“I’ve already met a guy,” she admits.
I look over at her.
“You’re kidding.” This doesn’t really surprise me much; Paige has always been a social girl; not to mention she’s beautiful, with a magnetic personality to boot—she dreams of becoming a model someday, and personally I think it’s just a matter of time.
Her slim mouth spreads into a grin.
“Hey, it’s not like I went looking,” she says as she moves a few long strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “I went to check things out and ended up in the bar downstairs.”
“The bar? Paige!” I shake my head disappointedly.
The elevator dings and stops on the fourth floor, the doors parting. A thirtysomething couple steps in.
“I wasn’t drinking,” she whispers, rolling her eyes. “I was just looking around and getting a feel for the resort.” The woman looks in our direction. “Anyway, he works at the bar and told me to stop in and have a drink sometime when I get a chance.” She grins and lowers her voice even more. “He’s not the kind I usually go for, but he’s hot enough I’m willing to make a few adjustments on my requirements list.”
The elevator stops on the third floor and the couple gets out, leaving us to our privacy.
Paige has quite a requirements list—I’m surprised she’s not still a virgin. I’m not as picky, but I admit my list isn’t all that short. Difference is that mine is more reasonable.
“Just remember we’re here to work,” I say. “And unfortunately, I doubt we’ll have time for hot breakfast, much less hot bartenders.”
“I know, I know,” she says. “But there’s nothing wrong with flirting while we work, y’know. Am I right or am I right?” Her lips spread into a broader grin and she looks across at me under hooded eyes the way she always does when she’s trying to shift my attitude.
She wins.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I give in and then shake my finger at her. “But don’t make me regret getting you hired on under me, Paige.”
She turns to me, a bright smile plastered on her sun-kissed face. “I’d never put you in a bad position, and you know it,” she says, collapsing her hands about my upper arms and pretending to look all serious.
I smile, pursing my lips on one side, and then slip my arm around her.
When we arrive at the glass wedding pavilion on the wave-washed edge of the beach, a tall, dark-haired girl with long bare legs swishes her hips underneath a pastel flowered dress, sashaying like a model down the center aisle toward us. Her hair is like a wave of dark silk flowing unrestricted against her bare back.
“You must be Sienna Murphy,” she says in a confident, dramatic voice, reaching out a dainty ring-decorated hand to me. “I’m Veronica Dennings, sister of the bride-to-be.”
I get the feeling she expects me to be impressed. I’m not, so I fake it. I’m good at faking these kinds of things—a skill I’m proud to have mastered in this job.
I know the look of disgust on Paige’s face without having to actually see it.
Veronica barely touches my hand with her fingers, as if she’s afraid to mess up her newly manicured nails.
“It’s nice to meet you, Veronica,” I say brightly, strategically placing my fingers about her hand without touching her nails. “This is Paige Mathers, my assistant.” Veronica’s dark blue eyes barely skirt her. “You must be so excited for your sister.”
“Of course,” she says. “As I’m sure Valerie will be excited for me when my wedding day comes.” Her hand goes up and lightly brushes against her dark hair, pushing it away from her shoulder with such a self-important grace that it actually makes me feel momentarily inadequate—until I realize how ridiculous that is.
I smile slimly in response and glance around the area suspiciously, noticing right away that she has already been draping the guest chairs with extravagant fabric—made of a design that is entirely different from what was agreed on two weeks ago. Paige notices the look on my face, and I straighten it out quickly before Veronica sees it, too. But I’m too late and she notices anyway.
Veronica waves her hand about the room in a sophisticated fashion. “I know my sister’s taste better than our mother,” she says about the fabric. “That hideous floral pattern Mother chose without consulting me just had to go; don’t you agree?” An arrogant smile glows on her face.
That “hideous” floral pattern is what your sister, the bride picked out.
I nod slowly. “I respect your concerns,” I say with a kind expression, “but I think it’s best we keep what the bride chose. I’d be happy to talk with her about your ideas, if you’d like.”
Veronica looks quietly stung, but she raises her chin as if to look important and then shrugs it off as if she doesn’t care either way.
“Whatever. Do what you like. But it’s hideous.”
Then she motions for Paige as if she were merely an errand girl and puts her to work right away, insisting she find a Starbucks before she loses her damn mind.
Paige eyes me secretly from the side and mouths, You’ve got to be kidding me.
“What will you have?” Veronica asks me.
I put out my hand, palm forward. “No, I’m good, but thanks.” Really, I just don’t want to contribute to the balancing act I’m sure Paige will have to do carrying the drinks back. And sure enough, she’s got a list with the needs of Veronica’s two assistants who just walked up—petite, bubbly, one more stuck-up than the other, pretty, and wearing Daddy’s bank account from their colored roots to their glittery pedicures.
What’s happening here? Did Paige and I just become Veronica’s assistants, too?
I swallow down my disappointment; my kind, professional smile is still intact as always, though already it’s becoming more difficult to pull off. I like my job. I enjoy creating an event to remember for my clients, but every now and then I get one like this where I don’t really get to put my creativity to work.
Once Paige is out of earshot, I say in a respectful, even manner, “You know, Paige has a great eye for this stuff. She can really help out with the setup.”
Veronica tosses her head back majestically and laughs in a gentle manner so as not to overly alter her smooth complexion. I’m not sure what to make of that, her laughing, but it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
I look over when I feel her hand touch my shoulder.
“I’m sure she’s helpful,” she says with a twinkle in her deep blue eyes. “But today she’s the perfect coffee girl. Come. I’ll show you what I intend to do with the archway.”
Wow. Talk about a sour taste …
Long after Paige gets back with the coffee, she and I are listening to Veronica’s harping demands and superior personality. But it looks like I’m the only one of us who can let it all roll right off my back. For the most part.
“And I thought Cassandra was bad,” Paige mumbles under her breath. She ties another long ribbon around the back of a chair.
I tie a ribbon around the chair next to hers, afterward wedging a finger behind the satiny material to straighten out the fabric pinched beneath it.
“It comes with the job sometimes,” I tell her quietly. “You just have to learn to ignore it.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” she says, standing up, her lips pinched in frustration.
Sometimes I don’t either, but somehow I manage.
Veronica walks up carrying a clipboard pressed against her breasts.
“I guess this is all we can do until my parents get here later,” she says. “They’re due around six, so until then I suppose we can all take a break.”
“Thanks, but I have a lot to do,” I say. “Phone calls to make and—”
“Suit yourself,” Veronica says, twirling a wrist, “but if those phone calls have anything to do with the wedding, I’ve got all that under control.”
I just look at her, surprised, not liking the sound of that at all. Veronica smiles importantly—her assistants stand next to
her, staring down into their phones.
With that famous fake smile of mine, my teeth grind harshly behind my closed lips. “You already called the caterer and—”
“Not yet, but it’s next on my to-do list,” she interrupts me again. “Take a break, girl. You look like you need one.”
I’m sure that last comment wasn’t meant in the kindest of terms, but like everything else I dislike about her, I let it slide. Paige isn’t as forgiving, and glares at Veronica with flames in her eyes. I step in front of Paige quickly to distract Veronica before she notices.
“I appreciate the help,” I say, “but don’t worry yourself with the phone calls; I’ll take care of them. We’ll finish up here and then I’ll take you up on that break.” I smile, hoping Veronica takes the bait. I want to get her as far away from the arrangements—and the vendors—as possible.
Veronica, probably not used to being struck down once, much less twice, in just a few hours, manipulates the inside of her mouth with her teeth and just looks at me, wordless and quietly disapproving. Then she says something about how she needs to go lie in the sun, and walks away with her assistants, sashaying her hourglass hips down the center aisle as if she were the one getting married tomorrow.
“I swear, Sienna,” Paige says, “I feel like I need to shower every time she’s within five feet of me so I don’t get infected with cuntilitis.”
As Paige’s best friend, I would have to agree with that, but as her boss, I decide to keep my mouth shut this time rather than fueling the fire.
“Do me a favor,” I tell Paige, “and call the vendors to make sure everything’s on schedule. I’m going to finish up here and check on a few more things just in case Veronica got any other ideas.”
“I’m a step ahead of you,” Paige says. “Was thinking the same thing.”
Later I do find time for a short break and I end up on the beach with my camera. Hawaii is too beautiful not to photograph, and so I sacrificed lunch to take advantage of it while I could. As I inch closer to where Veronica is sitting on her towel with long, tanned legs stretched out like landing strips in front of her, I make it a point to keep my distance. I just want to get a few shots of the surfers riding the waves. A few guys—and girls who are probably girlfriends—are among the group. All of them are tall and tanned and look like they walked right off the pages of a Hawaiian magazine.
Squeals pierce the air as Veronica’s assistants are sprayed by water from a small, boisterous wave. Veronica throws her head back daintily and laughs like a wannabe 1950s movie star—I suddenly feel embarrassed even though I’m not sitting beside her.
I peer back into my lens as two more guys from the group head out together into the wave-capped water, surfboards in hand.
Snap, snap, snap.
Suddenly the tall guy with a nice body in the red and black wetsuit looks in my direction briefly. Through my lens I see his eyes looking right at me, and I suck in a sharp breath, dropping my camera from my face with a pang of embarrassment settling in my stomach. I hope he doesn’t think I was photographing him, even though I was.
Maybe he wasn’t looking at me—I mean, I am across the beach. Though I’m sure, with them being surfers and all, they get tourists out here all the time taking photos of them.
I watch the group for a short while as they ride the waves. It’s said that the North Shore is the best place to surf in Hawaii, but I guess I expected giant waves and bodies disappearing underneath a frightening, towering tunnel of water only to shoot out the other side to the gasps of onlookers. This isn’t as nail-biting, but it’s still impressive. I doubt I could stay up on a surfboard for more than a few seconds—these guys make it look easy.
The guy wearing the red and black wetsuit emerges from the water and walks onto the beach with his surfboard tucked underneath his arm. He looks over in my direction as he walks forward, pushing a hand over the top of his wet golden-brown hair. My heart leaps a little. I think … yeah, he was definitely looking at me.
My awkwardness comes back full force, accompanied by a hot blush in my cheeks.
Veronica pushes herself to her feet, dusting sand from her fingers, and walks toward the group, her little bubble butt swishing beneath her black bikini bottom as she moves through the sand.
A little baffled by her sudden brazen decision, I watch as Veronica approaches the guy in the black and red wetsuit. He looks right at her. He smiles and nods. Veronica twirls the end of her long, dark hair around the tip of one finger, cocking her head coyly to one side.
Words are exchanged.
Then a few more.
The guy’s smile fades.
Did his brows just furrow?
Uh-oh.
Veronica’s arms navigate upward and fall into a locked position, crossed loosely over her chest.
The guy shakes his head at her with a look of … Is that disgust?
He bends over and picks his surfboard up, turning his back to her, and then heads back out toward the water.
Veronica spins angrily on her heels and marches back over to her towel and beach bag with the most offended expression I’ve ever seen on a face before. She snatches her towel from the sand, thrusts her feet into her flip-flops, kicking up sand around her toes, and goes to leave, headed straight in my direction.
“Unbelievable!” she says as she steps up. “The locals around here are rude, that’s for sure.” She shoves her towel angrily into her canvas beach bag.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He was an asshole—that’s what happened.”
Even more baffled now, I just stare at Veronica for a curious moment, part of me wondering whether she’s actually going to cry, the rest of me just wanting to know what he could’ve possibly said to someone like her to spark the urge. Her assistants move in right behind her, just now catching up, but they aren’t the ones I notice when I look up—the guy in the red and black wetsuit is looking in my direction again, and suddenly I feel embarrassed standing here with Veronica.
I look away quickly, just as he does.
“I guess they don’t like tourists around here,” she says. “Better watch your back.” Then she saunters off back toward the hotel, leaving me on the beach. The guy never looks over at me again, and while it’s probably for the best because I’m here to work, I can’t help but be bummed by it just the same.
I spend the next thirty minutes in my suite alone, expecting to get a call from Veronica any minute telling me that her parents have finally made it. Paige texts me to let me know that she finally got ahold of all the vendors and that everything is on schedule. Sitting outside on the balcony with my legs drawn up on the chair, I take in the view, letting my mind wander thinking about all the other things I could be seeing right now, the beautiful things I could be photographing. Before I came here, I spent a week poring over photos of Hawaii on the Internet, dreaming about seeing each and every majestic place with my lens: the towering waterfalls, the sprawling green mountains, the glowing golden fire of Kilauea, and the whales and the fire dancers. But all I can see when I come back to reality are the glass walls of the chapel closing in on me, the decorative Mason jars hanging precariously from the trees, the lavender ribbons choke-tied around the chairs, and Veronica’s sour expression accompanied by fake smiles and heavy doses of vanity and pity.
My phone buzzes against the glass-top table, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Looking down into the screen, I’m expecting it to be Veronica, but I’m surprised to see that it’s my mother.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer cheerily.
“Hi, baby,” she says sweetly into my ear—I’m twenty-two and she still talks to me like I’m ten and probably always will. “I take it you made the flight all right. How long have you been there?”
“Just a few hours.” I pull my head away from the phone and run my finger over the speaker icon. “I was going to call you, but I got tied up with the client.” I set the phone down on the table.
“So what’s Hawai
i like?” my mother asks eagerly, the speaker cracking faintly with her voice.
I feel bad that she isn’t here with me; I’d’ve loved to have been able to bring her along. She hasn’t seen much outside of San Diego in her forty-three years of life.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. “Well, what I’ve seen of it anyway.”
“I’m sure you’ll get some free time to explore,” she says. “You took your camera, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, you know I always do.”
“I’m so proud of you, Sienna.”
I pick the phone back up and hold it near my face, balanced within my fingertips.
“So is your father,” she goes on. “You landed a great job with perks most people who’ve been working for twenty years never see. We’re just really proud of you.”
I smile. Nothing makes me happier than to know that my parents, who had such a hard life before they had me and an even harder one after I was born, are proud of what I’ve done so far and continue to do.
“Thanks, Mom.” I pause, looking out at the endless blue ocean. “I wish you were here. Y’know, I’ve thought a lot about it and I know you’ve got work and all, but I really want to take you and Dad on vacation in the fall. I thought maybe we could go on that Alaskan cruise you’ve always talked about and—”
“Oh, honey,” she cuts in, “you know I can’t take the time off work, and neither can your dad. We’ve got two mortgages, not to mention the hospital bills and the car payment—we just can’t afford the time off.”
A heavy sigh deflates my chest. “I told you I’d help you pay off the mortgages. I lived in that house most of my life; the least I can do is help pay for it now that I can. I’ll even help pay Dad’s hospital bills—”
“Absolutely not.” I can picture her auburn head shaking in refusal. “We wanted so much more for you than what we were able to give you growing up, Sienna, and I’ll be damned if we start taking from you the things you’ve worked so hard to earn for yourself.” I swear I can sense Mom slashing her hand in the air. “Honey, I really appreciate you wanting to help us out, but we’re doing just fine, and as much as I’d love to go on that cruise, I just can’t give Mr. Towers any reason to lay me off.”
The Moment of Letting Go Page 2