The Fortunate Ones
Page 5
We’re halfway back to the building when Ellie shoots me a text.
ELLIE: You left before I could give you the details about the shift!
BROOKE: Sorry. Had to get out of there. What should I know?
ELLIE: Make sure you check that the tables are set up right when you get there. The servers are responsible for their own sections, but I’m pretty sure Jared works tonight and he always slacks off.
BROOKE: Got it. Anything else?
ELLIE: Check in with the chef and make sure he doesn’t have any special requests for you. He likes to go over the specials with the hostess just in case a member asks about them.
I make a mental note to do both things before Ian speaks up.
“I took some new headshots today.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Marco shot them for me before he left for a job. We posed in front of the graffiti wall downtown.”
“That’s great.” I smile, feeling the buzz of another text in my lap.
ELLIE: Oh! I almost forgot! Guess who’s coming in for dinner tonight.
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
BROOKE: Who?
“Brooke.”
“I am enthusiastic!” I insist, dropping my phone and turning my attention back to him. “New headshots will really help you book jobs.”
My lap vibrates and I ignore it.
“Who are you texting anyway?”
“My sister,” I answer honestly, though I don’t like that he’s even asking me that question. Ian and I don’t owe each other anything. We’re friends, buds. We live in the co-op together, and sometimes he gives me a ride if he happens to be free. Twice in the last three months we’ve hooked up. It’s the definition of a no-strings-attached fling, but when he glances over to me, I have a sneaking suspicion that he wants us to be something more.
“Do you want to hang out tonight? Like a date?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. For a while, I’ve been getting the feeling that Ian is looking for something a little more serious, and that question confirms it.
“Sorry. I have to work,” I say, both relived to have an excuse and sad to have to turn him down. Ian is nice, even if his room at the co-op smells like a coffee roaster exploded inside of it and his greatest ambition in life is to become an “influencer” on Instagram. I just don’t want a boyfriend at the moment. I’m actively trying to find a new position as an au pair or a tutor and chances are that when I do find one, I’ll be forced to relocate for it. Ian knows this, and he’s agreed to keep things light, but now I’m wondering if I need to take a step back.
When we arrive at the co-op, I make sure to thank him profusely for the ride and even offer him the extra cookie I stole from the charity luncheon. I was going to enjoy it after work—maybe with some cheap wine—but giving it to him helps assuage my guilt over potentially leading him on.
Damn. I wanted that cookie. Boys suck.
I don’t remember that my sister texted me back until I’m upstairs in my room getting ready for my shift. I smooth down the silky material of my black cocktail dress and slide into some block-heeled black sandals before I reach for my phone and open our conversation.
His name jumps out at me in ALL CAPS, and my stomach turns over in anticipation.
I read the last few texts again, just to confirm it says what I’m hoping it does.
ELLIE: Oh! I almost forgot! Guess who’s coming in for dinner tonight.
BROOKE: Who?
ELLIE: JAMES ASHWOOD.
CHAPTER THREE
James Ashwood is celebrating. That’s what the note says by his reservation. He’s requested a table near the fireplace for him and 10 guests. There will be champagne and multiple courses, and Brian has assigned three servers to the table so every need can be met right away. When I first arrived for my shift, the chef called an all-hands meeting just to go over his table specifically. The gist: don’t fuck it up.
I’m standing behind the podium now, waiting for the first dinner guests to start arriving. It’s 5:30 PM, and James’ reservation is at 7:00 PM—an hour and a half that will feel like an eternity. Unlike when I work in the cabana, shifts in here tend to drag because I’m not constantly running around like a chicken with my head cut off. My job is to stand behind the podium in a semi-revealing yet sophisticated cocktail dress and greet guests as they walk in. I smile and offer up a polite hello then toss in a bit of tasteful small talk as I lead them on a short walk to their table. Easy peasy. In total, it takes about 30 seconds, maybe a minute if their table is across the dining room.
I use the time between guests to check my email. The tutoring agency should be getting back to me soon. They’ve informed me that positions are tight at the moment, but I have stellar references and a great education. The problem, I know, lies in the requisite headshot sitting at the bottom of my application. I wish I could add a little caption underneath that reads, Hey, by the way, I’m not trying to sleep with your husband.
“Hey! Brooke, right?”
I shove my phone beneath the podium with superhuman speed, slightly embarrassed to have been caught using it during my shift. Brian has threatened to chop fingers off if he catches us on them around the members. Fortunately, when I glance up, it’s just one of the club’s bartenders standing on the other side of the podium. I hardly recognize him outside of his usual post behind the dining room’s mahogany bar, but his silver tie provides a helpful reminder. All the bartenders wear them. Beside it, his nametag proclaims him to be Garrett.
“Hey, yeah.” I smile. “What’s up?”
I glance to my right, where the dining room sprawls out before me. Surely I haven’t already done something wrong. If I have, Ellie is going to kill me.
His smile turns crooked as he inches closer to the podium and lowers his voice.
“I know this is last minute, and you don’t even know me, but I was wondering if you might be able to help me out.”
My smile fades slightly. This dude is about to ask me to stay late. I can feel the request seeping out of his pores. He’s going to beg, I know it, and then, of course, he does. Apparently Garrett has a “hot date” that he “really can’t miss”. It’s with a woman he’s been pursuing for months, and she’s finally giving him the time of day. I feel for him, I do, but closing is for the birds, and I have plans with some cheap wine and a cookie—oh, that’s right. I gave away my only excuse. What is it with men today?
“Garrett, I’d love to help you out, but—”
“Brooke, please. I’ll pick up a shift for you! You name the day and I’ll do it!”
It’s sweet of him to offer, but somehow I don’t think our members would enjoy seeing him traipse around the pool in a pleated skirt quite as much as he thinks. Unfortunately, I’d have to help him out with no promise of anything in return. Who does he think I am, Mother freaking Teresa?
But seeing a grown man beg is kind of awkward, and there are members walking in the door behind him. I don’t want him to cause a scene, so before I fully realize what I’m doing, I agree and shoo him back to the bar.
“You’re the best! Thank you!”
As it turns out, I am not the best. I am a sad sap, which Ellie confirms when I ask her what closing duties entail.
ELLIE: NO! Why did you agree?! You need to get out of that ASAP. Do you have any idea what that means?
I have no clue. Ellie does though, and she wastes no time informing me over a string of texts.
Basically, the club closes at 10 PM, but in reality, it closes when the last member decides to leave, and for top-paying members—the men and women whose perks extend well beyond the standard service—the doors are open 24/7.
ELLIE: You’re going to be there all night! Tell Garrett to go screw himself! I bet he doesn’t even have a date!
I glance up and lock eyes with Garrett behind the bar. He layers his hands over his heart and mouths another thank-you. I want to heed Ellie’s directions, but the guy seems earnest, and what if he actually is going on a date? What if it’s his potential soul mate? I’m selfish, but standing in the way of love just seems evil.
I wave back to him and toss my phone back beneath the podium with a grumble. The next time there’s a break in guests, I head to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Apparently, it’s going to be a long night.
ELLIE: You left before I could give you the details about the shift!
BROOKE: Sorry. Had to get out of there. What should I know?
ELLIE: Make sure you check that the tables are set up right when you get there. The servers are responsible for their own sections, but I’m pretty sure Jared works tonight and he always slacks off.
BROOKE: Got it. Anything else?
ELLIE: Check in with the chef and make sure he doesn’t have any special requests for you. He likes to go over the specials with the hostess just in case a member asks about them.
I make a mental note to do both things before Ian speaks up.
“I took some new headshots today.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Marco shot them for me before he left for a job. We posed in front of the graffiti wall downtown.”
“That’s great.” I smile, feeling the buzz of another text in my lap.
ELLIE: Oh! I almost forgot! Guess who’s coming in for dinner tonight.
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
BROOKE: Who?
“Brooke.”
“I am enthusiastic!” I insist, dropping my phone and turning my attention back to him. “New headshots will really help you book jobs.”
My lap vibrates and I ignore it.
“Who are you texting anyway?”
“My sister,” I answer honestly, though I don’t like that he’s even asking me that question. Ian and I don’t owe each other anything. We’re friends, buds. We live in the co-op together, and sometimes he gives me a ride if he happens to be free. Twice in the last three months we’ve hooked up. It’s the definition of a no-strings-attached fling, but when he glances over to me, I have a sneaking suspicion that he wants us to be something more.
“Do you want to hang out tonight? Like a date?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. For a while, I’ve been getting the feeling that Ian is looking for something a little more serious, and that question confirms it.
“Sorry. I have to work,” I say, both relived to have an excuse and sad to have to turn him down. Ian is nice, even if his room at the co-op smells like a coffee roaster exploded inside of it and his greatest ambition in life is to become an “influencer” on Instagram. I just don’t want a boyfriend at the moment. I’m actively trying to find a new position as an au pair or a tutor and chances are that when I do find one, I’ll be forced to relocate for it. Ian knows this, and he’s agreed to keep things light, but now I’m wondering if I need to take a step back.
When we arrive at the co-op, I make sure to thank him profusely for the ride and even offer him the extra cookie I stole from the charity luncheon. I was going to enjoy it after work—maybe with some cheap wine—but giving it to him helps assuage my guilt over potentially leading him on.
Damn. I wanted that cookie. Boys suck.
I don’t remember that my sister texted me back until I’m upstairs in my room getting ready for my shift. I smooth down the silky material of my black cocktail dress and slide into some block-heeled black sandals before I reach for my phone and open our conversation.
His name jumps out at me in ALL CAPS, and my stomach turns over in anticipation.
I read the last few texts again, just to confirm it says what I’m hoping it does.
ELLIE: Oh! I almost forgot! Guess who’s coming in for dinner tonight.
BROOKE: Who?
ELLIE: JAMES ASHWOOD.
CHAPTER THREE
James Ashwood is celebrating. That’s what the note says by his reservation. He’s requested a table near the fireplace for him and 10 guests. There will be champagne and multiple courses, and Brian has assigned three servers to the table so every need can be met right away. When I first arrived for my shift, the chef called an all-hands meeting just to go over his table specifically. The gist: don’t fuck it up.
I’m standing behind the podium now, waiting for the first dinner guests to start arriving. It’s 5:30 PM, and James’ reservation is at 7:00 PM—an hour and a half that will feel like an eternity. Unlike when I work in the cabana, shifts in here tend to drag because I’m not constantly running around like a chicken with my head cut off. My job is to stand behind the podium in a semi-revealing yet sophisticated cocktail dress and greet guests as they walk in. I smile and offer up a polite hello then toss in a bit of tasteful small talk as I lead them on a short walk to their table. Easy peasy. In total, it takes about 30 seconds, maybe a minute if their table is across the dining room.
I use the time between guests to check my email. The tutoring agency should be getting back to me soon. They’ve informed me that positions are tight at the moment, but I have stellar references and a great education. The problem, I know, lies in the requisite headshot sitting at the bottom of my application. I wish I could add a little caption underneath that reads, Hey, by the way, I’m not trying to sleep with your husband.
“Hey! Brooke, right?”
I shove my phone beneath the podium with superhuman speed, slightly embarrassed to have been caught using it during my shift. Brian has threatened to chop fingers off if he catches us on them around the members. Fortunately, when I glance up, it’s just one of the club’s bartenders standing on the other side of the podium. I hardly recognize him outside of his usual post behind the dining room’s mahogany bar, but his silver tie provides a helpful reminder. All the bartenders wear them. Beside it, his nametag proclaims him to be Garrett.
“Hey, yeah.” I smile. “What’s up?”
I glance to my right, where the dining room sprawls out before me. Surely I haven’t already done something wrong. If I have, Ellie is going to kill me.
His smile turns crooked as he inches closer to the podium and lowers his voice.
“I know this is last minute, and you don’t even know me, but I was wondering if you might be able to help me out.”
My smile fades slightly. This dude is about to ask me to stay late. I can feel the request seeping out of his pores. He’s going to beg, I know it, and then, of course, he does. Apparently Garrett has a “hot date” that he “really can’t miss”. It’s with a woman he’s been pursuing for months, and she’s finally giving him the time of day. I feel for him, I do, but closing is for the birds, and I have plans with some cheap wine and a cookie—oh, that’s right. I gave away my only excuse. What is it with men today?
“Garrett, I’d love to help you out, but—”
“Brooke, please. I’ll pick up a shift for you! You name the day and I’ll do it!”
It’s sweet of him to offer, but somehow I don’t think our members would enjoy seeing him traipse around the pool in a pleated skirt quite as much as he thinks. Unfortunately, I’d have to help him out with no promise of anything in return. Who does he think I am, Mother freaking Teresa?
But seeing a grown man beg is kind of awkward, and there are members walking in the door behind him. I don’t want him to cause a scene, so before I fully realize what I’m doing, I agree and shoo him back to the bar.
“You’re the best! Thank you!”
As it turns out, I am not the best. I am a sad sap, which Ellie confirms when I ask her what closing duties entail.
ELLIE: NO! Why did you agree?! You need to get out of that ASAP. Do you have any idea what that means?
I have no clue. Ellie does though, and she wastes no time informing me over a string of texts.
Basically, the club closes at 10 PM, but in reality, it closes when the last member decides to leave, and for top-paying members—the men and women whose perks extend well beyond the standard service—the doors are open 24/7.
ELLIE: You’re going to be there all night! Tell Garrett to go screw himself! I bet he doesn’t even have a date!
I glance up and lock eyes with Garrett behind the bar. He layers his hands over his heart and mouths another thank-you. I want to heed Ellie’s directions, but the guy seems earnest, and what if he actually is going on a date? What if it’s his potential soul mate? I’m selfish, but standing in the way of love just seems evil.
I wave back to him and toss my phone back beneath the podium with a grumble. The next time there’s a break in guests, I head to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Apparently, it’s going to be a long night.
