Chapter 2 #2
Augie smacked him, aware he was teasing her about dropping the tray at the happy hour.
“I had to shake off the dust, Thomas Charles.” Augie knew he hated his formal name. It was part of the reason he’d given her a nickname.
TC dipped his hand in a stray cup of water and flicked it at her.
“Oy,” Aida said as she approached, followed by a line of new servers, who gathered in a half circle. On instinct, Augie looked
away. She didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t have it in her to make friends. Plus, they all seemed so young. Augie knew
she wasn’t old at twenty-two, but she felt older than these kids. They probably thought she was old, too, which somehow made it worse.
The only people she could stand to look at now were Aida, TC, and Liss, all of whom she’d worked with since she was sixteen.
She’d gotten especially close with TC and Liss during the pandemic when, for two summers, they’d organized extra take-out
orders and golf-side catering. With more downtime than normal, she’d learned how TC struggled with drugs in the past, and
how Liss was raising a two-year-old daughter with her mom. They didn’t talk as deeply when the schedule was back to its usual
chaos, but Augie still felt bonded with each of them.
“Okay, I think we’re in pretty good shape,” Aida said. “We should only need five of you to stay. So,” she exhaled—Augie knew
she hated this part—“any takers?”
Everyone looked down at their feet, shifting uncomfortably. If people didn’t volunteer to stay through breakdown, they were
forced to pull straws. Augie raised her hand.
TC and Liss volunteered, too, and Augie blew her friends a kiss.
For a second, she felt a flash of déjà vu, back to a wedding from last summer.
All the guests got so drunk and stayed so late that she, Liss, and TC felt like a part of the party.
They’d sneaked a bottle of prosecco and danced behind the doors, screaming silently along to “Mr. Brightside.” Augie remembered twirling so fast that she’d spilled a cup of bubbly from one hand and dropped a fork full of wedding cake from the other, slipping on the frosting and landing on her ass like a cartoon.
Liss had laughed so hard she’d peed her pants, and they had to find an extra pair in Aida’s office.
Augie looked at the floor now, the exact spot. The memory felt like a different life.
Aida finally waved off the first cuts and turned to the late-night crew, sighing as she announced a small crisis: Mr. Schmidt
had seen someone vaping outside. “He’s complained to Mr. Dryer and, because it’s likely a wedding guest, he wants us to take
care of it. I don’t need to remind you about our very strict no-smoking policy.”
TC laughed. Everyone knew it was only enforced when it came to those who were not actually important. “I feel like Terry Schmidt
wants a hit. That guy definitely smokes some pot.”
Liss pretended to take a drag and blow it his face. “I could see it. I’d need to chill out too if I were married to Liza.”
Liza was notorious for always matching her BMW to her outfit.
Aida suppressed a smile. She hit TC and Liss with a napkin. “Regardless, can we divide and conquer, please? If two of you
could check the pool and lower patio, that would be great. I can let Mr. Dryer know we’re on it.”
“All right, let’s do this.” TC saluted Aida as he turned to Augie. “Join me, Watson?” He held out his hand. “Let’s find this
mystery vaper on the loose.”
It felt strange to be on the Club’s lower level at night. Augie was used to men brushing past her in golf shirts, women scurrying
by on their way to tennis. In the dark, it was unnerving, like being in a deserted airport or mall.
TC said he’d check around the pool. Drunken guests sometimes had the habit of going for a swim.
It’d happened twice last summer, and Mr. Dryer talked about imposing a fine.
Augie figured it was just one more way for the Club to make money.
They tried to hide prices from the staff, but Augie knew it cost almost one hundred thousand to apply.
She tried not to think about how most of her high school friends, including Leah, were members.
Like the Harrisons, Leah Greene’s family was also old money—legacies.
Augie loved the Greenes. Since she’d moved to Minnesota when she was in eighth grade, she’d become part of their family. They
always invited her up to their cabin, or on vacations. Leah’s mom, Robin, and Augie were particularly close. Robin was high
up at U.S. Bank, and having grown up in Boston, she loved that Augie was from Maine. She’d been the one to link Augie with
the New York job—though Augie could barely think about that now. It all made her sick.
Leah’s dad, Wyatt, was also a star. In addition to being a silver fox and one of the best golfers at the Club, his family
was famous for their banking empire. But the Greenes were more down-to-earth than most members. They’d lost their oldest son,
Leah’s brother Lyle, in a tragic boating accident twelve years ago. He’d been accused of stealing the boat that had crashed
and killed him and a friend, which added more pain to the situation. Augie sometimes felt this was why the Greenes were so
humble—and why they liked having Augie around so much. Their other son, their middle child, had moved to Colorado, and Leah
was only home in the summers. Their mansion was too quiet, the photos of Lyle around the house too loud. Augie got the sense
they felt antsy at home, and that this was part of the reason they were always jetting two hours north to their cabin on Gull
Lake.
Leah didn’t like boating on Lake Minnetonka, so she and Augie often went to the cabin together instead.
She’d once told Augie she hated swimming in the same water where her brother had drowned.
She never mentioned it again, but ever since, Augie thought of Lyle anytime she swam in the lake.
She’d dunk underwater, look up at the blurry surface, the distant sun, and, without meaning to, she’d imagine what it would feel like to drown.
They’d been at the cabin the previous weekend when they decided to go to the boat party. Leah’s latest fling from St. Cloud
State had invited her. Leah always had a different boy, a different party invitation. It’s what happened when you looked like
a Midwestern princess—golden blond hair, lanky tan limbs, a perfectly freckled nose—and had the charm to match.
Augie loved to tease Leah, particularly about this boy. He was a hockey player, and given he was two years younger and still
a sophomore, Augie called him “The Babe.” She knew he wouldn’t last. None of Leah’s flings did. Neither Augie nor Leah had
dated seriously in high school or college. They often joked about their fear of commitment, yet avoided discussing the reasoning:
Leah was scared of losing another person close to her, and Augie was scared of getting trapped. She was terrified to think
she’d choose the wrong partner and end up on the wrong path—in the wrong life. Just look at her mom and dad.
Augie hadn’t been in the mood to go to the party that Saturday. She was still in hiding. Leah had worked hard to convince
her as they sat on the cabin’s upper deck, clouds wisping into the blue sky above like swirls of blown glass.
“You’re working on Wednesday, anyways,” Leah had whined. “That’s in only four days. It’s not like this is Big Island. None
of these guys are from Aldon Lakes. You won’t know anyone, I promise.”
“You and I both know that doesn’t matter. Word will travel. I’d like to enjoy my last days of peace, please.”
Leah didn’t bother fighting that point; in Minnesota, everyone was connected. Word traveled fast. Even a famous reality dating series that had once filmed in the area was a bust because the cast ended up having so many
friends in common that as soon as taping wrapped, everyone’s secrets were exposed. There was even a viral article about it
that explained how “due to the tight-knit nature of the Cities—where most singles grew up, went to college, and settled close
to family—outsiders disrupted the relationships in a way locals say was inevitable.” Augie had sent the article to Leah, hoping
it might motivate her to move, but Leah had only laughed.
“I just know you’ll have fun at this party. It’s time to stop wallowing. And hey”—Leah smacked her hands on the table—“you
can use your alias! Let’s bring back Allie Von Braun!”
Augie couldn’t help but laugh remembering how, when vacationing with Leah’s family in Aruba, Augie and Leah had made up fake
names at the resort, teasing boys at the pool. Leah had been Lydia Clausewitz, Augie: Allie Von Braun, both from London. They’d
talked in British accents the whole trip, often becoming so hysterical, they gave themselves away.
“Look, I even made a list.” Leah slid her phone to Augie. Augie leaned forward, smiling at the way Leah was using her own
weapons against her. She had outlined clear pros and cons: Pros: hockey guys are hot; boat parties are fun; you need a palette cleanser (RANDOM hookup!); I want to go (and you love
me). Cons: N/A.
Augie was touched, though she didn’t have the energy to explain that she no longer felt like her old, reasonable self—a person
who followed logic and lists.
Still, after two mimosas and more pleading, Augie finally agreed. She’d go—but only as Allie Von Braun.
Augie meandered through the lower level of the Club, but she didn’t find anyone. The only other person she saw was herself,
suddenly catching sight of her reflection in the darkened pro shop windows. She cringed.
Despite her tan, her eyes were sunken. Her cheeks narrowed. Her hair tight and flat in its low service industry bun. Her white
tuxedo shirt and bowtie didn’t help.
It was a sharp contrast to how she’d looked when she left for New York that January—when, dare she say, she had looked better