve got nine lives.”

She didn't have time to reply, when a sharp voice broke in on the kitchen.

“Mariam!”

Her stomach dropped. Mr. Johnson was standing in the doorway with arms crossed, with a tie slightly out of place. He was in his forties, and was short, with thin hair and eyes that might make you feel five years old and be in trouble.

‘You are half an hour late’, he said.

“I’m sorry, sir. I barely slept….”

"Spare me the excuses; spare me the excuses," he said, waving her away. “We are booked in on an important reservation today. I do not afford to lose time.”

“Yes, sir.”

He dressed his eyes, and put on his glasses. “Private event. There is a single party in the restaurant very exclusive. So, I need my best staff on this.”

Jayden raised an eyebrow. And that is with our little runaway queen?

Smith glared at him. “Yes, Jayden. It does. You, Mariam, will be with Ben and Travis. I expect perfection. No mistakes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she said in a manner of attempting to sound certain.

As he walked away, Jayden leaned over. “Private event? Sounds fancy. Perhaps you will get some rich man and flee to Paris.”

Mariam smirked. “Or perhaps I will simply be screamed at regarding the wrong drink, as usual.”

One of her parts, though, the little, hopeful part that could not die, found the sound of Jayden joking pleasing. Someone rich. Perhaps, even somebody significant.

Around noon, the restaurant was shining. Tables, crystal glass, polished, crystal glass, cutlery, all gleaming under the chandelier. The air smelled of roasted butter and garlic and soft jazz music was playing.

Mariam made her name tag straight again, looked in the mirror and smoothed out her bun, and sighed. She had to make this transition flawlessly.

The doors opened.

The tall man in an all-black suit was the first one to come in. He had a silent power that made people get aside without being commanded. He was a shadow that came into the room and had to be noticed.

His eyes, incisive and black and inscrutable, flushed all that was in sight before glancing briefly at Mariam. It was the same to her as static, the cold that ran through her spine.

Holding his elbow was a woman, in a red dress, fitted out, with diamonds in her ears. She was pretty, the type of prettiness that went with money and self-confidence. She had her makeup, her posture, her smile, all in place perfectly.

Mariam recognized the kind of moment that it was. She had been around enough audience women like that, graceful, smooth, untouchable.

Mr. Johnson scurried to the fore, bowing. “Welcome, sir. Madam. Your table is ready.”

The man nodded his head briefly and walked away. His words when he talked were low and smooth. “We’ll have privacy, I assume?”

“Naturally, of course,” replied Johnson.

Mariam followed him to their own table, and, as she walked away, she heard snatches of his conversation, monotonous, composed, and a little accented. Something alien in his voice, something with a touch of discipline and danger, there was.

She could not put it, and this would not be needed. This man was not an ordinary man.

The lady sat down, and crossed her legs in a very elegant manner. The man was facing her, keeping a casual but dominating pose. Mariam saw little distinction between them; the woman always had to be observed, and the man had to dominate without much effort.

“Good afternoon," Mariam said pleasantly, without much change in her voice.” Would you mind having something to drink till you wait?”

“Sparkling water,” said the lady, and never looked up on her phone.

“And for you, sir?”

He stared at her for a moment, long enough to make her heart beat irregularly and answered, the same.

Mariam shook her head and walked off, making an attempt to deny the weird sensation in her chest.

Jayden grabbed her on the counter. “Okay, who are they? The man has the appearance of eating money in the morning.”

“Shh, Jayden, I looked at the table," she said. “No idea. But he’s… different.”

Jayden grinned. “How different ?”

She hesitated. “Like, I don’t know. And like it is his world, and he does not want to know that somebody knows it.

Jayden laughed quietly. “Girl, be careful. That is the kind of one who breaks hearts, and gives people money to sweep up after him.”

Mariam smiled, and her discomfort remained.

When the food was prepared, she carried the tray on her arm, two plates of steak, one bowl of soup and the beverages. She held her breath, put her foot back upon itself, and walked towards their table.

Jayden ran out and called after Mari half way there, Mari! You forgot the…”

She glanced about, only a moment. Her heel caught on the rug.

The tray tilted.

All this was in slow motion: The soup spilling out of the bowl, the steak sliding, the spurt of cold liquid falling on the red dress of the woman.

Then silence.

The woman shot up, gasping. “What the hell…?!”

Mariam froze. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

Incident in which the woman screamed, dabbing a napkin on her dress. This costs a great deal, do you think?

Mariam’s heart pounded. “Please, it was an accident….”

You're fumbling; you're lumbering; you….” The face of the woman became flushed with anger.

I told you I was sorry, said Mariam, shaking his voice. “I didn’t mean.”

The woman interrupted and spoke loudly. “Don’t you dare talk back to me! You are not supposed to be working here, people like you!

Something in Mariam snapped. Maybe it was the humiliation. Maybe it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was months of people speaking to her mistreating her, the clients, photographers.

The apology in her would have been just as she could not swallow it, some more incisive.

“You know what," she said in a low voice, raising her chin. “Perhaps, you would not be behaving like a bull when it comes to feeling so bad.”

The whole restaurant fell again to silence. Jayden’s mouth dropped open.

The eyes of the woman opened, to disbelief, to rage. “What did you just call me?”

Mariam swallowed hard. “You heard me.”

She anticipated the man to stand up, to protect his fiancée , since that is what she supposed the lady to be. Rather, he reclined in his chair, the lips forming something dangerous and amusing.

A low chuckle escaped him. “Interesting,” he murmured.

Enraged, the woman turned to him. “You’re laughing? She just…”

“Calm down," he told her, still looking at Mariam. His eyes did not move, but looked in her face steadily, fiercely. “It was an accident. Let it go.”

It was not a tone of gentleness with him. The benevolent people will comply unconsciously.

The woman scuffled, took her bag and stormed out of the restaurant.

The man wheeled himself up slowly, snapping on a jacket of his suit. He turned marginally to Mariam before he followed her. Their eyes met again, and in another moment she caught a glimpse in his, but could not tell what; amusement, interest, and an appreciative glow she could not interpret.

He smirked. “We’ll meet again, Mariam.”

Her breath caught. “How do you…?”

But he was already gone.

Mr. Johnson did not shout, though in a way it was worse. He simply stared at her a long time with his jaw tightened, then muttered, “You are fired.”

“Sir, please,” she tried. “It was an accident, I swear.”

“Who was that, he said, Do you think there is any idea? You believe that you can toss food on him and retain your job? Get your things and leave.”

Mariam would like to argue, to retaliate, but the words could not be said. The humiliation, the anger, the shame — too much.

A few minutes later Jayden found her outside the restaurant on the curb with her apron in her lap.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded, though tears went into her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“This is what you always say," he said in attempting to smile.

She gazed up into the sky, and the afternoon sun was scorching down. “I have to be.”

Back of her mind, though, she could not get rid of thoughts of the man in the suit, his low-pitched voice, his intelligent eyes, how he had spoken her name.

She’d never told him her name.

And it was disturbing.