Next Friday night Christine was back in her usual post of bussing tables and packing up. She had stopped worrying so much about people spying on her and started humming to herself again. However, she kept her singing and dancing to a minimum. She figured it was inappropriate anyways.

"Christine." The familiar voice of her co-worker Frederic appeared from behind. She turned, putting her humming on pause.

"Yes?" she replied uneasily, nervous since she had never been interrupted during her business of cleaning up the smaller dining room in the time she'd been working there.

"A man requested your service. I tried to tell him you were busy with other business and offered another waitress, but he insisted that you waited on him."

Christine sighed and removed her cleaning apron. Only a few people had requested her service before, but they usually dined much earlier when she was actually on waitress duty. "Which table?" She asked.

"Table five."

Christine felt herself agitated as her usual routine was now being disrupted; but on her way to table 5, she collected herself and put on her best smile. That was until she saw who her customer was.

Surely it couldn't have been the same figure she'd caught watching in on her performance last week, right? But this man seemed to have all the same features. Despite being seated, he was obviously tall. His suit was black and seemed to be impeccably tailored to him; his jacket looked to lay perfectly across his lithe figure, sleeves ending right at the bone of his wrist. As she approached, he looked up from his menu, locking eyes with her. His hair was dark brown, almost ebony, and slicked back with excessive care. His eyes were miss-matched—one brown, one blue— and much of his face was obstructed from her viewing by a half-mask, taking up the right side of his face from forehead to jawline and extending over his nose. She would've felt obliged to question why he wore such a thing if she didn't notice the bloated upper-edge of his lip that extended underneath his mask. Christine reasoned that his face was disfigured, but she wouldn't question how it had happened. No, she could not be rude, especially not to a customer.

Christine remembered her smile and pulled a coaster from her waitress apron, sliding it on the table in front of him. She began her practiced introduction. "Hi, my name is Christine and I'll be your server tonight. Do you know what you'd like to drink?"

The man smiled. "Ah, yes," he spoke. His voice was deep, enchanting. It was almost like warm syrup spilling into her ears. It relaxed her a bit, despite it belonging to her intruder. "May I get a water?"

Christine nodded. "I'll be back." She left and returned with a glass of water and ice, placing it on his coaster, and setting a straw to the side. "Would you like to start off with an appetizer?" she asked as she was taught.

"Mmm," the man's voice rumbled in thought as he eyed the appetizer page of his menu."No thanks."

"Alright, well do you know what you'd like to eat or do you need another minute?"

He pursed his lips, looking down at his menu and then back up to her. "What do you recommend?"

Christine reached her hand out to flip the pages of his menu. He pulled back his thumbs in response, allowing her to turn the page. "If you're in the mood for our pasta, I'd recommend the rigatoni or the lasagna." She pointed to their descriptions on the page. "Or," she continued, turning the page once more, "if you're feeling more on the side of soup, since it is cold outside, I'd recommend our lentil soup or tomato bisque. But if you want to go lighter, our salmon is delicious and fresh."

He looked back at her from the menu. "May I get the rigatoni?"

She nodded. "I'll get that right out for you, sir." She reached out to take his menu, and he closed it, handing it over. "Thank you."

Christine returned once between the time she took his order and the time his food was ready to fill his glass. She placed the steaming plate of rigatoni on his table, notifying him of its heat and left to converse with her co-workers in the kitchen.

"How is he?" Kasey, another waitress, asked.

"He's good, I guess," Christine replied.

"He was quite insistent on having you. He didn't recall your name, though. He just asked for 'the girl with the curly chestnut hair.' Do you know him?"Frederic asked.

"No," Christine replied, shaking her head. She would've mentioned she was sure he stopped in to spy on her last week, but she figured it all too personal of a story. Besides, it would probably sound odd for them to hear their co-worker was putting on a show when she was supposed to be focused on working.

"Weird," Kasey said. "Why do you suspect he wears the mask?"

"I guess he's just deformed," Christine reasoned.

"He's a excellent tipper," Naomi, another co-worker, said as she walked in to grab food for a family of customers. "I took care of him last time he was here. I guess he's got a lot of money."

Frederic chuckled. "You've got to have a good bit of money to eat here anyways."

"Well," Naomi rolled her eyes, "you know what I mean. You have to pay for your food, but you don't have to tip well."

They all sighed. "Don't we know it," Kasey said, laughing wearily.

Christine returned to fill his glass one final time before asking him if he wanted dessert.

"No," he replied, chuckling and shaking his hand before him in objection. "I'm satisfied, thank you."

As soon as she returned with his check, before she could set it down on the table, he handed her his card. She rang him up and returned with his card and receipt.

"Thank you," she said, retaining her friendly waitress smile. She left him so he could tip and returned to the table to pick it up after he had left. He had placed a folded piece of paper by the receipt. She unfolded it and read:

Parisian Choir auditions November 23. Singers must provide their own music. Local Theatre, 5 P.M.

Christine folded the flyer back up and slipped it into her pocket. She picked up the receipt and found he'd tipped 50%. It wasn't a lot of money considering he ate alone, but it was generous nonetheless.

Christine left her workplace without mentioning the tip or flyer to her co-workers and returned to her shared apartment.

"Hey," her friend Meg greeted her from the couch as she entered. "How was work?"

Christine sighed, exhausted from the days events. "Do you remember me telling you about that person who was creeping in on me last week?"

"Yeah," Meg said, recalling their conversation. "Why?"

"He asked Frederic for me to serve him tonight when I was cleaning tables and left a flyer for me." Christine pulled the flyer out and unfolded it, holding it up so that Meg could read what was printed.

Meg smiled, laughing. "He must've thought you were a good singer."

Christine rolled her eyes. Was she really missing the point? "It's just bizarre," Christine remarked. "I kind of feel like my privacy had been violated, but he seems... nice."

"Forgive him, Christine. You know that people singing can attract an audience."

Christine sighed wearily and sat next to Meg on the couch, dropping the flyer on the coffee table in front of them.

"So," Meg spoke, a slight hint of a tease in her voice, "are you going to audition?"

"I want to be a dancer, not a singer."

"I've heard about that choir performing before. They bring in quite the audience. It might provide a decent pay on the side."

Christine pursed her lips in thought. "I guess I'll go to auditions. If I don't get in, I don't get in."

Meg smiled, nodding approvingly of her friend's decision. "Give things a try, Christine. You're meant for the arts, not for serving people food all day."