by T. A. Foster
“Did you say you needed a room for the entire week?” He looked at the space next to my feet. “Where’s your luggage?”
“The airline lost it. You wouldn’t have those fluffy robes here, would you?”
“Darlin’, look around you. Does this look like the kind of place with fluffy robes?”
This place didn’t look like it would have running water, but a girl could dream. All I wanted was for him to swipe my credit card and point me to my room and maybe some food. My stomach growled. The pretzels I had eaten on the morning flight from Raleigh hardly counted as a meal.
“Ok, I get it. You’re not Mr. Customer Service. Can I just check in? I’ve had a really terrible day, and I could use a hot shower and something to eat.”
I couldn’t believe the Palm Palace management had placed the handyman in charge of the front desk for the night. The white T-shirt that clung to his torso was speckled with paint, and he had hooked a hammer along the rim of his back pocket.
He pulled out a notebook and flipped open the faded blue cover. He traced the lines with his finger. “Yep, there’s a room for you.”
“You keep your reservations in a notebook?” I hadn’t really noticed until now that there wasn’t a computer in the office.
He looked at me. “Do you want a room or not?”
“Sorry.” I bit my lip to keep from sparring with him further. I couldn’t risk him tossing me out.
“It’s fifty dollars per night. Do you have a credit card?”
I handed him the plastic card my mother had given me at Christmas for spring break. She and my father had loaded it specifically for this trip. I had managed to avoid using it for the past few months, even when I saw a cute fringed bikini that called my name.
“What happened to your hand?” He glanced at my knuckles.
With the hotel hopping, I had forgotten that it had turned red and was starting to swell. “I ran into something. It’s fine.”
“Something or someone?” I thought I saw the corner of his lips form a smile.
He withdrew a piece of carbon paper and a metal rectangular device. I watched as he affixed the paper, placed my card on top, and then swiped a lever across my card.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
My father’s warnings about credit card fraud echoed in my memory. What if this was some kind of scheme to steal the last bit of money I had?
He let out a sigh. “It’s a credit card machine.”
“Are you serious?” I think I had seen something like it in an eighties movie.
“Yes. I’m serious. Here you go.” He handed the card back to me and pointed to the bottom of the slip. “Sign here.”
I scribbled my name along the line, being careful not to press too hard with my knuckles. They were tender. He handed me a brass key attached to a palm tree key chain.
“You’re in room twenty-three, which is all the way down this side.” He pointed out the window. “You’re the last room on the right. Ocean side.”
Ocean side? At least there was something redeeming about the Palm Palace. The palm tree was heavy in my hand. “Thanks. Is there somewhere around here I could get dinner and maybe some clothes?”
I was worried the airline still hadn’t called me and I would have to face the morning with my alcohol-stained jeans.
“There’s a local hang out a few blocks down and across the road on the sound side called Pete’s. It’s not a party scene; you’ll have to head back to the resorts if you want a DJ and dancing. About a block down is a surf shop and general store. I’m sure they’ll have something you can wear.” I caught him eyeing the dip in my shirt with his smoldering eyes. Eyes like that were hard to ignore.
“I’m not here for the party scene. Dinner sounds good.” I turned to pull the inside frame of the door. I wasn’t sure why I had told him that. “Thanks.”
“Oh, and, Rocky, there’s an ice machine on the way to your room. You might want to put some on that hand before it gets much worse.” This time I was certain he was smiling.
***
The Palm Palace was divided into two rows of rooms angled toward the beach in a V, like a seagull with its wings fully spread. All of the odd-numbered rooms were on the right and the even-numbered on the left. Mine was at the farthest end, closest to the beach. It looked as if guests could still catch a glimpse of the ocean from their balcony even from the side closest to the highway.
I inserted the key into the rusty lock and turned the door handle. My senses were hit with a waft of musty air, the kind you smell when you forget you left your wet bathing suit in the bottom of the clothes hamper. The air was tinged with salt.
The walls were coated in a thick paint, which was doing a miserable job of covering up the panels wrapping the room. Strips of peeling paint dangled from the corners.
“Home sweet spring break,” I muttered.
I flipped the switch on the air conditioner, pulled the drapes to a closed position, and sat on the bed. It was pointless to try to clean up before I even had a shower or clean clothes to put on afterward. I had been wearing the alcohol-stained jeans so long I couldn’t smell the bourbon anymore.
The handyman mentioned a place to eat within walking distance. That seemed like the best option for dinner, but first I wanted to buy a few things to make it through the next day until my luggage arrived. I stopped myself from getting nostalgic about my favorite Carolina T-shirt, or the cute pink skirt and the mini-pack of new makeup I just bought. They were all in my suitcase, and I could do nothing about it.
Clutching the brass palm tree in my hand, I pulled the door closed behind me and walked toward the surf shop. As I passed by the Palm Palace office, I saw the handyman sitting behind the desk shuffling through a stack of papers. I wondered if he always wore a scowl on his face. His jaw was set in a line of determination. I stood in front of the window a second too long; he looked up from his work and saw me staring at him. I scurried out of view, wishing I didn’t have to be so curious all the damn time.
The surf shop was only two blocks from the motel, on the beach road. After being squeezed into small seats all day, it felt good to walk.
“Hey, honey. Welcome to Sandy’s.” The red-haired woman called from a nearby hat stand. She was straightening a line of visors that had been displaced. Yes, it was a surf shop, but not like any I had seen. “Can I help you find something? You look lost, darlin’.”
I took in the Stetson hats, rows of surfboards, and rack of suntan lotion.
“Yes, I need something to wear. The airline lost my luggage and I’m here all week. I’m sure it will show up, but I need a change of clothes.” I spotted a mannequin wearing a sundress that was adorable.
“Oh, you poor thing.” The woman ditched the set of pink hats and rushed over to me. “Those airlines are so bad these days. Last year my sister, Janet, had two bags lost and she never got them back. She had everything in there. It was a mess.”
Hearing Janet’s story didn’t comfort me. I was still hoping my phone would ring any second with a call from the airport saying they were on their way with my clothes. I hadn’t itemized what was in the suitcase, but there were more sentimental things than just my school T-shirt.
“Well, let’s get you some things to wear. You here for spring break?” She flashed a red lipstick smile.
“I am. All week.” Standing in Sandy’s Surf Shop, it was starting to sink in that a week in paradise was a long time to spend alone.
“Oh, wonderful. That’s so good to hear. I’m Renee.” She reached her hand to me.
“Eden.” I shook the freckled hand that had seen obvious years of sun.
“Where you from, honey?” She busied herself with a circular stand of board shorts.
“North Carolina. I’m a senior at Carolina.” Where I was from, everyone knew the university, but outside of the state I wasn’t always sure if people who weren’t die-hard sports fans had any idea what it was.
“Oh yes, I’ve heard of it. We get stude
nts from all over the country in South Padre. Just last week there were some Kansas students and Michigan students. All they do when they see each other is brag about their sports teams.”
I smiled. That sounded awfully familiar. Renee seemed to be current on her university trivia.
“Why don’t you just go right in that dressing room and I’ll bring you a few things to try on?” Renee shuttled me over to a cubicle covered by a curtain that had been strung across the doorway.
Normally, I would have browsed the racks myself, but Renee had a mothering hen approach that I followed like a new chick. I waited in the cubby for her to select a spring break wardrobe for me.
“I brought a few different sundresses. That’s what all the girls are wearing this year. I guessed on your size.” She shoved the hangers and dresses in through the slit in the curtain. “I’ll be right back with a few bathing suits for you to try.”
I looked at the collection of dresses she handed me. They were all short and strappy. I dipped my leg into a green one and pulled the straps over my shoulders.
Renee reached a handful of bikinis in through the curtain. “Why, don’t you look, darlin’, in that dress? Green is definitely your color.”
I looked at the girl in the mirror with choppy blond bangs. “I’ll take it.”
“Good, now try on these suits. With your figure, they’re all going to look great. I wish I could still wear some of these. I’ll grab some sandals and flip-flops for you to try too.”
Renee sure knew how to sweet-talk her way into a sale. I had never thought about my figure, as she put it. I knew guys looked at me, but unless I actually saw them doing it, it never occurred to me to worry about how I looked. There was no hiding the curves in my hips or in my breasts that garnered all kinds of unwanted attention.
I chose a turquoise bikini out of the pile of prints she gave me. I liked the bright color against my skin, even though I was in desperate need of some sun.
I walked to the register in the green dress with a tank top, two fitted T-shirts, a pair of running shorts, khaki shorts, and my bikini folded in my arms.
“Is it ok if I wear the dress now?” I asked Renee. I already felt like a different girl in the vibrant shade of green.
“Of course. It really is your color.”
I felt better being out of the sticky jeans. Something about wearing a dress just made me feel prettier. I never wore dresses or skirts to class, and Brett wasn’t really the type of guy who liked to take me out to nice places. It seemed like most of our dates were at parties with groups of other people. Thinking about our three semesters of dating, I couldn’t recall a single dinner date that was only for the two of us. Group settings were always Brett’s romantic go-to.
“Honey, you ok?” Renee was waiting for me to pay for the armful of merchandise.
While I was in the dressing room, she had collected an assortment of sunscreen, toothpaste, and shampoo for me. It looked like she had all of my short-term needs covered.
“Yes, yes, sorry.” I handed her my spring break credit card.
There goes two hundred dollars I didn’t plan to spend, but I was more than making up for it by staying at the Palm Palace. I could afford a few outfits.
“I’m so glad you came in tonight. Now if you need anything this week—you know, if you’re luggage doesn’t show—you just come right back here and I’ll help you find something else.” She winked as she passed two bags to me over the counter. “I’ve got every spring break necessity right here in this store.”
“Thank you, so much, Renee. I hope my bag gets here tonight, but I promise I’ll come back before I leave.” I spotted a black dress on a corner stand that I wanted to try on during my next shopping trip.
I smiled at the shopkeeper and walked out the door in the direction of the bar the Palm Palace’s surly handyman had suggested. It was easy to navigate around the beach neighborhood.
A few cars whizzed past me before I attempted to cross the highway to the sound side of the island. I walked into Pete’s in my new green dress and sandals, feeling slightly reenergized, but famished.
A guitar player was perched in the corner singing an acoustic song I had never heard about a girl with eyes as blue as the Texas sky. The words were almost haunting, but so simple they were beautiful. I watched as he strummed. He seemed to be lost in his lyrics. I sidestepped a few guys playing pool and made my way to the bar that stretched the length of Pete’s.
“What can I get you?” The bartender had a warm smile. He reminded me of my dad with the way the edges of his hair were peppered with gray. I was terrible at guessing ages for people my parents’ age, but he was probably fifty, like my dad.
I slid onto an open barstool and dropped my wardrobe bags to the floor. “I’m starving. I could eat anything. What do you recommend?”
“Pete’s has a pretty mean cheeseburger. How does that sound?”
“Awesome.” I grinned. Just the thought of a burger right now made my mouth water.
“One cheeseburger coming right up. What can I get you to drink?”
I surveyed the row of liquors behind the man. The oversized bottle of Jose Cuervo caught my eye. “I would love a margarita.” Taylor and the other girls were likely ordering pitchers of them right now.
“You twenty-one?” He eyed me.
I dug in my wallet to present my ID. “Yes, sir.”
“North Carolina, huh? You here for spring break?” He reached for a margarita glass and shoveled a scoop of ice into a silver shaker.
“I am. First time in Texas actually. I’m here by myself.” Something about him made it seem ok to reveal my situation. His smile was reassuring. I had been tense and guarded all day. It was nice to shed some of that wall.
“You’re here by yourself?” He acted genuinely surprised.
Sitting alone at a strange bar, on an island I had never visited, surrounded by people I had never met, without a single friend within a three-state radius all of a sudden seemed absurd. What in the hell was I doing in Texas? His concerned look reminded me of how upset my parents were going to be when I tell them about my change of plans.
I gulped down the first half of the margarita before answering. “Yep. Stupid idea I guess.”
“I don’t usually do this, but here.” He jotted something down on a napkin and slid it across the bar.
I read the numbers. Oh my God. Did he just give me his phone number? Maybe he wasn’t the paternal type after all.
“I’m Mac. If you need anything while you’re here, you give me a call. That’s my cell. Anything. I’m serious. It makes me a little nervous knowing a young girl like you is here alone.”
I sighed. He was doing something my father would do. “Thanks, Mac. That’s really sweet. I’m Eden.”
“Where are you staying? One of the big resorts?” He dried a beer pilsner before placing it on the shelf.
“No. My boyfriend, I mean my ex-boyfriend, stole my room. The only place I could get a room was the Palm Palace.” I hoped it didn’t take me long to stop making that mistake about Brett.
Mac chuckled. “The ole Palm Palace, you say. That place has seen better days.”
“Yeah, it is in serious need of a makeover.” I tasted the salt on the rim of the glass. Someone should call HGTV and have them do a motel crashers episode on the place.
“Grey’s working on it. It’s going to take some time. There’s a lot of work over there for one man to handle.”
“Grey? Are you talking about the handyman devoid of people skills?”
An image of the paint-splattered, brooding, fix-it man darted through my mind. I didn’t know his name, but I could easily recall his sexy eyes. Rude or not, there was something about his eyes.
“Orders up!” a high-pitched voice called from the other end of the bar.
Mac turned to retrieve my cheeseburger from the cook, who was hovering in the kitchen window. He placed the plate in front of me.
“Taste it. Go on. Try it.” He waited f
or my first bite.
I didn’t need much prodding. My stomach growled at first sight of the plate of food. A pile of fries spilled over the side and onto the counter.
“Mmm-hmm,” I managed to mumble through my first bite of the cheeseburger.
“Told ya. Best burger on the island.” Mac threw a towel over his shoulder and moved down the bar to help a new Pete’s patron.
I watched as he filled two pilsners with a dark gold beer from the tap. He fell into a conversation about the weather with the man who had ordered. The singer paused between songs before starting a tune about a girl who stole his heart in Laredo. This was like a Texas music immersion class.
The last ounce of my drink tasted especially limey. I could feel waves of the tequila starting to warm my limbs. Mac delivered a second drink to me with an extra lime. Maybe it was the country crooner or the margarita, but for the first time all day, I felt relaxed.
Then, he walked in.
It was impossible to ignore the broad shoulders on his athletic frame as he passed between the pool players. He was almost a head taller than the other guys in the bar. He no longer wore the paint-splattered T-shirt. His hair looked damp, like he had just taken a shower. The blue plaid button-up shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows. He was sexy in that silent, mysterious way, but I was starting to think jetlag had set in. I was way too curious about him and trying too hard to catch a glimpse of his eyes again. I should not be checking out the motel handyman. I focused on the limes floating in my drink.
“Hey, Grey. How’s it goin’?” Mac asked over the guitar player who had amped up his performance. The song carried a faster beat.
Grey sat on a stool a few spots from me. He didn’t seem to notice me sitting at the bar. At least his gaze never shifted from Mac.
“Same ole, same ole, Mac.” He rested his forearms on the counter while Mac poured him a beer.
“I hear ya, man.” Mac deposited the beer in front of him. “You ready for the spring breakers over there?”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. There’s a shit-ton of work to do.”
“Hang in there, man. We’re all real proud of what you’re doing.” Mac smiled and walked toward the kitchen.