The Man Cave Collection: Manservant, Man Flu, Man Handler, and Man Buns

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “Scarlett,” he says in his purposeful, unnaturally deep voice. “You’re late again.”

  “Sorry, the bus—”

  “Nope, the buses can’t be blamed for tardiness. May I remind you how imperative it is for you arrive at work on time? We have guests who need to check in, and it’s unfair to the other employees that have worked overnight shifts to cover for you when you can’t manage to arrive here when you’re supposed to.” He only notices the negative attributes of my work ethic. I have been here for years and know everything about this hotel like the back of my hand. The guests love me. I’ve even received the Employee of the Month award many times, no thanks to Dick and his tardy guard.

  Yikes. He’s seriously pissed today. Dick tends to be stiff around his employees, but apparently, we’re beyond that. “I’m so sorry, I won’t let it happen again.” What else am I supposed to say? It’s hard getting up at six in the morning to get here by seven. I feel like a zombie before the caffeine settles, and I skipped coffee this morning just so I could be here close to on time. This world just needs fewer expectations. Or maybe, Dick just needs to find a VaJane.

  “‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it anymore, Scarlett. Management and I had a meeting last night and—”

  Crap. “No, I swear I’ll show up early from now on. I need this job, Dick. Richard, I mean. Richard.” Come on, don’t be a dick for once. Please.

  “A management position recently became available in our Blytheville location in South Carolina. They have been interviewing candidates, but as of yesterday, they decided to hire from within the corporation. Seeing as some people think you have a good work ethic and have been promoted several times for this supposed work ethic, management, who overlooks your time sheets, thinks you would be a good fit for this position.”

  “Blytheville?” I’ve never even heard of the place.

  “Yes, it’s a small town. The hotel is small as well—more of a bed and breakfast setup with hotel accommodations. It’s one of our first hybrids, as a matter of fact.”

  I kind of want to start laughing now because there’s no way he’s serious.

  “Di—Richard, you know I’ve lived in Boston my entire life, right? I can’t just pick up and move.” That’s unfathomable.

  “Okay, that’s your choice. Unfortunately, though, a decision has been made about your state of employment here—by me, because I have that authority.”

  He pauses, and I pause, almost as if we’re playing a head game of chicken. I stare into his menacing, downcast eyes. I should say something, but I’m not leaving Boston. Instead, my gaze falls to his small beer gut, and my thoughts wander as I try to figure out how a tall, thin man can have a beer gut like that. Wouldn’t the fat content just redistribute through the rest of his body?

  “What’s the decision?” I ask without looking back up into his cold stare.

  “Either you go to Blytheville to run the front desk, or we’re going to have to let you go. I will warn you, though, since we offered you an equally transitional opportunity, you will not be qualified for unemployment benefits if you opt out of the transfer.”

  Shit. That was my only fallback plan. No money means no apartment.

  No apartment means I go home to Mom and Dad’s. Doing that means I’ll be under Dad’s control again. It’ll be like going back eleven years into teenage-hood. No way.

  “Can you just give me another chance here? I love this location. I’m happy here. I know the guests, and—”

  “I’m sorry, Scarlett. The decision has already been made. Grab your belongings. Security will see you out.”

  He’s completely serious. I’ve been working here for five years, and they’re just going to throw me out on my ass for being a few minutes late sometimes? It’s Boston. What do they expect? Everyone has a place to be at the same exact time, and transportation isn’t trustworthy.

  Fine. Whatever. There are hundreds of hotels in this city. I’m sure I can find one that’s hiring.

  Larry, the security guard, shuffles toward me with his half-lidded eyes. He’s a scrawny old guy who can’t hear a thing. I’m not sure he’d do much if something went down in this place, but he’s been here for longer than I’ve been alive, or so I’ve been told, so he gets to keep his job. Not me, though. Nope.

  Larry slowly glances over at me and shrugs. “Ready?”

  I grunt and storm into the back room to grab my things. It doesn’t take me long since I usually take out what I bring in each day, never trusting anyone around here enough to leave anything behind.

  Larry follows me to the front doors and leans in front of me to push the door open. “Good luck, Shirley,” he says.

  “What? My name is Scar—” The door is closed. Shirley? Five years and he didn’t know my real name? I must have left quite an impression on everyone here.

  Your loss, bastards. You’ll realize what a mistake it was to let me go when you discover it was me who was keeping this place running.

  I request an Uber car because I don’t feel like taking the bus home—to the apartment I will no longer be living in if I don’t find a new job this week. Thankfully, an available car is just around the corner, so I don’t have to sit out here like the giant loser I feel like at the moment.

  The silver sedan pulls up and the driver leans down to look out the window, pointing at the back seat. It’s sign language for “Did you order this Uber?” Opening the door is my Uber answer. I slide in onto the torn leather seat with fluffed foam poking out. This guy probably makes more in a day driving this car then I do in a week at the hotel, and he doesn’t get in trouble for having a torn seat, but I get in trouble for being five minutes late.

  The driver pulls up in front of my apartment, and I hand him cash. “You have a hole in your back seat,” I tell him. “Just letting you know.”

  The guy stares at me without an ounce of care. Some days, this city makes me realize why I’m so bitter. Everyone is either bitter or over-the-top happy with their running gear and super fit bodies. I don’t think there is an in-between, gray area, so I have to fit into one category, it isn’t the runner one.

  I huff up the stairs and push the door open, finding Brendan in the same place I left him. “Are you still meditating?”

  He doesn’t seem surprised or startled that I’m here. He simply closes his magazine and spins around on the bar stool. “Did you get fired?”

  “Yes,” I groan. “I was only five—seven minutes late today.”

  “Scarlett, I warned you that was going to happen. The hospitality industry isn’t very hospitable to those who can’t be respectful of time.”

  “Well, I try to be on time. I know that doesn’t make a difference though.”

  “Maybe you need a different shift,” he suggests.

  “It won’t happen. The three o’clock shift is always taken by seniority. I never got there, evidently. Plus, that eliminates any chance of a nightlife too.”

  “Have you considered that your nightlife might be the underlying cause of your problem?” Brendan is never condescending, but typically very parental. I’m not sure how his righteous words of advice never piss me off, but he’d have to do a lot to make me mad. I love him too much.

  “Possibly,” I confirm.

  “Well, there you go. Problem solved. Stop going out every night, and you’ll have less trouble waking up in the morning.”

  “That’s great, but I still lost my job.”

  “I know, but at least you’ll receive unemployment, so that will buy you a bit of time to find a new job that you’ll be happier at, and you won’t have a dick to look in the eye. Look at this as an opportunity to better your life.” Brendan looks up at the ceiling with a smile and opens his arms. I wish I could see things in the same fluorescent light he does because I can’t understand how he is always so damn positive. How is anyone? It’s not like I’m a miserable person. Actually, I’m fairly upbeat compared to many of the black-cloaked, dispirited city dwellers in this area.

  �
�I’m afraid my glass is definitely half empty this time,” I tell him.

  He stands up from the stool and comes closer. “Why is that?”

  “Because they offered to transfer me to someplace in South Carolina. Obviously, I said no, so now I’m not qualified for unemployment.”

  Brendan’s hands cup around my shoulders. “Oy, Scarlett! Why would you say no to an opportunity like that?”

  “I’m not leaving Boston. Are you crazy?”

  His big, caramel eyes widen with shock. “Um, are you crazy?”

  “I’ve been living here my entire life. I can’t just pick up and leave.” My chest tightens at the thought, and I already feel myself getting worked up.

  “That’s exactly why you should go.” I feel every stupid little line in my forehead deepen in response to his unexpected suggestion. “Scarlett, listen, starting fresh might be good for you. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to leave me, but this place has swallowed you up whole in the past few years, and it’s holding you prisoner, which is exactly what you don’t want, right?”

  “You make it sound like we’re in the depths of hell,” I say with a forced laugh. “It’s Boston. I love it here.”

  Brendan releases his hands from my shoulders and shrugs. “Okay, I was just offering my opinion. I’ll keep you here as mine for as long as you want to be here.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, waiting for the “but.” I know him better than to just end a conversation with his simply stated opinion because he rarely gives up when he has a firm opinion on a subject. “So that’s it? We’re going to drop it?”

  Brendan combs his fingers through his bronze, bed head, sexed hair (minus the sex part … I think) and closes his eyes. “I’m done,” he says, his short statement trailing off in a high-pitched tone that tells me he’s not done.

  “Mmhm,” I grumble with a raised brow. “I’ll be in my room looking for job openings.”

  The second I close myself into my room, I hear thuds and shuffling sounds coming from the open area of our apartment. Motherfucker. “Brendan! Do not get those boxes out!”

  _________________________

  AUSTIN

  Thursday

  Why in the hell would someone think it’s a good idea to tease a damn crocodile? That’s the third animal wound this week.

  “Austin, did you finish up that file?” Clara shouts over from the main desk.

  “Yeah, just a minute.” I click submit on the report and sign out for the night.

  “Want me to walk you home?” I ask Clara. “Evidently, there are wild crocs all over the place right now.”

  She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the offer, but Derek’s coming to pick me up. We’re heading down to movie night in the square.”

  “Ah, what are they puttin’ up on the screen tonight?” I ask her.

  “Top Gun … again,” she replies, sounding unenthused.

  “Don’t hate on the Top Gun, missy. That’s a golden movie.”

  “It’s not a favorite of mine, and yet, I know every darn word.”

  “Well, you should consider yourself lucky,” I tell her.

  “I’ll try to remember that as I force myself to stay awake.” She drops a folder into one of the filing cabinets and leans over to the computer to close out whatever she was doing. “So, what are you up to tonight?”

  My choices are slim. I could go solo to the movie. I could head to the bar and drink too much, or I could go home, drink too much, and pass out safely on my couch. Tough choice. I’ll go with option C.

  “I’m just heading home for the night. I’ve got the morning shift tomorrow.”

  “Austin,” Clara says with a grimace. “Let me set you up with my girlfriend. She lives in the next town over, so it isn’t too far away.”

  “Stop worrying about setting me up with someone. I don’t need some chick in my life who’s going to nag at me for everything I do. I’m happy being nag-free.”

  “Suit yourself, but I think you’re missing out.”

  “Darlin’, I can assure you, I ain’t missing out on nothin’.”

  “Well, have a nice night. Don’t do anything dumb.”

  Dumb. Pftt. She acts like she knows me so damn well. Actually, she does know me well, but still. I don’t just do dumb shit every night, not as far as she knows, anyway.

  I head into the locker room to pull a Mr. Rogers. I wonder how many people thought about what reason he had for changing his shoes every time he walked into his house. It always boggled my mind until I started working here at the hospital. There’s something about having work clothes and non-work clothes that separate my life into two equal halves.

  After changing out of my scrubs and slipping on a pair of jeans, boots, and a tee, I’m out the door before anyone can stop me with another patient’s chart. If I don’t leave when I’m supposed to, I’ll never get out of here.

  The streets are lit up bright tonight with the farmer’s moon stretching across the sky. It’s nights like this that make me want to drink. The damn moon makes me feel so small down here when I think about the rest of my world being up there somewhere. Fuck you, moon. Stop staring at me. I don’t need your judgmental glare.

  I walk on past Dickle’s, hearing the guys at the bar holler at the TV. I stop for a minute to glance inside, checking out who’s sitting down the line across from the taps, but it’s no one I feel like chatting up tonight. My couch is still sounding like a better companion.

  “Austin, is that you?” Yup. Wrong choice. I should have gone into the bar. I know that voice. “Austin Trace, don’t you go pretending like you can’t hear me.”

  I roll my eyes and turn around. “Kelli, fancy seeing you here in front of Dickle’s. Meeting someone?”

  “Don’t be snarky with me, Austin. You know who I’m meeting.” Oh, sweet Kelli and her ten pounds of caked on makeup. It blends nicely under the moonlight, but not so much during the day. It’s funny, though, those things never bugged me when we were together. I didn’t notice how hard she tried to make herself look like someone else.

  “Right, right. How is the old man?” Yeah, my twenty-four-year-old ex-girlfriend left me for a fifty-year-old rich man, but she doesn’t think anyone calls her a gold digger behind her back, so it’s fine. We weren’t together long, just long enough to make me question all women because of the way she ended things.

  “He’s not old, Austin. Knock it off.”

  “He’s old enough to be your pops, ain’t he?”

  She sweeps her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her shoulder. “I think I just realized why I stopped trying to stay in touch with you.”

  “Was it because you were banging old saggy balls?”

  She grunts and stomps her boot into the pavement. “Good night, Austin.”

  “Good night, Kelli,” I say with a dinky wave. Thank God I dodged a bullet with that one. The women in this town need money, not a man. It’s like the only damn thing they have eyes for, which I can’t understand. While our country has spent decades fighting for women’s rights, this town has remained ambivalent at best about women getting jobs. They’re bred to cook, clean, and raise kids. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home mom, but I know some women around here who actually want options. I guess it’s an expectation more than a desire, which is just sad. Clara is one of the few women I know who walk past the other “normal” women as they point their noses toward the sky and whisper about her like she’s committed a crime. Clara wanted to become a nurse, so she did. I’m still betting that someday the other women will get tired of relying on their men, and either do something else or wish they could summon the courage to do so.

  The coyotes are hollering tonight as I head down my quiet street, probably because the one neighbor I have is gone for the next few weeks, so it’s dark as hell. I just don’t like to leave my lights on when I’m gone. It invites idiots down here to party in the field behind my house.

  I light up my cell phone to watch for wild
animals as I let myself inside. I hit the lights, kick my shoes off, and head for the fridge.

  “Don’t move, Waldo, it’s okay. It’s just me. I’m not breaking and entering. I don’t want you to get nervous or nothin’.” This big, fat dog is hard-pressed to even raise an eyelid at night when I come home. He must have gotten bored with the same old greeting each day. Plus, I think he’s more of a morning man.

  The icy cold beer feels good as it nestles into my palm, but the millisecond before my ass hits the couch, my damn phone starts to ring. I see the hospital’s number light up and cuss out every obscenity I know.

  “Austin,” I answer.

  “Austin, it’s Daisy. Someone set off a firework down at the square and we’ve got a room full of people with burns. No one is coding, but I need your help. You think you could come back down?”

  “Yeah.” I look down at my beer and snarl. I was so close. “I’ll be right down.”

  It’s not even June. Why the hell are people playing with fireworks already? (Click to Continue)

  Man Flu

  Copyright © 2018 by Shari J. Ryan

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  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  ISBN-13: 978-1983774942

  ISBN-10: 1983774944

  To Gia and Annelle.

  Friends like you are hard to come by, and I’m not sure what I’d do without you. When I need a laugh, you’re there with the perfect material. Thank you for inspiring me to be the goof I’ve always been. Love you, ladies!