She looked amused. “Nice try. Orphans don’t have family emergencies. Hide out in your kitchen. You’ll be fine. I guarantee every female employee puts up with far worse almost every day of their lives.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot. Oh, and by the way,”—he lowered his voice to a husky whisper and leaned towards her—“I can whip more than cream.”
He winked and walked away, sure that she was watching him, and hoping she was smiling. Despite the impending harassment, he actually felt good.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Amy insisted on handling all of the event planning with the Gabby Gals, Cara was admittedly a bit relieved. She sometimes found it hard to deal with this crowd. Not the original Gabby Gals themselves—they were a fascinating group of women. Her problem was with the second and third generations. It bothered Cara to listen to women her age standing around the lobby complaining about being dragged on yet another vacation with their mothers. She would have given anything for that kind of opportunity, so she couldn’t relate.
On Saturday morning, several frowning Gabby Gals confronted Cara at the desk. “Excuse me,” said the eldest woman, who appeared to be in charge of group. “I cannot help but notice that it is breakfast time, and yet Chef Sam is not at the omelet station. Must we lodge a complaint?”
Her friends behind her giggled, and Cara fleetingly wondered if at 8:00 a.m. they were already drunk. Or maybe still drunk? With these ladies, she never knew.
“This is Chef Sam’s morning off.” She leaned in closer and dropped her voice conspiratorially. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret. He went out jogging this morning. If you walk down the driveway to the main road and turn left, away from the village, he should be coming along soon. He left about a half hour ago. Oh, and he’s not wearing a shirt.” Amy would be so proud of her.
“Really?” There was a smattering of giggles from the small crowd and one particularly rowdy woman cheered.
“Oh yes. Believe me ladies, if I wasn’t stuck behind this desk, I’d be down there myself.” She said it to be friendly, but secretly, she meant it. She always liked to be in the staff house when Sam came back from a run. He would walk in shirtless, muscles glistening with sweat, and drink glasses of water in the kitchen while she pretended not to watch. He was an attractive man, far more so than Phil had been . . . she shouldn’t have thought that. It just brought Phil’s voice back into her head. No one will ever love you the way I love you, angel.
“Hmmm.” The leader of the Gabby Gals paused, then nodded. “I’ve always liked you, Cara. I know we’re not the easiest guests, but you go out of your way to take good care of us every year. So I think I’m going to help you now.” Her demeanor suddenly changed from friendly and possibly intoxicated to querulous and rude. She raised her voice and called out in a demanding tone “This is ridiculous! Where is your boss, young lady? I demand to speak to the owner of this property!”
Truthfully, Cara was a part-owner herself, having inherited her mother’s share years ago. But she wasn’t going to argue, not with this crowd, and not since she suspected what they were about to do.
As luck would have it, Paddy was in his office with the door cracked open. He rarely worked this early, but he had an appointment in town and, for perhaps the first time this summer, he was out of bed before nine. He came right out to the desk. “Is something the matter, ladies?”
“Yes. I am appalled at the service we are receiving! We need the assistance of this young woman immediately, but she says she cannot leave this desk. You must find someone to cover for her so she can help us.”
Paddy looked back and forth between the giggling faux-angry women and Cara, who professionally suppressed her smile. He volunteered to assist but was rebuffed.
“I’m not even going to try to figure out what’s going on,” Paddy told Cara. “You know these are valuable guests, so you had better see to their needs. I’ll take over reception for you.”
She led her gaggle of guests carefully down the driveway, holding the arm of one who appeared particularly tipsy. Briefly, she wondered whether mimosas were being served at breakfast again, though the woman’s imbalance could have been due to age.
And, there he was, Sam, running towards them. She could tell the instant he noticed the group, he slowed a bit and shook his head. But he wasn’t the type of man to be intimidated by a cheering crowd. He smiled broadly as he approached, and when he passed them he turned back and blew the ladies a kiss. The Gabby Gals cheered and laughed. Cara just smiled. He’d made eye contact with her as he blew the kiss, and she had to stop herself from pretending to catch it. He’d been different lately, relaxed and flirtatious. She was enjoying the change, but she wondered if she was quite ready for it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
It’s reverse sexual harassment weekend! I love it!
Every year this group of old ladies and their middle-aged daughters comes out for four days, and they get completely wasted and harass all the men who work here. Ty just walked past the desk and whispered, “I’m not used to getting my ass grabbed by women,” and Sato has been propositioned twice, both times by women old enough to be his mother. They like to rub his head, ‘for luck’ they say, and then ask when they’ll be able to get lucky. Ewww. But every time the male staffers complain I’m like, “Oh, hi, welcome to my world.” Seriously, as a semi-attractive young woman, I get catcalled and groped and old men make gross sexually suggestive remarks to me all the f-ing time. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not so bad here at the inn. But I’ve worked in a lot of places where the guests treat me like an object and ask questions like, “Are you included with the room?” I like seeing the reverse. (Not that I condone harassment; it shouldn’t happen to anybody. I just like that it’s the men who have to deal with it for once).
Have you ever heard the saying “revenge is a dish best served cold”? It’s true. Remember how I’ve been mad at Sam for not expressing any condolences to Cara after Phil’s death? I’m not mad anymore—because I’ve finally gotten my revenge. The leader of the Gabby Gals (that’s what these old ladies call themselves) asked me to put together a few activities for them. I did the usual, a wine and cheese social, a dessert party (Sato’s wife makes amazing cakes!!!!), and of course I couldn’t let the weekend go by without culinary demonstrations. That’s right. I made Sam do two different cooking demos, where the group gets to hang out in the kitchen and “help” and learn new techniques while Sam and one of his assistants make them lunch. I made sure that there was plenty of wine available, and I, of course, stayed to supervise, which meant keeping the drinks flowing and encouraging the women to be active participants in the cooking process. He had so many drunk women coming on to him and saying all kinds of obscene things. You’d think that a guy like him would be in heaven with something like that, but it turns out it made him extremely uncomfortable. Ha!
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
No, I’m not condoning sexual harassment. Look at the situation this way: this guy, who did an asshole thing a few months ago and also happens to be very gropey with my cousin, ended up being groped himself. I’ve told you how he’s always putting his hand on Cara’s shoulder, or touching her arm, or accidentally-on-purpose bumping into her. He’s not subtle about it either. Well, now he knows what it’s like. Maybe he’ll think twice before being so touchy-grabby-handsy with Cara.
Also, it was hilarious to watch.
And, side note, you missed a golden opportunity. ‘Semi-attractive young woman’? You need to step up your game.
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
You think I’m beautiful? Awwww, you’re so sweet!
Ha, ha. I wasn’t really fishing for compliments. It was a joke.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Article from Midwest PRIDE Magazine, March 2013
It’s not the biggest Pride Festival, but it may be the most remote. Whispering Pines Pride Festival is
a three-day event culminating in a bike ride/parade around the island. Never heard of Whispering Pines? You aren’t alone. It’s the largest of the Piney Islands, an archipelago in Lake Superior, accessible only by boat or ferry. The resident population is tiny, with only about 150 people making their home there year-round, but during the summer months, hundreds, if not thousands, of daily visitors make the crossing to take advantage of the beautiful hiking trails, the unique art galleries and the delicious island cuisine.
WPPF has been a yearly event since 1986, when Padriac ‘Paddy’ Conaghan and his partner Robert Parreli decided to throw a party and see what would happen. That first year, PrideFest was attended by fewer than twenty people, all of whom were old friends of the couple. From those humble beginnings, the event has blossomed into an annual gathering of nearly two thousand people.
“Robert and I bought The Inn at Whispering Pines in 1983,” Paddy told us from one of the many rocking chairs on the inn’s front porch. “Back then it wasn’t much, but he wanted to run a restaurant, and I wanted to run a hotel. This was our dream come true.”
Paddy may say it wasn’t much, but even in those early days, the inn had an excellent reputation as a surprisingly luxurious remote getaway. The property had been in Paddy’s family for two generations, until it was sold in the 1970s. Fortunately for Paddy and Robert, the Conaghan family had retained a right of first refusal if it ever came up for sale. With the help of Paddy’s sister, they were able to snatch it back before it was officially on the market.
They purchased the inn as part of their escape plan—Paddy and Robert lived in New York in the early eighties, when their friends began to get sick and die. “It was the atmosphere in the city. That’s what Robert told me,” Paddy reflected. “He insisted we get out and away. There were too many funerals and too much fear.” When they arrived to take over the inn and make their home on Whispering Pines, they were wary of the reception they might receive. At first, they acted as though their relationship was strictly business, even going so far as to pretend they were living in separate cottages on the Inn’s property. That changed when they were paid a visit by Victor Breza, the grizzled old sailor who ran the island’s ferry service and lived nearby in the island’s only village.
“I’ll never forget Victor showing up at our door,” Paddy reminisced, smiling. “He was a big guy, tough looking, the type of man you would refer to as an old salt. He looked at the two of us and in this big gruff voice he said, ‘Boys, I don’t think you’re just business partners. I think there’s something else going on here.’ Well, I looked at Robert, and he looked at me, and we both thought that this was it, we were about to get our asses kicked. But then Victor just kind of growled at us, ‘And if anyone gives you any trouble, you just tell me. I’ll take ’em to the mainland and won’t bring ’em back.’ That’s when we knew we were safe here.”
Over the years, several of Paddy and Robert’s friends and contacts began buying up Whispering Pines homes and businesses, and soon the village became a thriving artist’s community. A new section of the village, now called Gallery Row, was built up to provide studio and gallery space. As the demographics of the population transitioned from cold-tolerant retirees to younger progressive families, the infrastructure of the island changed as well. Now visitors have their choice of dining options, boutique shopping, spa services, and plenty of access to the natural beauty of the island’s parks and trails.
Unfortunately, Robert missed out on most of the new developments, after losing a battle with pancreatic cancer in 1994. His partner Paddy has continued on, and still MCs Pride Fest every year. He hosts beautiful commitment ceremonies at his inn, and as same sex marriage becomes closer to legalization, is preparing to offer weddings as well.
This year’s Pride Festival will take place June 28-30. If you wish to stay on the island, you’ll need to make your reservations quickly. Aside from the inn, there is only one hotel and just a few bed and breakfasts. Camping is also available, and camping gear can be rented in the village. If you cannot find room on the island, numerous hotels in the town of Ferry’s Landing on the mainland will be offering special rates. Victor Breza’s daughter is the ferry master now, and she promises additional late-night runs for those who want to participate in festival activities but stay on the mainland.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Whispering Pines, June 2013
“Can I hang out with you?” Sam came behind the reception desk without waiting for an answer. Cara didn’t look busy anyway.
“No idle hands behind the desk. You’ll have to work,” she told him with a challenging smile.
He looked around the reception area. “Umm . . . what can I do? I’m not really qualified for anything. I mean, I guess I could sit here and look pretty. That’s what you do, right?” He winced internally—that line was not as smooth as he intended. Fortunately, she seemed to be in a good mood, and did not take offense at the implication that she didn’t actually work.
“I suppose you can do that. You’d have done a better job if you hadn’t cut your hair though.”
“Hey, it’s growing back. The curls are starting to come out again, see?” He tipped his head to show her and was surprised when instead of just looking, she ran a hand through his hair.
“Getting there,” she said with a smile.
For a second, he thought she might run her hand down his face as well, but she pulled it back suddenly, as though she realized what she was doing. Things were definitely improving between them. They just looked at each other for a moment, and Sam felt a foolish grin spreading across his face. He tried to think of something flirtatious to say but failed.
When the silence stretched out too long, Cara finally broke it. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the gym right now? I thought this was the time you and Timmy devoted to getting all buff or whatever.”
“Not during PrideFest week,” he replied. “No way.” He didn’t expect the sudden incredulous look she gave him or the way she narrowed her eyes before she spoke.
“What exactly do you mean, Sam?” and then he realized his mistake. He was not particularly successful with words today.
“No, no, not because of the gay thing, I promise,” he said, holding up his hands in supplication. “I mean, other than Paddy and Timmy I don’t really know any gay people, but I like them just fine.” He hadn’t thought about the way it would come out. Truth be told, he was a little uncomfortable when the gym filled up with this week’s visitors, but, though he had occasionally been hit on, a quick ‘sorry, I’m straight’ always put an end to that.
“Only Paddy and Tim, really? That’s all?”
“Well, they’re the ones I can think of off the top of my head. I’m sure I’ve known others. But I just mean I’m not homophobic or anything. The reason I can’t go is because my workout partner won’t let me. Timmy says I cramp his style.”
“You cramp his style? He actually said that? Recently?”
“I guess not recently, but he says it every year. He’s all, you know . . .” Sam deepened his voice in a poor imitation of Tim. “PrideFest week, man. The gays are coming, and I’m gonna get me some of that man candy.’”
It took Cara a couple of minutes to stop laughing. “Hold on, let me note the time.” She scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “I’m going to have to go back to the security footage and pull that part where you talk about man candy. Amy’s probably going to want to make it her new ringtone.”
“The cameras record sound?” Sam felt an instant paranoia. He had always been aware of the cameras, of course, but until that moment he hadn’t actually thought about the recordings.
“The terrified look on your face makes me want to go review the tapes from the kitchen,” she said, raising an eyebrow and smiling. “Anything I should know about?”
“Ha, no,” he tried to sound casual. But his mind was thinking back to his conversation with Sato about Cara and worrying that it might be archived somewhere. If she happened to watch
it, would she be annoyed if she knew he was still interested in her? He’d been ramping up his flirting, testing the waters, and she had seemed receptive. She certainly smiled a lot, and she’d often reached out to touch his arm while he was talking. That was a good sign, right?
“Hey, um, speaking of the kitchen,” he changed the subject. “We had a disaster last night that only you can fix.”
“Nice try. Just like Paddy already told you, we’re repairing that freezer, not replacing it.”
“No, not that. Though—no pressure—I did leave printouts of some specs and cost estimates on his desk for you two to go over. I was actually talking about your picture, the one hanging by the kitchen door. It fell and the glass in the frame broke, and then it got spilled on. I need you to draw another one.”
The picture in question was a sketch Cara had done of him a couple of years ago. Standing over the prep table, a cartoon version of Chef Sam held a knife with a dismembered hand in front of him. The caption underneath proclaimed: No idle hands in my kitchen . . . or else! It was his absolute favorite artwork, partly because of how special it made him feel knowing that she had taken the time and effort to capture his image so perfectly.
Was he mistaken, or did a look of sadness flit across her face?
“Oh, that.” She turned away from him and started sorting through a stack of papers. “I don’t draw anymore, Sam. You’ll have to come up with something else.”
“But I don’t want anything else. You’re the artist in residence, aren’t you?” Though, when he thought about it, he hadn’t seen any new work of hers this summer. When was the last time he’d even seen her with a sketchbook? Two summers ago when they’d often spent their entire day off together up at Lesser Lake? Maybe.
That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1) Page 12