Chapter 3
Olivia noticed the woman at table six looking at her oddly. Early forties, probably. On the skinny side, kinda pale, with dark blond shoulder-length hair with those cool balayage streaks Livvy couldn’t afford. She was definitely rich, judging from the size of the big honking diamond on her left hand, and also that Fendi purse.
The woman kept glancing at her. But there was no time to obsess over it, because the two other girls who were supposed to work lunch had both called in sick, and her manager was being a total dick about it. So she basically ran her legs off, and somehow got food to her tables and managed not to spill anything or get the orders wrong.
It wasn’t until she dropped the check at the woman’s table that she realized the problem. The younger woman had only eaten the bacon off her club sandwich, but the other woman had lifted the top slice of bread off her sandwich and set it aside, which is when Livvy saw that it was slathered with mayonnaise.
Eddie. He was screwing with her again, just because she’d threatened to rat on him for texting her dick pics. She was pretty sure it wasn’t even his dick, not that she ever intended to find out.
“I’m so sorry about the sandwich,” Livvy told the woman, after her daughter had left. “I can take it off your bill if you want.”
“It’s fine,” the woman said, tilting her head and giving her a full-on stare. Livvy was getting more than a little freaked out now.
“Uh, is there anything else? Maybe you want an iced tea to go?”
“No thanks. It’s just that you look like someone I used to know. Are you from here?”
“No, ma’am. I’m from Bonaventure. It’s a little town just south of here,” Livvy said. Obviously this woman was a tourist. BluePointe had only been developed like a year or two ago. Five years ago, this had all been pine trees and palmettos.
“That’s funny. I’m originally from Bonaventure too.
“Livvy, right?” the woman said, pointing to the name badge Mr. Godby made all the servers wear.
“It’s Olivia, but nobody ever calls me that.”
“Nice to meet you, Livvy. I’m Traci. I couldn’t help but notice you’re the only server working today. Is that unusual?”
“No, I mean, yes, ma’am. There are usually at least two other girls working the weekday lunch shift, but they both called in sick, so today it’s just me.”
“You did a good job, though,” the woman said thoughtfully. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Livvy shrugged.
“Do you enjoy working here?”
She had to think about that. She didn’t mind waiting tables. The money was decent, and she knew it would get way better when the season started and all the tourists came back. But she was tired of trying to dodge handsy grill cooks, and they totally did not have enough servers to get them through the season, plus her boss was a major jerk.
“It’s okay,” Livvy said.
The woman hesitated. “Normally I wouldn’t go into another restaurant to poach their help, but these aren’t normal times. The reason I ask is, I’m looking to hire staff for a resort near here. And I was wondering…”
“Which resort?”
“The Saint,” the woman said, smiling. “We’re the oldest resort on the coast. The business has been in my late husband’s family since the nineteen twenties.”
Livvy sucked in her breath. How dumb could she be? This woman was Traci Eddings. The Traci Eddings. Before she could say anything else, she could see Mr. Godby gesturing for her to get back to the hostess stand, where a party of six was waiting impatiently.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Eddings, but I gotta go.”
The woman nodded, then pressed something into her hand. “Call me,” she said, in a low, urgent voice. “We’re hiring. Whatever you’re making here, I’ll pay two dollars an hour more, plus a hundred- dollar bonus, plus free, on-site housing.”
“Liv!” Mr. Godby’s voice was sharp.
The rest of her shift was a blur. She waited on a bridesmaids’ luncheon with twenty women. Half the girls were her age or younger, all of them wearing clothes she could never afford, sloppy little drunks who brought their own cheap-ass grocery store sheet cake, which they then demanded that she cut up and serve to them. Then the bride’s bitchy mother had the nerve to take her aside and complain that the restaurant shouldn’t have tacked on the 15 percent gratuity for a party over ten, even though the menu clearly stated that was the restaurant’s policy.
Livvy just stared at the woman.
In the end, Mr. Godby had intervened in the dispute, and even though none of it was Livvy’s fault, she could tell he was pissed at her. So unfair.
She had a pounding headache and blisters on both feet from her new work shoes by the time she limped back home at four.
Her mother was still at work at the hospital, thank God. Even though she was almost twenty-one, Livvy still felt guilty about pouring herself a glass of wine to sip while she soaked in a bubble bath.
Shannon had found religion and had let it be known that she didn’t approve of alcohol. Well, good for her. It wasn’t like Livvy was running wild in the streets. She liked an occasional glass of wine to relax, that’s all.
It wasn’t until she’d toweled off and was emptying her uniform pockets before putting them in the laundry that she found Traci Eddings’s business card.
The paper was heavy and embossed, the type elegant and in gold. TRACI EDDINGS, CEO, THE SAINT CECELIA. There was a phone number, and an email address.
Livvy pulled on a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt and stretched out on her bed, phone in hand. She glanced around her bedroom. It was small, like the rest of the house, which was a cinder-block box painted pale yellow, on a street full of houses all just alike. This had been her grandmother’s house, and Shannon had lived here all her life. Bright pink potted hibiscus trees flanked the front door, which was painted the same shade of pink.
Her mother was a clean freak, liked everything new and shiny and pristine. Shannon never left the house with so much as a dirty coffee mug in the sink, or a damp towel on the floor. Her mother had rules. Shoes were to be removed as soon as you came inside. Kitchen counters were to be sprayed and wiped down with Lysol every morning and every evening before bed. Shannon wouldn’t even allow trash to sit in her house for twenty-four hours.
She ran a fingertip over the business card, getting a subversive electric thrill as she considered the offer Traci Eddings had made. Two dollars an hour more than what she was making at BluePointe? Plus a hundred-dollar signing bonus? That was nothing to sniff at.
With that kind of money, Livvy could save up enough to transfer to a college out of state. She could even maybe buy a new-to-her secondhand car. But most important was that last bit Mrs. Eddings had mentioned at the end of her pitch.
Free, on-site housing. It wasn’t that Livvy didn’t love her mom. Shannon had been a single mom, and she’d never let Livvy forget that she had sacrificed everything to raise her. But she was twenty now, for Pete’s sake, still living with her mom and her mom’s strict rules. She longed to live on her own, paint her walls whatever color she pleased, maybe even leave a sweater on the back of a chair.
Was that so wrong?
Twice she started to call the number on the card, and twice she chickened out. She took a long swallow of wine, then, finally, made herself take the leap. She sat up, cross-legged on her bed, called the number on the card, and when instructed, left a rapid-fire voice message.
“Um, hi, Mrs. Eddings? This is Olivia Grayson. I waited on you today, at BluePointe? Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the job you offered me. You can call me back at this number. Thanks.”
Just as she was about to disconnect, the front door opened. Her mother was home. Livvy felt her face burn with shame mixed with relief. She’d done it! And it felt fine.
“Liv?” Shannon opened her bedroom door without knocking. Why should she knock? This was Shannon’s house, Shannon’s rules. For now.
They were at the kitchen table eating dinner—Stouffer’s mac and cheese and bagged salad—when Livvy’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID screen and grabbed for it before the call could go to voice mail.
“Who’s that?” Shannon asked, her eyebrow quirked.
“Just somebody returning my call about a job,” Livvy said, pushing away from the table and heading for her room.
Shannon frowned. “Tell them to call back. You know how I feel about using your phone at mealtime.”
“Can’t,” Livvy said.
“Just a moment, please,” she said into the phone, before closing and locking her bedroom door.
“Hi, Livvy. This is Traci Eddings. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time, but I was so happy to get your call earlier. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Yes,” Livvy said, sinking down onto her bed. “Now is good.”
“Okay,” Traci said. “As I told you earlier, we’re starting to staff up for summer, and I have several positions open at the Verandah.”
“The Verandah?”
“Yes. That’s the main restaurant on the property. There’s also a men’s grill, and an ice-cream shop too. Have you ever visited us here?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Well, we’ll have to fix that. When could you come in for an interview?”
“I could come in tomorrow. Any time before four,” Livvy said.
“Perfect,” Mrs. Eddings said. “You won’t have a problem with drug testing, right?”
“No, ma’am. Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“You mentioned something about on-site housing for employees?”
“We’re renovating an existing building on the property,” Mrs. Eddings said crisply. “We’ll provide a dorm-type experience. Furnished, private rooms but with two shared communal baths.”
“Sounds good,” Livvy said, trying to sound casual.
“The dorm won’t be ready for at least another two weeks, but if your interview goes well, and I have no reason to believe it won’t, we’d want you to start training immediately. Will that work for you?”
Livvy took a deep breath and chewed at her cuticle, a bad childhood habit she’d never outgrown. Things were moving so fast. But maybe that was good. Change was good, right?
“Livvy?”
“Yes, ma’am. That will work.”
“Wonderful. Tell me your full name again? I’ll let Charlie Burroughs—he’s our GM—know to expect you tomorrow, and I’ll leave you a parking pass at the security gate.”
“It’s Olivia Grayson.”
“Did you say Grayson?”
“Yes, ma’am. G-R-A-”
“Never mind,” Mrs. Eddings said hastily. “I know how it’s spelled. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, then.”
After she disconnected, Livvy sat very still on her bed, wondering what the hell she’d just gotten herself into. She’d worked at BluePointe since they’d opened. Mr. Godby had hinted about the possibility of a raise, after a year. She liked the other girls she worked with well enough…
Her phone dinged, notifying her of an incoming text.
She looked down. The photo was blurry, but the subject was unmistakable. A man’s unzipped fly with an erect penis, followed by a series of hot dog emojis interspersed with tongue emojis.
It was just the sign from the universe that she needed, gross but convincing. Livvy tapped the photo to download, then forwarded it to [email protected]. With a brief message. Hi. Olivia Grayson here. The attached photo was sent to me tonight by your grill cook, Eddie Argentau, who sexually harasses all the waitresses at your restaurant. I quit. I’ll turn in my uniform when I pick up my last paycheck.
Livvy smiled as she pressed Send. No turning back now.