6. CHAPTER 6 #2
I dart my head around to look at him but he doesn’t acknowledge he did anything, he just kicks off his boots and makes a B-line for the back room.
“Dick,” I mumble under my breath and take a few steps towards the dumpster, gearing up to throw the tray in with no regard over whether the paint gets on anything.
But I stop, remembering the sketches I saw there last night.
I walk the extra few yards, and right before dropping the tray inside I spot Tek’s slippers.
I look back towards the door, then, without thinking, I reach in and grab them.
They’re unlike any slippers I’ve ever seen. They look hand made, but well done, with embroidered lettering in what I assume is Korean across the top of both. I thumb at the paint, the still wet grey smudging further on the light blue.
I should drop them back in and walk away, but instead, I hold them behind my back as I head inside.
Pausing by the break room, I see Tek slouched against the sink, hands braced on either side, just staring into the basin.
He doesn’t see me, or maybe he does. Maybe he wants me to ask him if he’s okay?
And maybe I might have if he didn’t just barge me aside—so screw him.
Though I am still holding his damn slippers so how much of a ‘win’ is it really?
Taking a paper bag from a pile I’d found yesterday beneath the counter, I put the slippers inside and stash them in the side cupboard.
“C’mon. Let’s get this shit over and done with.”
I slam the door closed on accident in a rush to not have Tek see what I’m hiding.
“The fuck are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
He sighs, a long drawn out exhale, and turns on the monitor. As the screen flickers to life, he jerks his chin towards the stool.
“Don’t you wanna sit down?” I ask.
“I spend twelve hours a day on my ass.”
I roll my eyes and sit beside him. I expect a lecture but he doesn’t bother with an introduction, he just starts up the scheduling software, clicking away hard on the mouse.
I listen while he explains the booking system and the proper way to log deposit payments even though there is barely a free half hour anywhere in the next few months where I could place a booking anyway.
“You following?” he asks after five minutes.
“Yeah.” It’s not hard. When I wasn’t teaching kids and their mothers how to surf in Bali, I’d fill in at the resort’s booking kiosk. It’s virtually the same system. “Are you always this busy?”
“No.” He pauses before continuing. “Yes, actually. Just not this late in the year. But I’ve taken on a ton of Eden’s bookings, and…” He stops again, like he’s searching his brain for the right words to use.
“And, what?”
I watch him scroll down past next week on the calendar.
Reeze and Eden’s names are still in the system, and whilst there is nothing marked under Reeze’s name, starting from the day after Thanksgiving, Eden’s schedule goes from empty to packed.
“This is the main reason I’m pissed at him.
There’s at least a thousand dollars worth of deposits taken for each day.
” Tek continues to scroll, the weeks changing from December, to January, to February.
“Each one of these is still an active booking. They don’t know he’s not here.
I can take some on, but most people booked with him, because they wanted him.
And that means they all need to rebook, or we lose those deposits. ”
“I’m sorry.”
“If only other people's apologies counted for something.”
“Dick,” I mumble again, just like when he barged into me.
“Yeah, well, you’re really gonna think I’m a dick in a minute.”
“But I already think you’re one now.” Tek looks down at me, and I tilt my head to the side and stare back at him.
He raises his brows, so I raise mine. Our eyes remain locked until I eventually roll mine because I just can’t be bothered with this little battle.
“Fine. Tell me what it is that’s gonna piss me off so bad. ”
Tek’s face softens. “I need you to call them all.”
“All?”
“All. Every one of Eden’s bookings between next Friday, and the end of February.”
“Fuck me.”
"You said you take cash."
My eyes gape because did he just make a joke? Like an actual funny callback?
Smirking, I go to say something even more suggestive to continue the banter, but he's already pretending like he never said anything.
“If you wanna help out? Then getting this done is how you’re gonna prove your worth to me.”
My shoulders slump at just how quickly he can suck the fun out of everything. “Yeah. And then what?”
“Then, if I can still stand the sight of you, I’ll teach you how to use the autoclave, order re-stocks, and… we don’t have a piercer.”
“A piercer?”
“A person who does piercings.”
“I know what the fuck it is, but… what the fuck?”
“Do you want a job here or not?”
“I do, but Jesus Christ. I’ve gone from taking out the trash, to the rescheduling guru, to body piercer in the space of thirty seconds.”
“No you haven’t.” Tek shakes his head and walks towards the back room, and just before he enters he turns back to me. “You’re still just the guy who takes out the trash. Are you coming?”
“You truly are a delight before nine a.m.”
He smirks—just a little. “You haven't seen me at the end of the day. That’s when I really shine.”
I make a point of looking Tek up and down in a way so obvious that he wouldn’t be able to misunderstand what I’m doing. “You’re trying too hard.”
His eyes squint, but he bites his tongue.
I keep my mouth shut while he shows me where all the different needles, cups, tape, gauze, wipes, and the one hundred other things that this place needs to keep running, are kept. I follow him around with my phone, pretending like he’s boring me, when the reality is I haven’t taken my eyes off him.
His hands are big and long-fingered, with calluses at the pads.
Even when he’s at rest the veins run high and tight under his skin.
The sleeves of his white, long-sleeved, henley shirt are pushed up to his elbows, and I don’t know how he managed to dirty his slippers but not get one spec of paint on the white cotton.
It’s not fitted, but it’s not loose either, and the fabric is thin enough that I can make out his large back tattoo when he hunches forward.
Forgetting the farce with my phone, I stare too long and he catches me watching him.
“What?” he says.
“Nothing. Just…” I fumble over my words. “Your tattoos. They’re cool. I like them.”
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
He nods with an expression that I interpret as; riiiight loser, then turns back away from me. “Do you have any?”
“Any what?”
He looks at me again with a similar expression. “Tattoos?”
He’s right. I am a fucking loser. “Um. No.”
“So just piercings then,” he says, but it’s not a question, and flicks at my nose rings. “Why two?”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “It's not common. One in each ear, but two in the same nostril.”
“You’re covered in drawings, but you think my piercings are weird?”
“I never said they were weird.” Tek steps close. Just like I did to him in the back room yesterday afternoon. “They're cool. I like them,” he says, repeating my own words back to me, and a second later he’s gone.
I hear the coffee machine start grinding beans but I’m still frozen in place.
I want to move. I need to move. I—
What the hell was that about?
“Get your ass in here. I’ve still got shit to show you,” he beckons, and I follow like I’m not a grown man with my own free will.
For the next twenty minutes Tek doesn't let up. I'm lectured on how to scrub the sink, how to wipe down every surface with industrial disinfectant, and his correct alphabetical-order-way to store the ink bottles. Literally every last thing that I could ever need to know is spewed at me.
“Is there gonna be a quiz on this?”
“If there was, you'd already have failed.”
“Rude,” I say with a cheekiness to my tone. “But if most of it is cleaning, why don’t you just hire a maid?”
“Are you saying that cleaning is beneath you? Or that it’s women’s work?”
I match his expressionless face. “Not at all. But wouldn’t you rather look at a woman all day?”
“You say that like I plan on looking at you all day.”
“It’s not that deep. All I’m saying is that Shawn did this job before. Surely she was more appealing to look at. Would you not prefer to have something more… pretty around?”
He considers it, or at least pretends to. “Something tells me you have better stamina. Maybe it’s because of the way you love running your mouth so much.”
“Is there much more to go through?” I ask, stretching until my back cracks. “I mean—and no offense, because I do get the importance of it all—but it’s quite basic. I can get this all done in three days a week tops.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You even said yourself that the deep cleans don’t need to be done every day.
And you set up and sanitize your own station and equipment.
Once I’ve dealt with all of Eden’s customers you won’t have room to make new bookings anyway, so I’ll set up a better answering machine message and handle those calls when I’m back in the next day. ”
“Fine.” Tek’s response is abrupt, like he’s offended, and I want to scream. I practically begged him for this job, and all he’s done since I first walked through the damn door is talk to me like crap, so what the actual fuck is he playing at?
I exhale loudly as I lean forward on the reception desk and watch him spray, then wipe down the table at his station before wrapping it in plastic film.
“Why don't you set up another table?”
He looks at me without raising his head. It feels like a scowl, but I could care less.
“I’m serious. Bring one of the other tables out. Hell, set up a whole other station. Why not? The place feels empty with only your set up.”
“And what would be the point of—”
“Just shut up and let me finish.” I clap back at him. “You say I run my mouth, well you need to open your fucking ears.”
Tek glares at me, and there’s no mistaking it this time.
I round the front of the desk then lean back casually against it.