“I apologize on his behalf. He really hasn’t been his self the past couple of days,” I say as I pull my checkbook out. “How much for the repairs?”
“Oh, no it’s fine. Mr. Morris already wrote a check, and he apologized himself this morning.”
“Oh, okay . . . good. Well, if I can be blunt, why the hell do you look like shit?” I asked confused.
“Well, like I said, he’s a very passionate man, especially when it comes to you. So when he received your message about not feeling well, he . . . took it out on our hotel . . . again.”
“What,” I say in an I-can’t-believe-this kind of way.
The desk clerk squats down, and when he comes back up, he is holding a small, black desk trash can and hands it to me.
When I look into the can, I see the nameplate, bell, and a plastic card and brochure holder all in pieces and staring up at me.
“Christ,” I say on an exhale.
When Paul found out I wasn’t going to be at the training, he decided to do a full arm sweep across the counter, taking all the contents to the floor. That’s why there isn’t anything on the counter any more.
I open my mouth to offer another apology, but he holds up a hand a little and says, “He already did.”
I hand him back the trash can, shaking my head.
“He left a message for you too, May.”
“Great.”
He brings a folded piece of paper up from under the desk and reads, “I love you, May.”
That’s all it says, four words to try to explain all of this.
When I don’t say anything, the clerk squats down again, and this time when he comes back up, he places on the counter a glass vase with fifteen white lilies. My favorite flower, and the only flower that Paul has ever given me. No roses, no daisies, it has always been white lilies.
“May . . . are you alright?” the clerk asks.
“Yes, I’m fine . . . Well, as you can see, I am feeling a lot better, and I didn’t want to stay in the hotel all day. I was wondering if there is anything in town that I shouldn’t miss?” I ask, brushing the flowers off.
“Well there is the waterfront. It has vendors, and the food is incredible. I'll write the directions down for you, as well as some of my favorites for you to check out for yourself . . . if that’s alright.”
You gotta love small town pride.
“Yes, that would be great. Thank you, sir.”
“Ryan.” He says as he is writing. “Please feel free to call me Ryan.”
“You got it, Ryan,” I say, taking the directions he hands me.
I look at the flowers and think about how lovely they really are, and then it hits me.
“You know, Ryan. I think these flowers would look nice . . . right here . . . on the middle of the counter,” I say to him with a sly smile and turn to go about my day.
“You know what, yes, they would look lovely right here, where anyone walking into the door can see them,” I hear him say behind me with a smile.
He knows what I am doing and is fine going along with it. A little payback perhaps. I can’t help but to think about this hurting Paul, but then I realize, all is fair, right?
Ryan was right. The waterfront is completely beautiful and breathtaking. The vendors all line the left side of the walkway as to not block the amazing view. The lake is surrounded by mountains, keeping it a local secret hideaway, just for them to love. The water is a little murky, but it’s calm. The only thing on the lake disturbing the water here and there is a couple on a paddle boat and a mother duck with her ducklings. I scan the bank of the lake on the other side and see small houses here and there and wildflowers flowing down the clearings of the mountains. It’s almost as though it’s an avalanche of flowers going to take over the houses. All in all, it’s quite beautiful.
I walk around to each and every vendor. They sell a variety of things: homemade arts and crafts, blown glass in all kinds of shapes, and jewelry. I stop at one particular booth where an older woman is selling handcrafted jewelry. It’s one of Ryan’s must-go-to spots on his list, and upon closer examination of the jewelry, I know why.
All the jewelry is in fact homemade. But it’s not made of twine or thread and beads. All of it is in beautiful, shining silver. I smile at the lady, and ask her if she has made all these by hand. She tells me that she uses special tools and a lot of patience. I laugh a little at that, and she continues to smile. She reminds me of my Gram Cracker, a.k.a. my grandma.
Glancing over the selection, my eye catches and stops on one specific ring. I ask her if I could pick it up, and she smiles and says, “By all means.” Picking it up, I can see that there are flowers carved all the way through the silver. When I bring it up to look a little closer, I see that the flowers are in fact lilies, and they are surrounded by vines with thorns on them. How appropriate for my state of mind. I purchase the ring and put it on finger after finger, trying to figure out which one it will fit. It fits on my left hand ring finger. Again, go figure, forever guarded.
“You are very lovely, dear girl,” the older woman says to me as she walks over and cups my cheek.
“You know, my grandson would just love you,” she says, but her eyes are averted somewhere to my left. As I am about to look, she grabs my chin to face her.
“Do you believe in fate . . . destiny?” she asks me with a knowing smirk.
Letting out a sigh, I shake my head no. “I used to, but if what I have been through lately is what my destiny should have been, I really pissed the higher powers off somehow.” And there are the tears. My lord, I went from crying once or twice a year, to acting like a toddler who cries every day. I guess that’s what heartbreak does to you. It changes and shifts things inside of you, so you are never the same again. That sure as hell explains it.
“My grandson is–”
“Sorry, I have had my heart broken enough this year, but thank you . . . and thank you for the ring,” I say. As I walk past her, she winks at me, and I continue on down the line of stands. I am getting fixed up by strangers now? Is it something I am putting out there? Or is there the word “single” tattooed on my forehead.
Jesus.
Taking a look at my watch, I see that it is close to five o’clock. Talk about walking the day away. When I get into my car, I check my phone. I didn’t take it with me because I didn’t want it to ruin my day,
No calls.
No texts.
What the hell? He’s obviously mad or else the hotel would still be intact, so why isn’t he trying to get a hold of me?
On my way back to the hotel, hunger pains hit me, and I drive to another of Ryan’s favorite spots, a small mom-and-pop shop right around the corner from the hotel. It was wonderful down-home country cooking that was almost as good as my mim-maw’s, almost.
As I finish up my dinner and pay my tab, something comes to mind. The assignments! We are supposed to go over all the paperwork after our training sessions to see what girl needs to be with which bouncer, and where they should be. I’ve done everything, but this is the last piece of the puzzle, and it’s a pretty important one. I get into the car and drive back to the hotel, in no hurry because I know Paul won’t be done with training yet. It’s only six at night, training goes until ten. Pulling up, I see that Paul’s car isn’t there and ease further knowing this. I walk through the front doors, into the lobby, and stop as soon as I see it. Ryan is sweeping up what I know is the glass vase that the lilies were in because there are all fifteen flowers on the ground among the shattered glass. I make my way up to Ryan who keeps on sweeping even after he sees me.
“Very passionate, May,” is all he says.
“Sorry, Ryan,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. I really didn’t think he would cause more damage in this hotel after everything else he has done. Then again, I didn’t know that he was capable of what he’s done already. I head up to my room, collect all the paperwork Paul is going to need for the assignments, and head back downstairs.
Putti
ng it in a manila envelope, I take out a pen and write on the front:
Here’s everything for Friday. You just need to make out the bouncergirl assignments and give them their stations.
May
I head back downstairs and hand the envelope to Ryan, who has finished with the cleaning up and has taken his place back behind the desk. When he takes the envelope from me, he already knows whom it’s for. Poor kid. I feel sorry for Ryan, and I hope Paul doesn’t kill the messenger, but I am not going to try to talk to him first. I already tried and was denied with a door in my face. If he wants to talk to me, then he is going to have to make the first move and not with flowers or through the poor desk clerk.
I head back upstairs and to my room. It is still a little easier because again, I know Paul isn’t there.
Tomorrow, being Thursday, is the day of rest for everyone. We give the staff the day and night off to go over everything on their own and see it they are comfortable with everything we, I mean I, have mapped out for them and Paul’s final assessments. They’ll let Paul know by Friday morning if they are not comfortable, so we can plan accordingly and prepare for being a person short.
Thursday is by far the longest day of my life. I don’t leave my room, not once. I go over all the finalized plans, courtesy of Ryan bringing them up to my room after Paul dropped them off at the desk.
I invited Ryan into my room because I didn’t want to chance Paul coming out of his room and see Ryan talking to me. Pulling the top off a beer, I tilt it towards Ryan, and surprisingly, he accepts it.
Registering my surprise, he informs me that he is now off the clock, long shift.
“Any damage this time?” I ask, twisting the cap off another beer for myself.
“No, none at all . . . I was surprised myself. I asked him if he was feeling alright, and all he said was ‘Fucking fine,’ and he walked away,” Ryan informs me, and he is visibly relieved.
“No, he’s not,” I say and take along swing from my beer.
“Well, I have figured that out, haven’t I? I didn’t take this job for all the action you know.” Ryan is a bit of a smart ass; I laugh.
It feels like I haven’t laughed in weeks, and I start to think about everything, forgetting that Ryan is even there.
“He loves you, and you don’t love him. Maybe there is someone else? Did I get that right?” Ryan asks softly while taking a seat on one of the chairs across from me.
How did he–?
“Not exactly. Fifteen years of friendship, business partners for almost five, now . . . He’s in love with me, and I’m in love with him, I think.” Ryan makes to say something, but I continue. “And in those fifteen years together, I have seen firsthand what he does to women, and how fast he moves on. Playboy, lady-killer, whatever, words don’t begin to describe Paul, and because of everything I know . . . I just can’t lose my friend. Not to mention, I fell in love with someone before Paul, and I don‘t think I ever stopped loving him. Paul just kinda seemed like he was in the right place at the right time, which in itself, makes me a horrible person,” I finish and take another long swing.
“I can understand that shit . . . What was his name?” Ryan says. He downs the rest of his beer, stands, and walks to the door.
“Kevin . . . and I am pretty sure that he is the love of my life.” I proceed to fill him in on the story that is Kevin and I, sticking to the cliff notes.
Before he opens it to leave, he turns and looks at me.
“I’ll leave you with a thought, if I can.” Ryan is asking so this might hit a little hard.
“Please, by all means, Ryan,” I say.
“You have a fear that this won’t work out, and you’ll lose your friend, but it looks like you are already losing your friend because you can’t face your fear of commitment. Do you think a man in love is just going to forget about it? Like he’s going to pretend you didn’t happen to him? I don’t think so. As for this Kevin. Well, maybe he was the love of your life, but until he walks back into your life, if he ever does, doesn‘t that mean you would do the same thing to Paul that he‘s doing to you?” He smiles at me. “All the best, May and good fucking luck.” He walks out of the door.
It sounded like maybe Ryan has some experience with this.
Finalizing all the paperwork and signing everything puts my mind back into work mode, and it is most welcomed. Paul has made the final assessments, and I see that he has paired himself with Amber. Isn’t that fucking sweet? I guess his motto “Personal life doesn’t belong at work” doesn’t apply to Paul.
Hypocrite.
I’m not assigned to anyone, but then again, I’m usually not unless someone backs out at the last minute. Then and only then am I assigned to anyone.
Tomorrow is Friday. There’s no getting out of seeing him. It just has to be done.
And for the first time in fifteen years, I don’t even want to see my friend.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
No one has backed out, so I don’t have to be there early to open with everyone else. I go in a little earlier than my normal time, slip in the back, and high-tail it to the office. Going through the motions with my heart drumming in my ears is nerve wracking, not to mention annoying. I haven’t been in a fight yet, and my adrenaline is already way too high. Tonight is going to be a disaster. I can feel it down into my bones.
Clapping Pat on the back, I take a look at the monitors.
Everyone is where they are supposed to be and on the camera. Well, that’s a relief at least.
“May?” Pat asks, but I don’t hear him. My eyes are fixed on camera four, the beer tub: Amber and Paul.
He’s having a great time laughing, fist bumping, and bobbing his head to the music. I watch him check his watch. His head stops bobbing and snaps to the direction of the back door. Then after a few minutes, as if he knew, he slowly turns his head and looks at his camera. He knows I’m watching him. He gives the camera a little wink and goes back to having fun.
Son of a Bitch–I shouldn’t say that–Alice, Paul’s mom, is actually a wonderful woman.
Fucking asshole seems to suit him and this situation better.
I put my earpiece in and clip my radio to my belt. Taking one last deep breath, I open the office door and walk out. People are everywhere! From what I’ve gotten around town, McCall’s and one other bar are the places to go for some nighttime fun.
Scanning all the sections, except for section four, everything and everyone looks in place. I walk over to the wall by the bar and lean against it. Paul knows I’m here. He can sense me like I can sense him. This just hurts more and more.
Other than my heart breaking with every single passing minute, things are going smoothly.
Ramsey has casually made his way over to me even though we have told him we don’t like to be acknowledged unless it’s important. I do something that I have never done while on the job: I let Ramsey “buy” me a beer. Jessica slides it to me, and I stop it with my hand. Looking at what he has bought me, I see that it is a Bud Light. My eyes close.
No, not now.
At that same moment, Ramsey clinks bottles with me, and I’m thankful for him unknowingly pulling me out of my nightmare. I nurse the beer until he’s gone, pour it into the closest glass I can, and throw the bottle away behind the bar. I turn around and lean my back against the bar, putting my back to Paul and Amber, and I sense something is off.
Something is definitely not right. I scan all the sections again and then again after that. I know what it is.
Hitting my mic, I radio out to all the staff: “Anyone have eyes on Matt?”
A collective sound of “no” and “negative” come back to me.
Shit.
I leave my spot. I check out front in the parking lot, out back, bathrooms, the office and the now closed kitchen.
Nothing.
Someone radios me, “Closet.”
Why the hell would he be in there? I ask to myself, making my way over to the closet in question.
&nbs
p; I open the door and am grabbed hard by the wrist and yanked into the closet.
“What the fuck are doing?” I ask into the darkness.
I feel my earpiece being ripped out of my ear and disconnected from my radio. When the light is turned on, there stands Matt with his shirt un-tucked, unbuttoned, and hanging open at his sides.
“Honey, now that I know you aren’t with Paul any more, I thought I would give you a chance with me,” Matt says, grabbing my hand and raising it to his chest.
I don’t say a word and rip my hand out of his hold.
“Come on, baby. Give me something,” he adds, stepping ever so close to me.
I’ll give you something alright. I thrust the butt of my palm up into his nose. The sound of it breaking echoes off the walls even with the loud music of the bar. Next the crotch. My knee connects perfectly. Down he goes, and I grab my earpiece out of his pocket and turn the knob to walk out. As I put my earpiece back in and reconnect it to my radio, I can only pray someone didn’t see me go into the closet. I hear, in fact, that I am very wrong.
“I bet she’s a freak in bed.”
“She has to like it rough. She’s such a hard ass.”
Well that’s just fine.
I walk calmly to the bar and get Jessica’s attention. When she sees my face and neck, she runs a towel under the faucet, rings it out, and hands it to me. As she does that, I radio out to two guys I know don’t like Matt, to go and get him from his hiding spot. As they drag him out of the closet and come past me, I grab his radio and earpiece. They continue their battle to the door. I walk just a few feet behind them making sure everything stays controlled. I have the towel Jessica gave me, and I have started to wipe Matt’s blood off of me. I’m now pretty sure everyone knows that Matt didn’t get into my pants. If the sight of him bleeding and holding his crotch didn’t do it, him screaming, “You fucking bitch” and “Goddamn tease,” pretty much sealed that right up.
Need You, Need Me (The Need Series Book 1) Page 10