by Lynn, Brandy
Edwin gets right down to business, probing me with questions. “So Natalia tells me you’re a dancer.” I see his eyes access me, wondering if I do, in fact, dance. Most people wouldn’t think so by looking at me, but my body is as fluid as it’s ever been. Years behind bars left me lots of time to work out to make sure my body was in the best shape of my life.
“I am. I took dance all throughout my childhood and teenage years, sir,” I answer confidently with pride in my talent reverting in my voice.
“Good to know. And please, call me Edwin. Sir makes me think of my father,” he says.
“Right. No problem, Edwin.” I laugh a little awkwardly.
“I was actually offered a full scholarship to Juilliard.” I pull out my acceptance letter from the hidden pocket in my wallet where I’ve kept it all this time. It’s a bit worn and wrinkled, but you can still read the letter clear as day. Bittersweet memories flood my mind. I’ll never forget the moment I received the letter, and how thrilled I was. So glad to finally be getting out. If only I knew then what I know now. My life was about to drastically change, but not in the way I had hoped. Who knew one letter would set off a chain of events. I bring myself back to the present. Realizing I completely zoned out, I ask him, “I’m sorry, can you repeat that, please?” He looks a little frustrated at my lack of concentration. I have to get my shit together. Bombing this interview would be suicide for me. I might as well be dead if I do that. I need this. I make sure to think about my next answer as he repeats his question.
“Ah, so why aren’t you there? At Juilliard or, at the very least, in New York, pursuing a career in dance?” He quirks an eyebrow inquisitively, trying to figure me out. He taps his foot impatiently as he waits for me to answer.
I ponder my next response. Mulling it over in my head, I wonder how this could go. A quick Google search or a background check would give him all the details he would need about me—my case, what I was convicted of—but it wouldn’t give him the truth. My truth. And at least, if he heard it from me, he would get the entire story. This could make me or break me. I didn’t plan to tell him—hell, I had no intention to—but so far from what I can tell, Edwin seems like a fair and decent man. He doesn’t look like a man who will judge and persecute someone before he hears them out. I’m only hoping my instincts are right as I say, “It wasn’t my choice. Not by a long shot. What I’m about to tell you may end this interview, and if so, I understand completely. But I believe in honesty, and I believe in this town. I just hope you’ll believe in me too.” With that, I delve into my story, laying it all out on the line about the past few years of my life, praying that if there’s a God, then he’ll throw me a bone.
I rush to get it all out in hopes he’ll understand. I can see compassion and something else in his eyes as I’m laying everything out for him. Understanding, maybe? Once I’m done, I sit back as I take in a long pull of air. And I wait for what seems like an eternity. Minutes tick by, and I can see him processing the last twenty minutes and what it means and whether he believes me.
Finally, I pull my phone from my pocket and do a quick YouTube search. I’m sure he’s wondering why the hell I’m pulling my phone from my pocket in the middle of an interview. This is unprofessional as fuck, but right now, I need to show him what I’m capable of. I quickly type in Chance Walker Mecklenburg County High School Performance in the search bar and watch as the round circle spins before bringing up a zillion suggestions.
Hastily, I find the video I’m looking for before quickly turning my phone toward Edwin. “Before you make a decision, please take a minute to watch this.” I hand over my phone and watch as Edwin presses play. The moment the video begins to play, I see something take over his face as he watches one of my last performances before being locked up. Awe. Envy. And a newfound respect displays on his face. When he speaks these next words, I almost drop to the floor.
“Wow. I’m impressed. Blown away, in fact. I believe you. And I’m sorry you’ve experienced such hardship in your short years. No one should ever have to experience what you did. But I need you to understand something, Chance. Are you listening?” he asks, his face stern and set in tight lines, not letting on about which way this is about to go.
I blow out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and answer his question. “Absolutely, I’m listening.”
“Good. I have a business to run. A very reputable and profitable business. The owner, Rory London, has strict guidelines and expectations. She trusts me with her business, and it’s important that I don’t let her down. I’m sure you can understand that,” he says as his eyes cast downward with a solemn look on his face.
Even after all I’ve said—everything I’ve shown him—he still doesn’t get it. “I understand, Edwin. I appreciate your time. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’m sure you have a lot on your plate with the resort. It was nice to meet you. And I wish you the best in your search to find a dance instructor for Happy Endings Resort.” Pushing away from the table, I stand; I don’t bother to wait another minute for the rejection I know is coming. I knew being honest could very well land me homeless and broke. I’m not sure what I’ll do now, but if nothing else, I’m a survivor. I will figure this shit out.
“Wait!” Edwin exclaims with a sense of urgency in his voice. “Please sit down,” he requests. He nods to the chair I was just occupying in front of him, beckoning me to sit. “I wasn’t quite finished.”
Quietly sitting back down, I turn my attention to Edwin and allow him to finish his statement. I’m guessing he’s about two point five seconds away from delivering his rejection. “What I was going to say is the resort is in a bind. While Rory and I have done a great job with the resort since she inherited it and I started managing it, it wasn’t managed well beforehand. Her relative was unable to keep up with everything. Especially upgrades. So while we are able to turn a profit here, we still need several thousand dollars’ worth of upgrades.”
He looks off through the window in the distance, letting me think over what he’s just said. I’m not sure where this conversation is going or what in the world I have to do with the upgrades to the resort, but hell, I’ll listen. I’m hoping it’s a good sign that he asked me to sit back down and to hear him out. “Hence why we’re in need of a dance instructor.” I raise my eyebrows, silently beckoning him to explain, because he’s lost me.
Intrigued, I question him, “Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you need a dance instructor? And what does it have to do with resort upgrades? I had assumed you needed a dance instructor for private and group lessons. Is that not the case?” I ask, hoping for more clarification because the last five minutes have confused the shit out of me.
“Right. Here’s the thing, Chance.” He pauses, thinking it over before continuing. “We need these upgrades. Several thousand dollars’ worth of upgrades. In the last few years, the resort has been featured in magazines and on television, bringing in a larger than normal stream of guests and new residents. And while that’s what we want, it also puts stress on the plumbing and electrical in the resort as well as the constant pressures for upgrades and additions. We want to keep families here happy. Keep them coming back. You can understand that, right?” He asks the rhetorical question without waiting for me to respond before he continues. “And well, to be frank, while we do need someone for private and group lessons, we also need someone who would be willing to have Happy Endings Resort sponsor them and compete in the annual dance-off in Billings, South Carolina. It’s organized by the National Resort Travel Channel every year, which has featured the Happy Endings Resort several times. We owe a lot of our success to this channel. It’s live and broadcasted all around the globe. Fifty thousand dollars goes to the resort that sponsors you with each level you win. The money funds new programs for the resort or needed upgrades to keep the resort fresh and inviting. Of course, you and your chosen partner will also receive a separate check for ten thousand dollars each if you win all three rounds,” he informs me with a serious
expression.
I’m assuming he wants me to help Happy Endings Resort win this. I mean why else would he be explaining all of this. I just have some questions. “You said partner? But … I don’t have a dance partner.” I trail off, my voice confused and portraying a touch of emotion. My last dancing partner was Alyssa, and well, you see how that turned out for me. I’m not sure I could dance again, especially with another female. Dancing is too intimate. Too revealing. Too much too soon. Can I do this? Shaking my head, I’m not sure. Would it be too much? Probably. Taking me back to that deep dark place I swore I would never allow myself to go after that bitch and my piece of shit father stole my life from me.
“That’s right. I did say partner. Who will be your partner? Well, that’s for you to decide. We would, of course, encourage you to choose someone who will complement you, but the choice is solely yours; that is if you’ll take the job.” He looks at me with hope in his eyes as if I can help the resort. This is my one shot to prove myself worthy of something. To remove the smear from my name. And to really start over. Even if it means I have to deal with a partner, I know it won’t be permanent. I can handle temporary.
Not wanting to keep him waiting, I answer him. “Yes, I’ll take the job. Thank you for the offer.” I shake his hand and listen intently as he talks about the benefits along with the salary. It’s much more than I was hoping for and very fair.
As we’re heading out of the restaurant, Edwin asks, “So I have some time this afternoon. Would you be interested in a tour of the resort?”
Jumping on the chance, I quickly respond, “Absolutely,” because he just took a huge shot on me. Plus, I’m dying to see the resort. It sounds like a great place so far from what I’ve heard. I’d love to see what I’m dancing for. To know that my talent could possibly make the resort a greater place to stay for all people.
We hop into his sleek Black BMW M3 and head toward the resort. Before I know it, we’re pulling into the gated resort. Its lush green surroundings instantly bring a sense of peace and calm over me. A sense of ease I haven’t felt since before my mother passed away. Edwin swings his car into the office parking lot, barely throwing it in park before instructing me to hop out. “We’ll be taking a golf cart around the resort. They’re just easier to maneuver,” he states matter-of-factly. Leading us over to several golf carts, Edwin instructs me to hop on one that looks fairly new as he rounds the driver’s side.
Driving around the resort, Edwin shows me everything from the community center to the pools, lake, and of course, the dance studio on site. We chat more about my experience as a dancer. I conveniently dodge questions about my time in prison. I need this job.
I won’t do anything to jeopardize it, which includes discussing that dark, dreadful time in my life. A quick Google search with my name, Chance Walker, would provide him with all the information he needs anyway. I already offered the CliffsNotes version of my story. I just don’t want to delve any deeper. I was scared to death I wouldn’t be offered this opportunity of a lifetime. And now that he has and with all the bonuses he’s giving me—a discounted cabin, along with a healthy salary and benefits package—it really is a chance for a start fresh. To start over.
That’s why what happens next almost makes me turn and run. It almost makes me leave and never look back. Edwin stops by a fairly large charming cabin. It’s light green in color with a well-manicured lawn, and it’s nestled right beside the lake. We take the path down beside the house, looking out at the lake. There is a couple swimming in the distance who waves in our direction. Black smut lines a fire pit area for the residents, and beach chairs line the sandy area for resident’s use. Already, I’ve only seen about half the resort, and I’m in awe of its raw beauty as well as the people. They’re different. I like it.
As we are walking back to the golf cart, we hear a loud pickup truck backfire as it pulls into the cabin’s driveway to our right. Since Edwin hasn’t discussed who lives here, I assume it is the tenant. A rather tall man gets out of his truck and walks over to Edwin and me. He introduces himself as the maintenance man for Happy Endings Resort, Brice Mitchum. But … it isn’t Brice who has me on edge. No, it is who drives up behind him and gets out of her car, his daughter.
And she was gorgeous. Almost angelic. For a moment, her sheer beauty mesmerizes me. She is average height for a woman, maybe five-foot-four or so, with long jet-black hair, pristine almond-shaped emerald green eyes, and a long slender physique. Her breasts jut out, demanding my attention, and her legs … those goddamn legs. So fucking stimulating. They’re long, toned, and tanned. I have a vision right then and there as she walks toward us of wrapping those legs around my waist and pounding into what I assume is one perfect fucking pussy.
Adjusting myself as discreetly as possible, I think about all the dirty things I want to do to her. So many things. I’m not sure where these thoughts are coming from, but I won’t apologize for it. She’s drop-dead gorgeous. She looks up at me from beneath her long black lashes—her mouth agape, for what I’m not sure. But right now, I see what I’m sure is reflecting in my eyes—heat, passion, yearning, and an ache I’m dying to fill.
Which leads me back to what I was telling you. I should leave. Go far away. I can’t get involved with anyone. Not after Alyssa. And one glance at that girl threatens to blow my plans to pieces. So as we walk away, away from her and back to the golf cart, I feel a sense of uneasiness settle over me as Edwin asks one last time if I’m willing to take the job. I quickly blurt out, “Yes.” My life’s about to change. I can feel it. I just don’t realize how much. But I soon will.
Chapter 8
Callie
“Morning,” I call out to Natalia as I pour a large cup of coffee. Taking in the smell of slow roasted black Columbian beans has my body alert and ready for the day.
“Morning, sleepy head,” Natalia teases with a grin from her perch on our tan corduroy sectional sofa. She’s stretched out in her baby blue camisole and black boy shorts.
“Hey. I am not a sleepy head,” I say, bringing my hand up to my chest in mock defense. I look at the digital clock on the microwave and see it’s only 7:30 a.m. “I did good today, Natalia. Normally, it’s close to eight or eight fifteen when I finally roll out of bed,” I say. “I still have an hour and a half before I need to be at work. Plenty of time for me.” I wink in her direction.
“Yeah, yeah. I wish I could be more like you. It takes me at least an hour just to wake up. You know me, three cups of coffee, CNN.com, and one long, hot shower later, and I’m finally able to start getting ready.” We laugh together at her accurate description of her mornings. She’s right. She does need all that time. She can’t seem to function without her routine. Not me, though. I’ve never been the type to need a lot of time. I can wake up with ten minutes to spare and look like a million bucks when I leave.
I’ve been at the salon now for a couple of weeks, and things are going great. My co-workers are great, and I honestly have the best clients. “Okay, chick, I need to get ready, so I can get out of here,” I say as I swallow the last two sips of my coffee.
“Me too. Have a great day, Callie.” Turning on our heels at the same time, we move in opposite directions. Natalia heads to her room, and I head to mine. At the last minute, she turns and says, “Hey, I meant to tell you. Justin and I, we’re thinking of having a few friends over tonight. You know, to hang by the beach. We were thinking of grilling out and swimming. Are you down? Not too many people, just a few. And no one in the house. Last time, those fuckers tore it up. If they’re not sleeping here, they don’t come in. End of discussion,” she says with an “I’m serious as shit” face.
Justin might as well live here as often as he’s here. I don’t make a fuss about it because he’s great to Natalia. And we’ve become great friends. Plus, it really doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I laugh at her expression, knowing she was ready to kick those guys’ asses last time they were here. They were friends of Justin’s, and one of them threw up
in Natalia’s favorite pair of Uggs. I thought she was going to murder someone. It was not a good situation. Let’s just say Justin was groveling for her forgiveness and almost kicked his friend’s ass. There’s one thing you don’t mess with when it comes to Natalia, and that’s her shoes. “Sure. I don’t have an issue with that. Just make sure to hide your Uggs.” I snicker in her direction.
“Right! Bitch, I will kill them next time. No joke. Have my bail money ready, yeah?” We laugh at the memory of her four-foot-eleven frame stomping after Ethan, who’s a good six-foot-five.
“Always, girl.” I wink at her, letting her know she can always count on me. Joking or not, I would be there in a minute. “At least, it’s Friday. Lord knows I’ve been waiting for this since Monday. I need wine. Lots of wine tonight.”
“Yes! It’ll be fun to unwind. So you’ll be home by six?” she asks.
“Yeah, maybe a little before then. My last appointment is at four forty-five, but it’s a color and a cut, so depending on how her hair takes to the color will depend on what time I can leave. I’ll definitely be here by six, though. No question,” I answer her.
“Great. Sounds good.” With that, we bid our goodbyes and head off to finish getting ready for the day.
* * *
The day at the salon flies by, and before I know it, it’s five thirty, and my last client of the night just left. I’m cleaning the area around my station when the bell dings overhead. “We’ll be right with you,” I call out without looking up.
“Sure. No problem,” a smooth deep velvety voice answers in return.
Quickly, I finish sweeping and hurry to get to the front to check in the next client. Sadie must be outside on a smoke break because I don’t see her anywhere. Always smoking. That shit is going to kill her one day. So that just leaves me, and since I’m getting ready to get out of here for the night, I figure I’ll just check him in and be on my way.
