“When?”
The waiter comes up to their table. A young man with skin as smooth as the blackboard where the lunch special is written in chalk. His eyes scan Margot’s face briefly and she looks down, her hand fluttering to her hair to smooth strands that lifted from the light sea breeze. It’s Alphonso the waiter speaks to, as though he’s the only one at the table. “Can I get you a drink, sah?”
“A Red Stripe for me. What do you want, Margot?” Alphonso asks, bringing her into the conversation.
“A promotion,” Margot replies, too loudly.
Alphonso stares at her with his penny-colored eyes. He then fans away the visibly perplexed young waiter. “That’ll be all for now. Just get the lady a glass of water.” The waiter bows and leaves the table. Alphonso leans in as though he wants to climb over the table and smack Margot across the face. “I said, your time will come.”
Margot laughs. “I’ve been hearing that for years now, Alphonso. I’ve seen other people get promoted. I’ve seen Dwight parade around the place like a jackass, pretending to be in charge. I’m tired of lying in bed with you feeding you ideas that you use without giving me credit. Or listening to you talk about how hard it is to run a hotel that your father still controls from the grave.”
The waiter comes back with Alphonso’s beer. He only takes Alphonso’s lunch order, since Margot has lost her appetite. She folds her arms across her chest, staring out at the deep blue waves in the farthest distance of the ocean. She should’ve known this would happen. She’s the one with the blinders on. Why would Alphonso give her the position to manage his hotel, and not someone else with connections? Isn’t that what this is about? How many connections you have? Your family name? The reality stirs inside her belly, bellowing like the hunger pangs she refuses to assuage. She excuses herself from the table just as the waiter comes back with Alphonso’s food. “I have to leave,” she says.
“Was there something you wanted to ask me?” Alphonso says.
“I forgot.” Margot gets up and pushes her chair under the table.
“Well, I want to see you tonight.”
“Alphonso, you know I—”
“Please. I promise you’ll like the deal I have in store for you.” He winks at her as he puts a forkful of fish into his mouth and chews. Margot stands there for a moment longer, staring at his mouth. Had they been more than they were, she would’ve made a public display of dabbing the oil residues from each side.
Margot needs a distraction. She wheels into the street, blind to moving cars and deaf to their horns. She walks in a zigzag pattern, turning the heads of passersby. If they look any closer they might see the knife rammed in her back, its blade deep inside her chest. She stops under a tree to catch her breath and hide from the sun. As air slowly fills her lungs, so does the sharp pain of the moment Alphonso snatched it. “I love you, Margot.” She had heard him right. So what happened? Who is this bitch he has given Margot’s job to?
Eight years ago Alphonso put himself in charge of his father’s hotel empire. When word got around that the son of Reginald Senior and heir to his hotel empire would be on the property, everyone scattered, fixing what didn’t need fixing, straightening uniforms and hair and papers on desks. The front desk clerks assumed postures. The concierges stood erect like police officers during a Jamaica House event, the housekeepers dusted places that were already glistening with shine. And the gardeners watered flowers and the manicured hedges that were already watered. Alphonso exited from a chauffeured vehicle and Paul, the concierge, gave a slight bow when Alphonso approached the door. “Good day, sah,” he said. But Alphonso didn’t respond.