Chapter 22
KJ and Garrett strolled into the staff dorm together shortly after nine o’clock on Thursday night. “Hey, y’all,” Garrett called loudly. “Who’s ready to party down?”
They found their dormmates, Parrish, Olivia, and Felice, sitting in the lounge area, watching their favorite true-crime show and sharing a plate of messy nachos.
“Shhh!” Livvy said. She was dressed in gym shorts and a ratty tee, with her wet hair wrapped in a towel. “Dateline is on. ‘Mystery of the Missing Mom.’”
“I’ve seen this one,” Garrett said. “The husband did it. It’s always the husband.”
Felice glared at him. “I’m fixin’ to bitch slap you if you don’t hush up your mouth.” She pointed the remote control at the television and turned up the volume.
“Come on, y’all,” Garrett pleaded. “You don’t really wanna sit around here all night, do you? The night is young, and so are we. Let’s get wrecked and go have some fun.”
Livvy fluffed her damp hair. “The only party I’m having is in my pj’s.” She gave Garrett the side-eye. “You worked the same hours as me. How do you have the energy to go out?”
He patted the pocket of his shorts. “I got a little friend here that helps me out when I need a little sumthin’ sumthin’.”
Felice set her mug of herbal tea down on the coffee table. “Boy, you keep up that shit and you’re gonna wind up dead. Or fired, or in jail, or all of the above.”
Garrett took a swallow of beer with whatever was in his hand. He belched forcefully. “Come on, Felice. You telling me you never need a little pick-me-up? I been working in restaurants since I was fifteen. I never met a chef anywhere who didn’t do coke. Or something.”
She smiled her Cheshire cat smile. “Didn’t say I never did coke. These days I don’t mess with stuff I can’t afford. That includes men, drugs, booze, and any combination of the above.”
“Well, hell, dude. If you’re handing out the good stuff…” KJ winked and extended his palm. “Count me in.”
Garrett placed a pill in his hand and KJ dry-swallowed.
“Say, Kaje,” Garrett said. “Let’s ride into town and see what’s shakin’ at Pour Willy’s. I waited on a table of fine young ladies today, and they were talking about checking out the local scene. I told ’em me and my buddy would meet them there.”
“Better not. My supervisor at the pro shop stays on my ass. I can’t be rolling in there with a hangover tomorrow.”
“Well, damn,” Garrett said, his shoulders sagging. “Talk about a bunch of wet blankets.”
Parrish waved her hand back and forth. “Helloooo? I’m sitting right here. I’ll go.”
Garrett looked dubious. “Really? The boss’s daughter is gonna party with the help?”
Parrish stood slowly and stretched. “First. She’s my aunt, not my mom. Second, fuck off, loser. I work as hard as anyone in this dorm, and I don’t need your attitude.”
She was halfway to her bedroom when Garrett called out, “Hey, can’t you take a joke? C’mon, don’t be mad. I was just kidding. Let’s be friends, okay?”
Parrish didn’t answer for a moment. She turned. “Okay, but I drive.”
“Cool with me,” he said.
When she emerged from her room she was wearing a short, pale blue sundress that showed off her tan, and her hair fell softly to her shoulders.
“Day-yummm,” Garrett said. “You look fine.”
Pour Willy’s was slammed. People were standing in clusters on the sidewalk outside, drinks in hand, and the night air throbbed with loud music. Parrish circled the block twice before finally finding a place to park her Audi convertible. “Nice wheels,” Garrett said, sliding an admiring hand over the bumper after he clambered out of the car.
“It was either a graduation gift or a bribe. From my darling daddy,” Parrish said, wrinkling her nose. “Depending on your point of view.”
“And what’s your point of view?” he asked.
“Bribe. Definitely.”
There was a bouncer at the door, a burly woman with a backward ball cap topping an impressive mane of bright red hair.
“Sarebear!” Garrett called, drawing out the name.
“Garrett, baby! Get your sweet ass in here.” She hugged him, then looked Parrish up and down. “This your new lady?”
“He wishes,” Parrish said.
The bouncer’s braying laugh nearly drowned out the music. She held the door open. “Have fun, then.”
The bar was shoulder-to-shoulder jammed. Garrett placed his hand on the small of Parrish’s back, then jerked it away when she shot him a withering look.
“Just trying to help steer you through this traffic,” he said, shouting to make himself heard. “Hang on to my shirt, then.”
She grabbed a handful of his shirttail and they waded into the fray, elbowing their way to the bar, where people stood three deep. Three different times, people called his name, paused to slap him on the back, or wave hello.
Somehow, he managed to shoehorn himself at the edge of the bar, and seconds later, the bartender was standing in front of them.
“Hey, man,” he said, nodding at Garrett. “What can I get you two?”
“The usual for me,” Garrett said, turning to Parrish. “What about you?”
“Tanqueray and tonic.”
The bartender fixed her drink, then slid it across the bar to her. He poured a shot of tequila, and drew a beer from the tap. Garrett tossed the shot back with one gulp.
She squeezed the lime into her drink and took a sip before looking around. “See your friends anywhere?”
Garrett leaned against the bar and surveyed the room. “Lots of ladies here tonight, but I don’t see them.”
“Is it always this mobbed?” she asked, leaning close to his ear in order to be heard.
“What? You’ve never hung out at Pour Willy’s?”
“Not really. I mean, I was away at college, and then when I came home, I mostly just got drinks at the club with my friends.”
“Ohhh. Riiiiiight,” he drawled. “I guess Pour Willy’s would be slumming for an Eddings.”
“Are you gonna keep up with that snobby rich girl stuff?” Parrish asked. “’Cuz if you are, you can just catch a ride home with Sarebear or one of your other homeboys who work here.”
Garrett held up both hands in a sign of surrender. “Damn. Sorry if I offended.”
He took a long slug of beer, and she stirred her drink with the straw.
“Garrett!” a sunburnt blonde called from a few barstools away. “Where you been all week? We missed you Tuesday night.”
“Sorry, had to work,” he yelled back.
“Call me, m’kay?”
“I will. Totally,” he said, turning back to Parrish.
She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s that girl, and what happens Tuesday nights?”
“That’s just Courtney. Tuesday night is darts league. But I don’t play every week. Now, what were you about to say?”
Parrish pulled her long hair behind one ear. “It’s really tiresome, having people make assumptions about me all the time. I raised my share of hell, but I didn’t try to sneak in here underage because I was afraid of what would happen if I got caught.”
“What? You’d get shunned?”
“More like screamed at for embarrassing the family.” She looked around the room. “How do you know all these people?”
“Lived here all my life, went to school with some of ’em, worked with a couple of the guys and drank with most of ’em…”
“And slept with half the ladies?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Not quite half.”
The bartender held up a bottle of Gran Patrón Platinum. “You ready?”
“Hit me,” Garrett said, holding out the shot glass. He knocked it back and blinked. “Burns so good.”
“How about the lady?” the bartender asked, holding up the bottle of Tanqueray.
Parrish covered her glass with her hand. “No thanks. Still working on this one.”
Garrett had been scanning the room, but now he tapped her forearm. “Hey, there’s an open high-top over there. I’ll settle up here and you can go claim it.” He pushed a ten-dollar bill across the bar. “Jamie, my man, that’s for you. Now, why don’t you go ahead and fix a freshie for the lady, and then gimme a double, rocks this time.”
“Drink up,” Garrett urged, pushing the new drink across the high-top to Parrish.
“Don’t rush me,” she said. “Still don’t see your friends from the Verandah?”
“Screw ’em. I’m having fun with you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, why not? Tell me something about the mysterious Parrish Eddings.”
She thought about it. “Well… I’m tone-deaf. Totally. Which is why I don’t do karaoke.”
“No karaoke,” he said solemnly. “I’ll make a note. What else?”
“I don’t like seafood. I can’t stand guys who smoke. I speak fluent Spanish, I like to drive fast, and I have every episode of Friends downloaded onto my iPad. I watch them late at night, when I need cheering up.”
“Who’s your favorite guy on Friends?”
“Joey,” she said quickly. “Who’s your favorite girl?”
“Phoebe.”
“Really?”
“No. C’mon. I’m Team Rachel. All the way.”
“That makes me sad. I would have respected you more if you really did like Phoebe.”
“But she’s so dumb,” Garrett protested. “And Rachel was way hotter.”
“Men. You’re all pigs,” she said.
“Do you think you’ll keep working at the Saint? After this summer?”
She pulled on a strand of hair, twisting and twirling it. “Everybody kind of expects me to. I only agreed to work there this summer because Traci convinced me things were pretty dire.”
“How so?”
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be talking about this stuff. It’s family business.”
“Hey. We’re roommates, right? Don’t you think I deserve to know what’s what?”
She stirred her untouched drink. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone. Promise?”
“Of course.”
“There are money issues. Big ones. The year before he died, my uncle started this huge renovation and expansion project at the resort.”
“That’s old news. They totally remodeled, added that new wing, and rebuilt the pool house. I almost went broke because the place was closed for, like, fifteen months. I had to get a second job driving for DoorDash.”
“According to my dad, Uncle Hoke got way over his skis, financially. He took out a lot of loans… and then he was killed in that plane crash.”
Parrish’s eyes welled up. “Losing him nearly killed Traci. She and Hoke, they were so in love. A real team.”
Garrett nodded, then emptied his drink. “But there was, like, insurance, right?”
“My dad, Mister Know-it-All, says Hoke should have had key man insurance.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s insurance for the company, that says if, like, the president of the company dies—something that would really hurt, maybe even bankrupt the company—the insurance will pay off the company’s debt. Hoke didn’t have it. And now there’s still so much debt.”
“That shouldn’t hurt your aunt, though, right? I mean, business is good. Like, at the restaurant we’re booked solid all day every day. The pool is packed…”
“It’s not that good. She tries not to show it, but I know Traci’s worried sick.”
“Come on,” Garrett said. “I’ve seen that car she drives. I’ve seen the house she lives in.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Parrish insisted. “Her car? Yeah, it’s a Mercedes, but it’s six years old. And Traci’s house is not that big inside. It was my grandparents’ house when they first got married. My grandmother gave it to Hoke. They were finally going to build a bigger house, on one of the ocean lots, but then Hoke died, and Traci told my dad to sell it.”
Garrett jiggled the ice cubes in the glass he’d just drained, and a server magically appeared at their table with another pair of drinks.
“Thanks, Bunny,” he told the girl. “Keep ’em coming.”
Parrish pushed her drink away, untouched. “Jesus, Garrett, you must have a hollow leg.”
He poured the half-melted ice from his empty drink into the full one and gulped half of it. “Practice makes perfect.”
Then he returned his attention to Parrish, eying her with undisguised envy. “Why wouldn’t you want to work at the family business? Sounds like the sweet life to me.”
“Let’s talk about something else. Like, how do you get what I count as at least six shots of very expensive top-shelf tequila—and my two drinks—for free?”
He gave her a broad wink. “Trade secret, baby! Hey, you wanna dance?”
The jukebox was playing the kind of ’60s rock you always heard at beach bars, and the tiny dance floor was crowded, but before Parrish could refuse, he’d downed the rest of his drink, then slid off the stool, nearly tripping in the process before quickly regaining his footing.
Garrett tugged at her hand, dragging her in the direction of the music. Parrish smiled despite herself. It was the song “Be Young, Be Foolish, Be Happy.” She’d heard it played her whole life, at Saturday night dances at the Saint.
Garrett grasped her hand and they wedged themselves into the crowd. For a minute or two they did a respectable version of the Carolina shag. He was a good dancer, smooth and loose-limbed. But when he tried to execute a tricky turn, everything went to shit. He stumbled, collapsed onto the floor, and pulled her down on top of him.
Parrish jumped up, red-faced and furious, but the other dancers seemed oblivious to the debacle. She looked down at Garrett, who was still on the floor, glassy-eyed, grinning, and flailing around like a beached flounder.
“Get up, dammit,” she said, extending her hand. He took it, and pulled her down again.
This time the crowd parted, and when she looked up, all she saw were a couple dozen faces, pointing at them and laughing hysterically.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” she said through gritted teeth. She stood and stalked away.
“Parrish! Hey, Parrish!”
She grabbed her purse from the back of her barstool. After that, she didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, until she was on the sidewalk outside the bar, fumbling for her car keys.
Garrett burst through the bar’s door. “Hey, wait up!”