Five
Summer
Dad: Hey, lovie. Just wanted to see if you could call me after work. I miss your voice.
“What is in the mandarin orange salad, exactly?”
I like to think that as I get older, my patience for stupidity has grown astronomically. Because I, as a child, probably would have taken one of the plates resting on the neatly set table and hit this woman upside the head with it.
Maybe then she’d use her brain properly.
But since I need to keep my job for the sake of paying for things that my scholarship doesn’t, I bite my tongue and answer the question. Granted, I don’t necessarily need to be this petty but I make sure to stare directly at the menu in the woman’s hands and read off what it says.
“Mixed greens, dried cranberries, red onions, almonds, and…mandarin oranges.”
The woman with the neatly pinned back ponytail nods her head. “And the dressing?”
“Whichever one you’d like.”
I’m fully prepared for her to ask what our dressings are but surprisingly she can read and looks right below the list of salads on the menu.
I stand awkwardly, waiting for her to make up her damn mind. Or for her husband to stop dropping his napkin so his shoulder can brush past my thigh.
You need the job, Summer.
Suck it up and get your paycheck.
I hold my smile. “Would you like me to give the both of you another minute?”
“Yes.” She sighs. “I think that’d be best.”
My grip on my notepad tightens but I nod, letting them know I’ll be right back, and walk away from the table. Again.
I’ve given them “another minute” for the past thirty minutes. It’s my own fault, really. Why on earth would I think that the husband calling me over had anything to do with them being ready to order?
I weave through tables. Some empty, others full of golfers. But I know with the lunch hour slowly creeping in, this place is going to be packed within the next forty-five minutes.
I knew that Ellingbrook was considered one of the richer cities in New York—I just didn’t think that people here had so much time on their hands to constantly spend their days at a country club.
I mean, I get it.
Golfing. The food. The spa and massages. Even the pool.
God, that beautiful fifty-foot body of clear water. The cobblestone walls that lead up to a small waterfall.
I’ve been tempted more times than not to ask my manager just who I have to blow to take a dip.
’Cause that little ten percent discount on a membership doesn’t quite meet my budget.
I don’t often just have an extra two-thousand dollars lying around every month.
Don’t even get me started on the one-hundred-thousand-dollar initiation fee.
I’m just off by that exact amount.
Bethany nudges my shoulder with hers as she moves beside me to grab orders from under the pass. I look around, realizing that our expeditor, Jules, is nowhere to be found. She’s meant to be checking the food before it goes out but I’m sure smoking a cigarette is far more important.
“Your smile is slipping.” Bethany grins.
“And so is my patience.”
Bethany laughs as she takes her orders and sets them on her tray. She nudges me again and offers me a “good luck” before heading back to one of her tables, her black ponytail bouncing behind her.
Sometimes I can’t help but think of sitting at one of these tables. Sipping on a mimosa. Asking what’s in the mandarin orange salad. Not because I want anyone to wait on me but…actually no. That’s exactly why.
I don’t think it’s a crime to want to be taken care of instead of being the one doing the caring. Or that I’d love to be able to afford a nice filet mignon occasionally.
“Hey.” Hazel, my shift manager, comes up to me and I realize that I’ve been staring at a plate of grilled salmon for the past five minutes. It’s probably cold now.
I turn to face Hazel. “Cruella says you have someone waiting for you in the lobby.”
I can’t help but look around as if Amanda—otherwise known as Cruella—is going to turn around the corner and banish me from the Ellingbrook Country Club just because my posture was off.
Amanda is the receptionist. Not security, although she sure as hell likes to act like it. I understand that people pay a lot of money to get into this place, but she acts like we’re some top-secret agent facility. Not a place where people come to play golf, eat food, and be pampered.
“Did she say who?” I ask, although there’s only one person it could possibly be. Most of my other friends aren’t even in town right now.
Hazel shakes her head and as if she realizes her ponytail is too loose, she tightens it. “No, but if you make it quick, I’ll cover you because I really don’t want to hear Cruella go off about how a hooligan dressed like him was let into the building.”
I snort. “She said that?”
“Oh, yeah…” Hazel nods then shakes her head. “I mean I sugarcoated it but that’s basically the essence of what was said.”
I step away from the pass. “Thanks, Hazel.” I quickly stop and turn back around when I spot the middle-aged couple still looking over the menu.
Well, the woman is.
Her husband is just nodding along.
I step back toward Hazel. “Oh, um just in case table thirteen is ready to order, I’d watch out for the husband. He’s a little handsy.”
Hazel’s face falls. She’s not even in shock, just disappointed at how regular this kind of thing has become. She looks over in his direction and narrows her eyes as we both watch him blatantly stare at another waitress’s ass.
“I think I’ll just leave that one to you.” She pats my shoulder and walks away.
I do the same because if I don’t make it to the lobby quick enough, I might be watching River be carried out by security.
I make sure to fake it ’til I make it when a member passes by me.
The smile plastered on my face is beginning to feel as if it were sewn into place.
And I’m wondering if I’m the one that pierced the needle into my skin and wove the thread through, or maybe somewhere along the line of reaching for my dreams and trying to keep myself together, I handed the materials off so that someone else could do it for me.
Luckily, it doesn’t seem that anyone notices me.
Good. I don’t really feel like having a conversation—well, it’d be more like them talking at me instead of to me—but regardless, I don’t have the willpower for either situation right now.
When I do finally make it to the lobby, my attention isn’t first drawn toward River.
Or even Cruella. But instead, toward the large painting that hangs right above the cobblestone fireplace.
The intricately detailed gold frame only makes the picture of the owner of Ellingbrook Country Club standing next to Brendan Nole, that much more ridiculous.
What do you get when you let one country club owner and the governor of Ellingbrook play golf together?
One obnoxious photo.
I look away from the picture to see Cruella now standing beside me. Her bun is pulled back in a way that looks almost painful, and a scowl that’s hilariously ridiculous is stuck on her face.
“You need to take him somewhere else.” She crosses her arms. “None of our members want to see someone who just walked off the street.”
My eyes follow where she points and I don’t even bother to hide the snort that escapes my lips. Cruella is not the least bit impressed at a member walking by at this exact moment.
River sits on the arm of one of the overpriced couches with a pattern my grandma would’ve adored back in the eighties.
I think that might’ve been when this place was built, actually.
“This”—I gesture toward River’s general direction—“is what a normal civilian looks like. Maybe you should leave your villain cave every once in a while.”
Cruella’s face practically goes red and I’m not sure how she still hasn’t grinded all of her teeth down yet. “If making sure this place stays up and running makes me a villain, then so be it.”
“Up and running?” I snort. “Amanda, you check membership cards and sit at a computer all day. I’m sure there’s other factors as to why this place is still standing.”
River walks up to us and throws his arm around my shoulders with a shit-eating grin on his face, as if he knows what he’s doing.
Honestly? I know he does. We’ve had conversations about Cruella multiple times. I’m sure that the moment he walked up to the reception counter, he knew who she was.
Cruella huffs. “Just go take your boyfriend somewhere else.”
“Oh.” I feign disappointment. “I guess you’re right. It would be entirely inappropriate for us to make out right here.”
I lean into River’s side and rest my palm on his stomach. His abdomen tightens as if the contact caught him off guard. That or it’s the comment that leaves my mouth next. “We’ll just go screw each other in the break room.” I smile. “Thanks, Amanda.”
I drag River away from the lobby and down the hallway toward the break room, ignoring River’s sharp inhale. The cool air in here is a stark contrast to the hot kitchen. My eyes close and I purposely stand under the air vent so I can take advantage of the cool air soothing my warm skin.
“Thanks for that by the way.” I lean back against the counter but keep my head tilted back. “Now she’s going to have more of an attitude today.”
River laughs.
I hear the scratch of a chair against the laminate tile. He shuffles around and then a thud shakes the table. I open one eye to see that River is now sitting down, digging through his backpack.
“So what?” River says. “It’s not like she’s going to be in the kitchen.”
I snort. “Yeah no, she wouldn’t be caught dead back there. The humidity might ruin her hair.” I push off the counter to take the seat across from River. “So, what do I owe this pleasure to?” I ask like I didn’t show up at Metric’s unannounced just a few days ago.
“I wanted to see you.” He shrugs, as if that admittance doesn’t make my heart do a backflip.
Any annoyance I’d been carrying is now left behind with Amanda and the Handsy Husband.
I really don’t know how River does that.
“Oh, yeah?” I smile, resting my chin on my palm.