“No, just that I need you to stay in one of their rooms to get the feel of what it’s like from an actual guest's perspective,” he replies.
“Do you want me to write a report for you or anything?” I ask.
“No, his business is truly none of my concern. He’s an old friend who needs some help, and he knows you’re the best in the business.”
“I’ll take care of it Mr. Davis and I’ll talk to you on Monday,” I reply.
“Thanks Derrick.” With that, the line goes dead. Relaxing back into my chair, I can’t help but think how this is the perfect opportunity for me to see Blake again.
Jumping up and lifting my left leg, I power kick the hell out of the punching bag in front of me. Sweat rolls down my face, neck and chest as I alternate between my legs and taped up fists kicking and punching the bag. I’ve been coming to the gym in the resort more than I usually do. Taking a break, I pick up my towel, wiping myself down. Draping the towel over my shoulder, I lean down and pick up my water bottle. Breathing hard from exertion and chugging back the contents of the water bottle, I think of Blake. With today being Friday, it has been almost two weeks since I’ve seen her.
A little while later, I made reservations for my weekend stay at The Beachfront Inn. Driving south towards Ocean City, my left leg bounces with anticipation of seeing Blake, while the right holds steady on the accelerator. I could have stayed home tonight and drove down tomorrow morning, but I thought I’d stop by Frankie’s Tavern tonight.
Thirty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of the Inn just as dusk approaches. Stepping out of my car, I reach in the back for my bags. Making my way inside, I stop at the check-in desk.
“Hello, welcome to The Beachfront Inn. Are you checking in?” the representative says to me.
Smiling at her, I respond, “Yes, I made a reservation earlier. It’s under Derrick James.”
A blush creeps up her neck and onto her face as her eyes go wide at my response. Quickly searching for my information on her computer, she says, “Yes, Mr. James, you requested a suite?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, all I need is a credit card to put on file and I’ll get your keys ready.”
Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my wallet and hand her my Black Amex credit card. Taking it, she runs it through the system. Handing me back my card and the keys she says, “Okay, Mr. James, you’re all set. If there’s anything else I can help you with please let me know.” Smiling back at her, I’m just about to say thank you when she extends her hand out to me and says, “I’m Katie, by the way.”
Taking her hand in mine, I gently shake it and say, “Thank you Katie.”
I step inside the elevator car and push the button for the fourteenth floor, which also happens to be the top floor. As the car arrives with a ding, the doors slide open and I step out. Finding my room with ease, I slide the key card into its scanner. The green light flashes letting me know to push down on the handle.
Stepping into the room, I can see why this Inn has issues with its profits. The carpet is in good condition, the bathroom is clean, and the view is great, but everything is outdated. A kitchenette is to my right in its own alcove with the entrance to the bathroom right past it. The room size is small, but feels spacious. A king sized bed sits up against the right wall. Light brown nightstands adorn each side of the bed with a lamp, clock and phone on top of the nightstand beside the window. A lamp and pamphlet, for what I can only assume is room service, sits on top of the other nightstand. Turning my attention to the bed, my lips turn up with disgust when I see the linens. Running my fingers along the comforter, the polyester has me pulling my hand back immediately. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping with that thing on the bed. It’s an assembly of colors, from green, to blue, to brown, to grey that doesn’t mix. The sheets are white and the pillows are fluffy. Shrugging, I think at least it’s not that bad. Directly across from the foot of the bed sits a dresser with a tube TV on it. A small closet sits in the opposite wall across from the kitchenette behind the door.
I can’t believe I let Mr. Davis talk me into this shit. I could have stayed somewhere a lot nicer, but he’d asked me to stay here so I could get a sense of what a normal guest's experience is like. If this is what they consider a suite, then I can only imagine what a normal room looks like. Looking at my watch, it’s seven in the evening and I’m starving. Picking my bags up off the floor, I place them on the bed. Patting my pockets to make sure that I have my wallet, keys and key card, I leave the room, not looking back.
Pulling up to Frankie’s, I get out of my car and make my way inside the bar. Because it’s still early, the place is almost empty. I scan the bar looking for the one person I’ve been thinking about. Blake. She stands behind the bar talking with and smiling at the tall brown-haired guy I remember meeting at the meet and greet. Dean. When she looks up towards the entrance, our eyes connect. A look of shock spreads across her face as she follows me with her eyes, watching me walk towards the bar. Perching on top of a stool, I sit and wait as she stares at me.
Shifting my eyes to Dean, who is standing across the bar from her, he quietly murmurs something to her then slowly she turns her head to him and nods. Fixing her attention back to me, she hangs her head and runs her palms against her jeans. I watch as her chest slowly heaves up and down. Lifting her head back up, our eyes connect once again and a slow smile spreads across her face as she walks toward me.
Smiling, I wait for her to approach. Stepping in front of me, she nods and says, “Mr. James.”
Still smiling, I nod back and respond, “Blake. Please call me Derrick. Mr. James sounds too formal.”
I can feel her apprehension emanating from her as she tries holding onto her composure. Her smile is forced, but I have to say it’s better than the tension she wore the last time we spoke.
“What can I get for you, another Miller Lite?” She asks.
Raising an eyebrow, I grin and tap my forefinger against my temple and say, “Ah-ha…you remembered. Yes, thank you.”
Reaching for a glass, she looks over her shoulder at me and says, “So what are you doing back in Ocean City? Are you here again as a guest speaker for another seminar?” Her tone is shaky as if it pains her to talk to me.
Shaking my head I say, “No, no more seminars. I’m here on business for the weekend.”
Turning back around, she hands me my glass and says, “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“You guys serve food here right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she answers.
“All right then, I want to order something.”
Reaching under the bar, she grabs for a menu and hands it to me. Tapping the edge of the bar, she says, “I’ll be back to check on you in a minute.”
“Sure, take your time,” I respond casually.
She nods and taps the bar a couple more times as if she’s contemplating something. What, I don’t know. She walks off, back to where Dean has been quietly watching us. Smiling at her, he nods as she says something. I can’t help but watch how they interact with each other. Something about her has changed. I don’t know what it is, but I think like it.
Peeking over at me, her whole face glows with a genuine smile. I open the menu and quickly avert my eyes, looking down at the options before me. I don’t want her to think I’m some weirdo who stares at her. As I close the menu and put it down on the bar, Blake walks back to me. Smiling, as she stands in front of me, she says, “So Derrick, what’s it going to be?”
“I’ll take a cheeseburger, cooked medium and disco fries, please.”
Retrieving the menu from the bar top, she turns to walk away when I say in a rush, “Blake wait.” Stopping mid-stride, I see her shoulders tense when she spins back around. “I have one quick question. What are Disco fries?”
Quietly chuckling, her shoulders relax when she says, “Well, it’s French fries smothered in brown gravy and mozzarella cheese. You know bar food,” she answers with a shrug of her shoul
ders. Taking in my curled lips and furrowed eyebrows, a laugh escapes her. Slapping a hand across her mouth with wide eyes as if she can’t believe she just laughed, I start laughing in return. Dropping her hand from her mouth, she says around a smile, “It’ll be okay, Derrick. You might be surprised by how much you like them.”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I say in a playful tone, “I’m holding you to it.” Grinning back she nods once, turns on the heel of her foot doing an about face and walks through a set of double doors disappearing into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, returning with plate in hand, she sets my order down in front of me. The only thing I can smell is grease. I can feel my arteries clogging just by inhaling. Looking up at her, I’d eat just about anything to keep that smile on her beautiful face.
Watching Derrick’s face morph into a look of disgust when I sat his food in front of him had me wanting to laugh. I wouldn’t say the burger put that look on his face—no, it was probably the Disco Fries. Even I’m not a fan of them. There’s something about brown gravy and mozzarella on top of French fries that doesn’t sit well with me.
Standing across from Dean, I blatantly stare at Derrick. Dean interrupts my gazing and says, “Look at you; you can’t even tear your eyes away from the man.”
Snapping back to reality, I roll my eyes and turn my head back to Dean as I lean against the bar saying, “Whatever. I’m just waiting to see if he’s really going to eat that shit.” Peeking out of the corners of my eyes, I look over to see Derrick lift a fry as he watches the gravy dripping onto the fries below and the mozzarella in a stringy state clinging to the other fries.
“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Dean says.
Focusing my eyes back to him, my eyebrows dipped in, I say, “Huh?”
Shrugging, he says, “You know because you’re really trying. I know I had to coach you into smiling at him and being nice earlier, but I’ve seen you smiling a little more on your own—it’s nice.”
“Yeah I really am trying,” I agree with him. Tapping the bar with my fingernails I say, “I’ll be right back I’m going to see if he needs anything else.”
“I bet you are,” he says playfully, and pushes away from the bar, before I can make my own come back for that little comment. A smug grin pulls at the corners of his lips as he points in the direction of the doors. He adds, “I need to get over there anyway and get ready to start checking IDs.”
Shouting across the bar, I say, “Yeah I bet you do!”
Walking in the direction of where Derrick sits, I can see he’s only eaten his burger. I ask, “Can I get you anything else?”
Wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin, he shakes his head while swallowing down his food. Reaching for his beer, he takes a swig and says, “Sorry, I just couldn’t do the Disco Fries.”
“Yeah, not your thing I take it?” I reply.
“Uh…no, I couldn’t get past the smell or the looks of it.”
Chuckling, my nose scrunches, my eyes narrow, and I shake my head in disgust while saying, “It’s not really my thing either.” Pointing at his plate, I ask, “You want me get that out of the way?”
“Yeah, thanks. And if you didn’t like them, why didn’t you save me from them?”
Lifting my shoulder in a shrug I respond, “I don’t know. To each his own I guess. It’s a popular item in the bars around here. Lots of people order them.”
“Well I won’t be making that mistake again,” he adds before taking another swig of his almost empty beer glass.
I grab his glass to refill it at the same time he hands it over to me. My fingers brush against his as I pull the glass back quickly. I will myself not to back away, not to tense up from an innocent touch. Taking a deep breath I look him directly in the eyes and try to force down the uneasiness that I’m certain will be evident in my tone and ask, “Would you like another?” Lifting the glass insinuating another beer.
“Sure, sounds good,” he replies.
I can feel his eyes on me as I pour his beer. Glancing over my shoulder at the incoming crowd, I flip the tap back in its upright position stopping the flow of barley and hops. With a small smile, I return his beer and just as I turn to walk away, he calls out to me, “You know what? That looks lovely on you.”
Slowly turning back around, I hold onto my composure for dear life. I straighten my stance and square my shoulders. “What?” I ask with a slight shake to my tone.
Obviously, he doesn’t notice my posture has now gone rigid. I’m doing my best to keep from taking frantic breaths. He just points at me and says, “Your smile. I like it. The past two times that we’ve seen each other I haven’t seen you smile.”
Clenching my jaws, it takes every bit of will power that I have not to get defensive from that comment.
Just as I’m about to make some snarky retort, Dean’s words slam into me like a ton of bricks, “Sometimes you come off as rude, bitchy, and with an attitude.” Releasing the tension in my jaws, I take a painstakingly slow and controlled breath as I say, “Thank you.”
Quickly turning away from him before he can say anything else, I make my way to the other end of the bar to help some other customers. Nearing a group of guys at the middle of the bar, I look at them and ask, “How’s it going this evening?” After what Derrick just said, I’m a little on edge. It’s not that I’ve never been complimented before, it just doesn’t happen often. The guys all greet me back in unison. I can see the guy in the middle of the group, sitting directly across from where I’m standing, won’t take his eyes off me. Feeling an uneasiness setting in I hesitantly ask, “What can I get for y’all?”
Calling their drink orders out to me at the same time, I begin pouring shots and filling glasses of beer simultaneously. Passing out their drinks, I look to the guy in the middle and realize he’d not called out his drink order with the rest of them.
Nodding in his direction, I cautiously ask, “And what about you?”
“I want a Jack and Coke on the rocks.” His breath reeks of whiskey when he answers. Taking a couple of steps back from him for fear I might get drunk off his breath alone, I mix his drink, purposely making it weak.
I hand him his drink, and he grins at me while drumming his fingers against the bar with the beat to the song that’s playing over the loud speakers. Placing the edge of the glass up to his lips, he tips it back before the edge even makes a connection. Liquor and coke spill down the front of him like a waterfall. Instantly he’s jumping up off the barstool swiping at his drenched clothes. With wide eyes, I try to stifle a laugh as he looks over at me with menacing eyes. Slamming the glass down on the bar, the sound alone makes me jump. Frozen still from the fear seeping into my veins, the guy points at the glass and yells, “Well don’t just fucking stand there. Make me another fuckin’ drink bitch, and hand me a towel while you’re at it.”
With wide eyes, I clench my fists so tight my nails pierce the skin of my palms. Rage rises up in me like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Red is all I see as the veins in my neck begin to bulge and I yell back, “Fuck you! Take your drunk ass and get the fuck out!”
His eyes bulges as he lunges towards me trying to make his way across the bar. Stepping back, I slam into the liquor shelf behind me. I see Derrick pulling the man off the bar backwards by the collar of his shirt. In a flash, Derrick has the guy in a chokehold and one of his arms tucked behind and into his back. The guy’s free arm pulls at Derrick’s forearm as Derrick leans down. With an acerbic tone, he tells the guy, “You need to apologize now.”
Watching the scene unfold in front of me, the loser’s friends rush toward Derrick, but when they see his expression, they slowly back away. Red faced, the guy’s eyes dart back and forth between his friends when he squeaks out from behind the crushing power of Derrick’s arm around his throat, “Fuck you,” he spits out.
“Wrong answer, asshole, try again,” Derrick says through gritted teeth. I watch as Derrick’s arm tightens around the guy’s throat.
I can tell he’s about to pass out when he croaks out, “I…I’m…sor…sorry.”
Releasing a good amount of pressure from around the guy’s throat, Derrick asks me, “How much does this asshole owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t want his fuckin’ money. I just want him to get the hell out,” I answer back.
Quickly I glance over in Dean’s direction yelling for him to remove this piece of shit, but he doesn’t hear me. He’s standing half way in and half way out of the bar checking IDs, letting more and more people in.
Nodding, Derrick releases the guy, shoving him away from the bar. Waving his hand towards the door he says, “Walk, motherfucker, you heard her. She said get the fuck out.” Shaking his arms and cracking his neck from side to side, the guy looks between me and Derrick then turns around cussing his friends out for not helping him and leaving with them in tow.
With my rage subsiding, I’m now in a state of shock and confusion. Watching the guys leave, Dean looks over to me just as Mike, another bartender who’s working with me tonight walks in. I’m at a loss for what to do. With my eyes glued to Derrick, I can’t seem to tear them away. Stepping behind the bar and taking in my expression Mike comes up standing next to me asking if I’m okay. With my eyes still locked on Derrick’s the only response I can give is a slight shake of the head. Being the one to break eye contact first sucks, but I look up at Mike and say in a hushed tone, “I need a break.”
Looking back over to Derrick, I see his eyes still fixed on me and that’s when I notice for the first time that everyone’s focus is on me. My head turns from one side of the bar to the other taking in their expressions. They all sit quietly with wide eyes, subtly sipping on their drinks. I don’t know why they’re all focused on me. I don’t know what they’re waiting for, maybe to see if I’ll break down and cry. That will never happen because I only cry in private.
Taking a deep breath and hanging my head, I make my way out from behind the bar and over to Derrick. Coming to a stop in front of him, I lock my fingers together behind my back. Looking up at him, I whisper, “Thank you.”
Luck of Love Page 6
