Success. I take a deep breath. No matter what this guy thinks of me, no matter how humiliating this conversation has been, with me gawking at his abs, at least I’ve achieved my goal.
“Thank you.” I say sincerely, because I don’t honestly know what I would have done if he refused. I glance at the glass of amber liquid he poured for himself as I arrived, envying him the ability to take the edge off the situation.
Maybe it’s my body language, it certainly isn’t the thanks—he’s too much of a jerk to appreciate that—but his demeanor changes. He softens, for just a moment he seems less insufferable.
He raises his glass to me, and then turns, and for half a moment, I’m sure he’s going to ask me if I want to join him for a drink. My mind whirls. What will I do if he asks? I can’t drink on the job. I can’t go into this guy’s room, not when he’s almost completely undressed, not when being in his presence is turning me into a complete fool.
I shouldn’t even want to. This is the kind of guy that I should avoid, no matter what.
The bathroom door swings open, and a bleached blonde in a halter top trips out. She’s wearing heels much higher than anything I would have dared to wear. For a moment, that’s the most absurd part of the scenario—her four inch stilettos, and then another girl staggers out of the same tiny bathroom, laughing as she grabs the chest of drawers for support. I recognize the second girl. Dawn, I think her name is. I met her earlier, when I was getting introduced to some of the housekeeping staff.
“God, Cruise, what was in that drink?” she asks, still laughing. “And what happened to the music?”
“We’ve been asked to turn the music down,” the guy—Cruise—says without expression.
They both turn to look at me. Despite the laughter from a moment ago, their eyes are hard, unfriendly.
“That’s bullshit,” the other girl says. “Doesn’t she know—”
“It’s her first night on the job, she doesn’t know anything,” Cruise says, and the truth of this brings tears to my eyes.
I open my mouth, prepared to defend myself, but his eyes skewer me. He’s right, I don’t know anything, and what’s more, he’s laughing at me. He knows how uncomfortable I am right now—the blonde comes up behind him and puts her arms around him possessively, as if I’m going to steal him away. As if I could. Cruise is drunk, but with two women in his room, he’s far from desperate.
Dawn is laughing again. I can’t tell what she’s laughing at, it could be the television, which is on in the background, or something on her phone, but my face burns. I know, instinctively, that they’re most likely all laughing at me.
The music is back on, though maybe not as loud as before. Cruise turns, prepared to say something to Dawn, who turned it on after he switched it off, but something passes between them and he changes his mind.
Before I can say anything else, the door slams in my face.
I could shove it open. If they lock it, I could even go get a key, but I’m not sure of the point. The music isn’t as loud, and my shift is about to be over.
Mocking female laughter follows me as I walk away.
The only good thing I can say about this moment in my life, is that my first shift at Seascape Villas is complete. Besides the continued music from Villa Seven, the rest of the hotel seems to be settling down for sleep. It’s quiet enough, walking back to the lobby, that I can hear the surf, and the sound calms me.
Passing through the lobby – I’m staying in the main building of the hotel until I can find an apartment -- the night clerk gives me a thumbs up. I stumble toward the elevator, doing my best not to let my brain replay the interaction with Cruise and his two female friends.
As disgusted as I am by the guy’s not-even-sincere—at least I hope it wasn’t sincere—proposition, I can’t help wondering what might be happening in Villa Seven. What…even happens in a situation like that? Three attractive people having drinks…the only furniture in the room was the bed…Cruise’s bed, and the dresser they were using as a sideboard. Cruise’s bed…the three of them…my face burns even as I speculate. My imagination goes to some crazy places, but I’m completely unsure if I’m right or wrong. Maybe they’re just hanging out, conversing…or maybe not. Sometimes I hate being such a good girl, but it’s a hard cliché to break out of.
I’ve been waiting for the right guy for a long time, but I’m not sure if the waiting just makes me more miserable, and maybe it makes it less likely that I’ll ever meet him.
Those three seemed like they were having an excellent time. And…Cruise has to be…the right guy for someone.