Page 5

5

PATRICK

T ina and I arrive to work a bit early and there is no way we are going to go inside until the last possible second. After all, we aren’t sadists, and the club doesn’t pay us extra if we get there before our shift starts.

Seas the Day Country Club sprawls impressively with its eighteen-hole golf course, a forty-thousand square foot clubhouse, multiple pools, tennis courts, and even horse stables. The circle drive, lined with palm trees and punctuated by a massive back-lit fountain, showcases what talented landscapers, architects, and designers can accomplish with enough money.

“You know, Patrick, the hunky guy at the coffee shop was giving you the eye,” Tina says.

“What eye?” I ask. “There’s no way he was gay.”

“And why is that?”

“Simple,” I say. “When he adjusted his suit jacket, he had a badge.”

“So?”

“And he had a bit of a funky odor. Gays in suits don’t do that. They make sure they smell delightful just in case they encounter one of their own.”

“Funky odor? Like body odor?” she says. “That’s nasty.”

I shrug and wince. “I mean… he didn’t smell bad, but he did have an odor of someone who works for a living.”

“Stop that,” she says, slapping my arm playfully. “Everyone in this town works unless they’re a trust fund baby. Plus, did you see the dark circles under his beautiful blue eyes?” she asks.

“Well, sure.”

“That man had been up all night… probably working. I remember a time or two when we stayed up all night and stood in line at a casting call together. Your pits smelled like a dirty cat box.”

“Hey,” I say. “No need to be snarky.” She could be right about the guy, but after I dissed him like that, there’s no coming back from it. “Oh, well. Too late now. Los Angeles is a big city… there’s a snowball's chance in hell I’ll ever see him again.”

She shrugs. “I suppose.”

We grow quiet, and as Tina and I stand out front sipping the last of our quad-shot skinny mocha lattes with coconut milk, I’m reminded of how much beauty surrounds me at work. Then, a horn blares behind us, instantly souring my caffeine-infused mood.

I turn as the smoky gray Bentley pulls up alongside us. The back window lowers, and a gnarled, claw-like hand with bright red acrylic nails emerges, resting on the door. Her four knobby fingers and the thumb are bejeweled with diamonds and emeralds, each worth more than I make in a year. The ostentatious display can only mean one thing.

The richest, most self-absorbed, narcissistic, and somehow cheapest old woman, has arrived.

“Sweetie,” Mrs. Nadine Thornbird says in a condescending tone. “I’ll be back in an hour for my usual mani-pedi, massage, and waxing.” She points somewhere below window level where I’m thankful I don’t have to see. Tina sighs before the older woman continues. “Have a cocktail or two waiting for me… would you dear?”

I start to ask exactly what kind of drinks she wants when Mrs. Thornbird tosses a crumpled dollar bill to the ground and raises the tinted window, effectively silencing me. Her driver pulls away with a squeal of tires.

I step over to retrieve the money, but Tina grabs my elbow.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I shrug. “I can’t let her litter.”

“It’s okay to dive to the ground for a buck. God knows we’ve all done it. But we have an agreement.” Her look is stern, and I feel myself deflate a bit.

I nod.

“I think I’m going to need you to tell me about the agreement… I’m not convinced you remember.” Tina crosses her arms.

“Fine. No matter how desperate we are, we will never appear that way in front of the clientele.”

“Good. Now explain to me why.” The intensity of her glare sends a wave of anxiety through me.

“When ultra-rich sons-of-bitches see us in need, it satisfies their egos. When they watch us take the money they throw on the floor, it soothes whatever distorted sense of conscience they may have.” I look Tina in the eyes. “I know you’re right about this, but old habits are hard to break.” I turn to see the car as it pulls out of the circle drive and disappears into the distance.

“Okay, grab the dollar before one of the other desperate losers that work here thinks it’s theirs. We should get inside,” she says.

I unfurl the dollar bill before putting it in my pocket. We walk side-by-side toward the front door and throw our empty drinks into the trash outside the main entrance.

“Do we dare?” I ask.

Tina looks from side to side. No one is around as far as I can see and she says, “Hell yes. I’m not walking all the way around to the side entrance where, we, the lowly help is allowed to enter.”

All employees, no matter what shift or position, are required to go through either of the side entrances or any of the back doors. The management says it’s to allow employees to clock in and out immediately rather than walking through the premises off the clock. Everyone knows it’s far from altruistic on the part of management, but rules are rules. And when it comes to work, Tina and I don’t exactly abide by the rules unless someone is watching.

We step through the automatic doors together, and I hear the most annoying sound on the planet.

“Well look what the cat dragged through a big pile of shit.”

We both turn as Devon “Size Queen” Sanderson sashays toward us with a tray of morning alcoholic beverages—Champagne and orange juice. My mouth waters. I could use one… or three to deal with Devon at this early hour. I’m not going to lie, Devon is actually a decent human being, but we had a falling out years ago when he was convinced I was trying to hook up with his boyfriend. No matter how many times I tried to explain that I wasn’t interested in the self-proclaimed straight, happily married, fifty-three-year-old, father of three, Devon didn’t believe me. Ever since, if side-eye, mean quips, and annoying behavior could kill, he’d be in prison, and I’d be six-feet under.

I roll my eyes. “Honey, if your shorts were any shorter, your shriveled-up bits would be showing.”

“Aww.” Devon feigns sadness. “Did it take you all night to think up that sad… pathetic comeback?” He puts his hand in my face. “Never mind, sweetheart, the bags under your eyes have told me all I need to know.”

Tina steps in between us and rests a finger on the edge of the tray. A worried look somehow manages to cross his overly Botoxed and filler-injected face.

“Don’t you dare, Tina,” Devon says in a pitched voice, nearing what only dogs can hear.

“I don’t appreciate how you spoke to my bestie. So, if you know what’s good for you… you’ll apologize.”

Tina must have applied even more pressure with her finger as the crystal flutes begin to rattle on the silver tray. Devon tries to steady the load using his other hand, but it isn’t helping stop the death rattle. The life in Devon’s eyes ebbs as he turns to look at me for help. “I’m sorry.”

I suppress a smirk and go to walk away, but as if compelled by some sassy, hateful demon, Devon adds, “I’m sorry… your mom carried you to full term.”

“That’s it,” Tina says, pushing even harder on the tray before completely pulling her hand away.

Devon’s attempts to keep the tray level backfire as he didn’t expect her to take her finger off the edge. His over-correction sends the tray and all the crystal soaring upward in what feels like a slow-motion montage of helpless people fucking up simple tasks on infomercials.

Devon screams and tries to catch what he can to prevent it from all being destroyed, but it’s not to be. The shattering sound is epic, bits of crystal spraying in all directions.

“All you had to do was be nice… even if it was only for a few seconds,” Tina says. “But you couldn’t even do that.”

I loop my arm around Tina’s waist and give her a side hug. “Thanks, bestie.”

As we walk away from the carnage, I look back and feel a twinge of guilt and regret. Devon is a complete shithead, shallow to a fault, and utterly annoying, but he is still family… of sorts. A bond in a way many don’t understand or care about, but even if he doesn’t feel the same way about me, I would stand up for him against the haters. That being said, if Devon thinks for a second he’s going to get away with talking shit to me when Tina is around, he has another think coming.

“Come on, we’d better clock in before we’re late,” Tina says as she pulls me along with her. But before we leave, I see Devon look up from the mess on the floor. The front doors open. Bright sunshine lights up the entire entryway.

“Hold on a second,” I say as I’m being tugged hard down the hallway. “Who is that?”

Tina stops and looks in the direction I’m staring. The way the bright light reflects off the mirror in the hallway, it’s difficult to make out the man who entered. The doors close, and I realize it’s Jake. He’s dressed in his work uniform, but for some reason, it looks so much better on him than it ever does on me.

The white shorts hug his round ass. The black and white sweater vest begs to be torn off him with my teeth. He palms back his hair. Are there little forest creatures and birds singing in the background? Have Disney cartoons finally come to life? I swear I’ve found myself in the middle of an animated movie. Jake looks toward us and smiles. The air catches in my chest. Tina plays with her long brown hair, twirling it seductively, biting her bottom lip.

She’s purposely being slutty to draw the attention away from me, but I seductively arch my back a bit to make my ass pop a little more than usual.

Jake removes his sunglasses and says something to Devon, who leaps from the floor like a jungle cat in heat—straightening his clothes and hair before stepping so close to him, their crotch bulges are about to touch.

I struggle to make out what he’s saying, but it looks like whatever it is, Devon is hanging on every word and might mess his pants if he isn’t careful. It’s obvious to me that Devon wants to have Jake’s babies, so we have even more competition than just the two of us.

“That guy could give me a good dicking if he played his cards right,” Tina says.

“Shit, I don’t know what card game you’re talking about, but I’ll just let him win.” I want to run back over there and step between Jake and Devon. Jealousy is not my favorite color, and I need to avoid going down that path.

Tina tugs at my elbow. “I know you’d like to Eiffel Tower him with me, but we have to clock in or get fired.”

I shrug, then let my shoulders sag. “Let’s go and get this day over with.”

“You okay?” Tina asks. “I would be willing to wait if you wanted to go and talk to him for a couple minutes.”

“You’re the best friend I could ever ask for. We’re in a competition, and you still try and help me out,” I sigh and turn, pushing my way through the double service doors to the back room where the staff are allowed to be themselves. Tina is right on my heels.

“Should we meet back here for lunch?” I ask.

“Sounds good to me.” Tina punches her employee number into the time clock. “Are you going to get Mrs. Thornbird’s drinks for her, or should I?”

“Here.” I hand her the dollar. “You do it, I’m not in the mood. Plus, she’s going to want you to give her a Brazilian.”

“Gross,” Tina says as she fills her pockets with vinyl gloves. “You know what happened last time I tried to get her on all fours with her ass in the air.”

“Oh man, don’t remind me.” I pretend to gag from the memory. “We don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

We share a good laugh and then hurry to finish getting ready for the day. If I can manage to avoid being humiliated by my boss, yelled at by an irate billionaire, or inappropriately touched by any of the massage clients… I’ll be able to call this a good day.

Fat fucking chance of that happening, though. I can’t remember the last time I had a good day at work. Problem is I have nothing else, like a college degree, to fall back on. My rent-controlled apartment is two grand a month. It’s not in a great neighborhood, I have to step over the unhoused, dodge the hookers and their Johns, but I call it home—for now. And if I include tips, this shitty-ass job pays enough for me to get by, which makes it too damn important to give up now.

Hurrying down the hallway toward my work post, my thoughts drift back to Jake. My belly flutters with butterflies. I have to push the man’s image out of my mind so I can focus on my day… not to mention avoiding a boner I’ll be unable to hide in these uniform shorts. I look down and try to readjust myself.

Dammit, too late.