I sip some lemonade and try to think of literally anything I can convince my mom to let me get out of here and I don't know, do a puzzle or something, anythin other than standing around watching people we know flirt and people we don't know dance, when Sol comes up to us and smiles and makes small talk and eventually gives a conspiratorial nod over at Rory and Mara. “Everyone always gets a little jazzed up when she makes it to the mountain,” I say.
“Who's that she's talking to?” my mom asks.
“Ah, that's Mara Del Olmo,” he says. “Our head dance instructor. We got her from New York a few summers ago. I was skeptical at first. Just 'cause she's so small, of course. But then she said she had the perfect partner, someone who'd be just right for the job, and he's not so big himself. So it all worked out. People come just for her.”
“And she and, uh, Rory,” Mom says (you know her name, Mom, stop trying to act cool) “Are friends?”
Sol grins. “Friends, sure. Those two are the worst-kept secret on the mountain.”
“Ohhh,” my mom says.
I think I need more lemonade. Or a cold shower. Or a really long session with a really good therapist. What is going on with me?
I settle for more lemonade. There's a tap on my shoulder while I'm over at the refreshment table. Josh, sans Bekah.
“Having a good time?” he says.
“Oh yeah, thrilling.”
He laughs, doing this thing where he ducks his head so his hair gets in his eyes. “Want to get out of here?” he says.
“And do what?”
He shrugs, eyes on me. “Whatever you want.”
Bekah appears over his shoulder. “Where are we going?” she says. “I'm in.”
He rolls his eyes at me, just a little, and sticks his tongue in his cheek. “Sure,” he says. “I'll give you guys the behind the scenes tour.”
He has no idea how much of that I've already had, but Bekah says yes and I say yes and we follow him into the clubhouse.
“I can't believe Rory Richards is here,” Bekah says. “She's like so pretty in real life. She dresses all boy but she's so pretty. It's not even real.”
“She's here a lot,” Josh says. “You get used to it.” He leads us to the ballroom and takes us through a door in the back. “Aaand here we go. Kitchens.”
Bekah sucks in a breath. “This is my dream.”
“She's a good cook,” I say.
“Yeah, I bet,” he says. Everything in here is shiny chrome—how is it this clean already when dinner was an hour ago? He leads us to a massive refrigerator and tugs it open. “Okay, what can I get you girls?”
“Oooh, let's see,” Bekah says, and she scrunches in close to Josh to look inside, but I'm distracted by someone I can see through the window into the dining room. It's Tristan, talking on a landline in the middle of the otherwise empty room, just him and the phone and a load of tables and chairs. I can't hear him, but he's standing very still, his palm pressed against his forehead, just nodding slightly over and over.
And I remember Josh giving Mara shit about Tristan the first time I saw them, and something in me just knows I can't let him see what's going on in there.
Tristan hangs up and kicks a chair. I think he's crying.
“You know what, we should go back,” I say. “I think Mom wanted to talk to us about something.” I give Bekah my biggest eyes and strongest sister vibes I possibly can.
She shrugs and looks at me like I'm speaking a different language. So much for that. “You go,” she says. “I'm having fun.”
I grab her hand and pinch it.
“God, bitch, fine,” she says. “Sorry, Josh.”
“It's all right,” he says. “I'll walk you back.”
“Such a gentleman,” Bekah says. I try to position myself between them and the window on the way out. I glance in on our way out—yeah, he's definitely crying.
He sees me and freezes for a second, then mouths, Mara?
I nod.
Thank you.
Mara is still talking to Rory when we get back to the pavilion, and I'm trying to gather the courage to interrupt when I see Oscar clearing a bunch of dishes from the refreshment table. Perfect. I bring him the trash can and help him clean up. “I need your help,” he says.
'What's up?”
“Something's wrong with Tristan.”
He snaps his head up. “How do you know about that?”
“I don't...I don't know anything.. I just know he's in the dining room and he's upset and he wants Mara.”
He sighs. “Of course he does.” I didn't think about the fact that Oscar might be offended that Tristan asked for Mara instead of him. Shit. But Oscar says, “Okay, thank you,” and has no qualms with interrupting Mara's conversation with Rory—I feel like he might not even know who Rory Richards is, and if he's faking he's doing a much more convincing job than everybody else around here—and whispering in her ear.
Mara excuses herself right away and starts to leave with Tristan. I follow them, as if they're not going to know where the dining room is without me.
“Stupid boy breaking down in public,” Mara's mumbling. “Everyone's going to know all his shit.”
“It's not exactly in public...” I say.
She turns to me. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“She's the one who found him,” Oscar says.
“What's going on?” I say.
“He and Mara just found out this big showcase they do at a hotel near here got pushed back a few days,” he says. “It was supposed to be next Monday, now it's next Wednesday.”
“So what's so bad about that?” I say.
“So he has something important he has to do on Wednesday,” Oscar says. “Something he can't reschedule.”
“Well I'm sure the hotel can—”
Mara stops walking. “No, Sugar, the hotel cannot. Do you really think that in the, what, two and a half seconds since you found out about this, you're going to think of a solution like call the hotel that we haven't thought of? Do you think you've got to be a rich girl to come up with brilliant ideas like that?”
Oscar says, “To be fair, sometimes that kind of shit works when rich girls do it.”
Mara snorts out a laugh and charges into the dining room.
I hang back just a little with Oscar. “What is it that he has to do that's so important?” I say.
“He's...having surgery,” Oscar says.
“Is he sick?”
“No.”
“Then why...” I say, but I drift off a little while I watch Mara comfort him. The way she puts her hands on him, and kisses his cheek, how different she is from the girl who was yelling at me outside. I can't think of a decent solution in two seconds, but she can become a whole different person.
She wipes off his cheek and kisses him again and talks to him quietly in a voice I can't hear. She takes her sweater off and drapes it over his shoulders.
“Out the back door,” she says. “Come on.” How many doors does this building have? This one, I figure out, is a shortcut towards the staff quarters. The three of them head up the long path to the old clubhouse, and no one stops me so I just tag along.
Mara and Oscar get Tristan settled with a cup of coffee and a glass of whiskey and he huddles on the couch while they collapse in various old-looking chairs. I linger by the door, ready to get kicked out the second I say the wrong thing.
Which might be pretty immediately, because I can't keep my mouth shut. “Maybe if you talked to your doctor you could reschedule,” I say.
Mara looks like she's about to beat the shit out of me. Tristan just looks tired. He says, “Who told you, your little boyfriend?”
I honestly have no idea if he means Oscar or Josh, but Oscar clears it up by saying, “No, it was me. I didn't tell her what kind.”
“Well, Jesus, man, now she's going to think I'm a Make a Wish kid or some shit,” he says. He closes his eyes and sighs. “You don't go spreading this around, you got that? No telling your doctor
mother, I don't want...”
“You don't have to tell her,” Mara says.
Oscar says, “She can handle it.”
“You don't know shit about her,” Mara says. “None of us do.”
“I'm trans, all right?” Tristan says. “I'm a trans guy. Looking like this—” he gestures up and down himself, “takes a lot of work. I've been saving up for two years to get my top surgery that's going to make it a lot less work and is gonna mean I don't have to bind the shit out of myself just to dance, and now...”
“Okay,” I say. “So the surgery's really important.”
Mara snorts. “She's a genius.”
“Can you shut the fuck up?” I say. “I'm just catching up here.”
I can't believe I just said that. I don't think they can either. Oscar's trying not to crack up, and Mara takes a slug of Tristan's whiskey that I realize is completely to hide the fact that she's smiling.
“So the surgery can't be rescheduled,” I say. “Right?”
Tristan nods. “The cancellation fees are practically as bad as paying for the whole thing,” he says. “So I'd have to save up again from scratch. And I can't...I can't keep waiting. I can't do it.”
“There's got to be some way to reschedule one of them,” I say.
“There's not,” Mara says. “What did I tell you? We've been on the phone with the hotel all day. Tristan's called his surgeon. There's no magic answer, seriously, are you listening?”
“But if you tell the hotel the situation,” I say. “Or tell Sol that you need it rescheduled.”
“Sol has no idea I'm having surgery,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Because who the hell hasn't followed up I'm having surgery by asking what kind? I'm already gonna piss him off burning through sick days when I'm recovering. I have a friend who's coming to cover me but he's working in Vegas until the day after the show.”
“And he can't get out early?”
Mara throws up her hands. “I cannot with this girl.”
“I'm just suggesting—”
“Why do you think we would not have thought of these things?” she says. “Do you really think we just sit around complaining before we've explored every single option? You think you grow up like we did and leave stones unturned, or is really that you think money buys brains?”
“Why can't Sol know what kind of surgery it is?” I say. “I don't think he's some major bigot.”
“You don't have to be a major bigot to have an issue with a trans guy when he's standing right in front of you, taking your money,” Tristan says. “Trust me.”
“He can't fire you for it. It's against the law.”
“A law that has a hundred loopholes built in,” he says. “He could fire me for applying with a name that's not my legal name. That means I lied on my resume, bam, fired, no discrimination.”
“That's...”
“We know exactly what that is, Sugar,” Mara says. “We don't need you hear to spell things out.”
Oscar says, “Mara, go easy on her, okay?”
“It's fine, really,” I say.
Tristan sips his drink and makes a face at it. “I hate this shit,” he says.
“Yeah, well, it's cheap whiskey, it's not for nursing,” Mara says.
I sit down, finally. “So what are the consequences if you cancel at the hotel?” I say. I can tell Mara wants to get pissed again but that she also can't fault this one, at least, for being a pretty reasonable question.
“We lose our bonus for this summer,” Tristan says. “And we lose our jobs here next summer. Both me and Mara.”
Mara rolls her eyes. “Don't worry about Mara. Mara gets by.”
I say, “So what if Mara goes and somebody fills in for you?”
And that one sets Mara up again. “How would we not have thought of that possibility?” she says. “How would we not have exhausted every—”
“Everybody on the entertainment staff works their asses off,” Oscar says. “Nobody has time to learn the steps and nobody can even take the night off. That kind of shuffling would definitely let Sol know that something was up.”
“Or at least let Josh know, who'd report straight to his grandaddy,” Tristan says. “Ever since I found out I'm trans he's just waiting for me to mess up so he can get me out of here.”
“How did he find out?” I say.
Tristan looks at me. “Why the hell does that matter?”
“You're right. Sorry. Um...okay. What if I talk to Josh?”
Tristan says. “Did you not hear a single word, or...?”
“He's into me,” I say. “What if I talk to him, try to tell him...I don't know, how impressive I'd think it would be if he could get the hotel to move around their schedule just because he asks him to. Appeal to his ego. It could work.”
“No,” Tristan says. “He's just going to ask why you need it.”
“I'll tell him I want to take a lesson from Mara that day and it has to be that day so she can't be at the other hotel. Your name won't even come up.”
“Why would it have to be that night?” Mara says.
“I'll think of something,” I say. “Let me at least try."
“This isn't a game,” Mara says.
“I'm not playing,” I say. “Look, you're the one who gave me shit about not leaving stones unturned. Well, maybe I could fix all this in one conversation with Josh, and maybe I couldn't. But are you really not going to let me even try when it could fix everything? Nobody gets fired, nobody loses their bonus, everybody gets their surgery.”
“It's a big ol' surgery party,” Mara says.
“Let her try,” Oscar says. “She's smart, she can figure out how to work him.”
“Yeah, 'cause people named Sugar are usually just full of practical skills,” Mara says.
“She worked us into letting her up here,” Oscar says. “Twice. Didn't she?”
“Technically she worked you,” Mara says.
Tristan says, “It's okay with me. If you think maybe you can do it...”
“I can do it,” I say. “I can do it.”
Chapter 3
Josh laughs. “You want me to do what?”
I'm in the kitchen with him before lunch the next day, helping him unload bottles of wine from the fridge. He hands them to me, and I line them up neatly next to the crystal glasses.
“I tried to schedule a lesson with Mara that day and she said she has to go perform at the...what's it called?”
“Valley Falls,” he says. “Stupid name.”
“Right, she said they have that performance that night.”
“So do it during the day.”
“I can't, I'm taking drawing lessons during the day.”
“So do it any other evening,” he says.
“It has to be that evening because it's my sister's birthday, and every year on her birthday she throws a tantrum about the present my mother got her, and I would really, really like an excuse to miss it.” This is a lie. Bekah's birthday is in November, and she only throws a tantrum every third year or so.
He hands me another bottle. “Careful with that wine. That costs as much as a college semester.”
“No way.”
“Look, find something else to do that night,” he says. “Take an extra art lesson. Take a swimming lesson. Disappear and hook up with me. What does it matter? Why does it have to be that? And more importantly, why is this my problem?”
“Because,” I say, and I try to do some flirty thing.
He rolls his eyes. “You're clearly not interested in me and we both know it.”
“So you suggest me hooking up with you why...?”
He shrugs. “What have I got to lose?”
“Who says I'm not interested in you?” I say. I throw a little wiggle in there.
He raises an eyebrow. “That's pathetic.”
I sigh.
“Why don't you tell me the real reason you want me to change it?” he says. “At least that would be more intrigu
ing.”
“I can't,” I say.
“He crosses his arms, wine bottle danging from one hand. So much for being careful. “Is this about Tristan?” he says.
“What? No.” I almost say Tristan who? but that seems like overkill.
“You don't want him to go away for a night?” he says. “You know whenever I move it to, he's still gonna have to go. Leave you all alone.”
Maybe this is my only shot. “Not if...not if it's on Monday instead of Wednesday,” I say. “I can't just go to a different resort and see him on Bekah's birthday. But I could totally sneak away on Monday. I really want to watch him perform.”
“Sugar,” he says.
“What?”
“You know what he is, right?”
“He's not anything,” I say, which really feels like it came out wrong.
When Josh coughs out a laugh and says “Ain't that the truth,” I'm pretty damn sure it came out wrong, yeah.
I can feel this slipping out of reach. “I just think,” I say, “That it would be really cool if you could just change this. I mean, you're going to be running this place sometime, right? It's good practice.”
“Going over my grandfather's head to do you a personal favor when there's absolutely nothing in it for me is good practice? You're not using your head. There's no reason I'd do this for you. Careful with that wine, Sugar.”
“It would just be a nice thing to do,” I say.
“You're not gonna sleep with me, so I don't really see a reason for me to do a nice thing for you,” he says. “Tristan's gotten everywhere he has in life by people feeling sorry for him, so I don't really see a reason for me to do a nice thing for him.”
“What about for Mara?” he says.
“I couldn't care less about Mara. Look, I'm not wishing anything bad's gonna happen to them or something. I just don't care.”
“Something bad is going to happen if he can't move this date,” I say.
He stops and looks at me. “Oh yeah? And what's that.”
“I can't...I can't tell you,” I say.
“So none of this has anything to do with me,” he says.
I set down the wine bottle and start to go.
Sugar Summer Page 3
