“It would?” Scarlett said.
“She’s offering to pay you five hundred dollars a week,” she said. “Cash. We need the help around here, but she is your guest, and that’s a lot of money. And a good opportunity.”
Five hundred dollars a week was an actual, literal fortune. Some of her friends got almost that much for their cab, clothing, and going out allowances.
“So,” he said, “are you happy with that?”
This would have been the right time to tell them about the tuna, and the lying to the security guard. But…five hundred dollars.
There was something else lingering here, though.
“What did you decide about Spencer?” she asked.
“Spencer told us that this show is connected to NYU and Juilliard, and that doing it might give him a very good chance to go there, maybe even get another scholarship, this time for something he really wants to do,” her dad said.
“We called the culinary school,” her mother said. “They said they’d have to let his scholarship go today, but there’s no reason he can’t reapply, and they’ll make a note on his file. There is a strong chance that if he reapplies in the next few weeks, they’ll be able to give him the same package. It’s not guaranteed, but it sounds like he has a good shot.”
“We decided to let him do this show,” he finished. “If it doesn’t work, we may still be able to get him in. And combined with you getting this opportunity…”
“The two things came at the same time,” her mother finished. “With this little bit of extra security for you, we felt better about taking a chance with him.”
Of course. Of course, her taking this job was tied into Spencer’s chance.
“So…” her dad said, all smiles, “happy?”
“Thrilled,” Scarlett said.
Okay. So her summer was about to be a minefield. But she would be rich by the end of it. She could buy a whole new wardrobe. A new computer. There would be iced coffees at lunch and cabs when she needed them…
“As for the money,” her dad said, “it’s way too much to play with. So she’ll be paying us directly, and we’ll put it away for you. But you can have fifty a week. Now, we just need you to take the dirty table linens to Mrs. Foo’s and pick up Marlene’s prescriptions at Duane Reade. The linens are behind the front desk.”
Scarlett slunk out of the dining room.
The dirty tablecloths and napkins had been bundled into a large plastic bag. Obviously, they had been allowed to collect, because the bag was heavy and a bit hard to carry. She hoisted it up and it partially blocked her view. She used it as cushioning as she slammed her way back out the door.
She staggered her way down half the block, the sun beating down on her.
“Whoa!” a familiar voice said. “That looks heavy.”
A pair of hands lifted away her burden, revealing Eric. She laughed, a keening, nervous laugh—sort of like the sound made by little purse dogs when people accidentally catch their fur in the zipper. Not an alluring sound. Combine that with the fact that she was sweating and carrying twenty pounds of dirty linen…it was a pretty, pretty picture.
“Where are you going with this?” he asked.
“Down the block,” she managed to say.
“You lead the way. Can’t have you carrying this.”
She was too astonished to do or say anything when he took the bag from her.
“I’m here working with Spencer,” he said. “I just came down to get a sandwich from the place on the corner. So this works out. What’s going on today? Any more TV appearances?”
“No,” she managed, “but my new boss just tried to get me arrested for shoplifting tuna.”
He stopped and set the bag down on the sidewalk to redistribute the weight.
“Is that just a joke I don’t get, or did that happen?”
“It happened,” Scarlett said. “It definitely happened.”
“I’ve only known you for a day or two, and you’ve managed to do more weird stuff than anyone I can think of.”
He picked up the bag again, but frequently peered at her over it.
“Does crime pay well?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But I don’t get to keep any of it. It’s going to a school fund.”
“Ah, the joys of college tuition,” he said. “Thank God for my commercial. Two days of work paid for a whole year at NYU. I’d better get another one or I don’t know how I’m coming back.”
It was impossible for Scarlett to ignore that Eric needing to earn money fit nicely into the promise she had made to Spencer about rich guys.
They had reached the laundry. Eric carried the bag in and set it on the counter.
“I look forward to hearing the stories,” he said. “Promise me you’ll tell me when I see you. And I will see you. I’ll make a point of it.”
He gave her one final, devastating, and unlikely smile, then went off in search of his sandwich.
It was at that moment that Scarlett fully accepted her new employment.
ACT II