Another Mazzy Monday
Savannah Young and Sierra Avalon
Another Mazzy Monday
Copyright © 2015 by Savannah Young and Sierra Avalon
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
This is a work of FICTION.
Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author's offbeat imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or previously dated by the author, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Humble Nations: http://humblenations.com/
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To my brother who seems much happier since he stepped out of the closet.
One
Mazzy
“Shut that thing off,” I yell to my twin sister, Suzie. The alarm on her cellphone keeps buzzing and it’s driving me crazy.
When I crack open an eye I realize she’s not in the bed next to mine.
“Suzie?” I yell a little louder. “Where are you?”
I wipe the sleep from my eyes as I try to get my ass out of bed. The colder the weather gets the more difficult it becomes for me to actually get out from under the warmth of my blanket.
I trudge into the living room/dining room/kitchen area, which is the only other room besides our bedroom in the tiny apartment we share. The rents in New Jersey are high and it’s the only thing we can afford on the money we make tending bar at the Tawnee Mountain Resort, the premiere ski and golf resort in rural northern New Jersey. Or so the management likes to tell the hordes of rich and famous guests who make their way from New York City to stay for long weekends.
“What’s going on?” I ask Suzie as I plop down at the small counter that separates our sad excuse for a kitchen from our even sadder excuse for a living room.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she replies as she flips a pancake in the air then holds up a plate for it to land on. “Do you want syrup or fresh fruit?”
“What kind of fruit?”
“I sliced strawberries and bananas. And I’ve got some blueberries mixed in as well.”
“Hit me.”
She scoops a few heaps of the fruit mixture onto the top of the pancake and hands me the plate.
“What’s with the insomnia?” I ask.
She heaves a big sigh. “Just another Mazzy Monday.”
When we were little kids our mom liked to play The Bangles’ song “Manic Monday.” For years we thought they were singing just another Mazzy Monday and it used to make my sister so jealous because she assumed they were singing the song about me.
It’s one of the few memories I still have of my mom.
Suzie grabs her plate of fruit covered pancakes and plops down on the stool right next to me. “Do you ever wonder if this is all there is?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“We live in an apartment that makes a shoebox look huge. We work our asses off at a fancy resort serving drinks to the rich and famous from New York and don’t even make enough money to ever stay as a guest at said resort. Sometimes I just feel like we’re hamsters on a wheel without any other options. We just have to keep running around the stupid wheel just to survive.”
“When you put it that way it sounds very depressing.”
She stares at me. “You can’t tell me you’ve never had any of those thoughts.”
“Of course I have. We’re identical twins. We have a lot of the same thoughts. And often at the same time. I just try not to dwell on the negative.”
“So give me something positive to dwell on.” She looks at me expectantly. As if I’m going to be her savior.
As hard as I try I can only come up with one positive thing to tell her. “We’ve always wanted to open up our own restaurant. I don’t think we should give up on that dream.”
“We live on less than minimum wage and tips from cheapskate rich folks, who think they’re above tipping. We can barely afford the rent and our monthly expenses. At the rate we’re currently saving for our restaurant it will take us three hundred and seventy-five years to earn enough start-up capital.”
I give her a scowl. “You really know how to bum me out.”
“I didn’t mean to bum you out.” She heaves a sigh then offers, “Maybe we should have gone to college.”
I laugh. “Sure. Admissions offices were just fighting over my 2.8 GPA. And yours wasn’t that much better. You just lucked out and got Mr. Posner for math and he thought you were cute. I ended up with old Mrs. Reichert and barely passed Algebra and Geometry.”
“Two words. Community College.”
“Pass.” I take a bite of the pancake and fruit. “This is really good. Maybe when we finally open our restaurant we should consider a little breakfast place on the main street in Old Town. Nobody likes going to the diner for breakfast. Even the owners have admitted they don’t like serving it. They just do it because there’s no place else for people to go if they want to eat out in the morning.”
“Good point,” she agrees. “Don’t you think it’s funny that all our lives we’ve watched our dad work his ass off day and night as a chef. We rarely got to see him. We practically raised ourselves as a result of his demanding work schedule. Yet it’s the one thing we aspire to.”
“Maybe cooking is in our genes,” I venture. “Or maybe it’s because the food service industry is all we’ve ever really known.”
She shrugs. “Is it bad that cooking is the only thing that truly makes me happy?”
“And spending time with your twin sister,” I remind her. Suzie and I have never been separated for more than a few hours since birth. We both know that eventually we’ll have to spend more time apart, especially if we hope to have any romantic relationships. But it’s not something we ever talk about. I don’t think either of us wants to face the inevitable.
“I like spending time with you the most when we’re cooking.”
“Or making up crazy new recipes to try,” I add.
“Maybe we should call our place Breakfast with Mazzy and Suzie.”
I narrow my gaze. “Why would you put my name first?”
“Aren’t you always first? You were born first and you’ve been first at everything ever since.”
As I savor a big bite of my pancake I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to own our own place. For us to finally have something to show for all of our hard work.
“Don’t forget we need to get to work a little bit early today. The big political fundraiser is today. Drew Graham is supposed to be there.”
“Who’s that?”
Suzie looks at me like I’ve been living under a rock, which is probably true. I generally don’t pay attention to anything that doesn’t relate in some way to earning money.
“Just New Jersey’s most eligible bachelor. He’s number one on the list of Sexy Republicans Under Forty. He’s the Republican candidate for governor. His dad was a congressman representing the state of New Jersey for years and ran for governor several times. He even ran for Vice President once. The Grahams are a very wealthy and well-connected family.”
Now I’m looking at my sister like she’s from another planet. “How do you know all this?”
“I eavesdrop on almost every conversation that takes place while we’re serving drinks. I learn a lot that way. Don’t you?”
I shake my head. “Not unless the words happen to be coming out of the mouth of a very hot guy.”
“Trust me when I tell you that Drew Graham is hot. He coul
d easily be an actor if he wasn’t into politics.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I’m really not into the whole political scene. And call me crazy, but I don’t think a guy like that would have any interest in a bartender who barely made it through high school. I’m sure he’s into the Ivy League type. Someone with a closet filled with button-down sweaters and penny loafers. And lots of pearls. Girls like that always wear pearls.”
Suzie laughs. “You really do like to stereotype people, don’t you?”
“The world is a much easier place when everything and everyone is in a neat little box or category.”
“And wrapped up in a little bow? Life isn’t all black and white. It’s mostly shades of grey in my experience.”
“You can have your shades of grey. I’ll take my black and white any day.”
Suzie rolls her eyes at me. “Let’s get the dishes washed. I don’t want to be late.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I give her a cheesy little salute.
***
Our manager at the Tawnee Mountain Resort, Penny LaPage, asks me and Suzie to set up two small bars on either end of the grand ballroom for the opening session of the political fundraiser. Apparently the entire resort is being taken over by conservatives who are running for office this election cycle and their many wealthy supporters.
I don’t even bother to vote, so all of the hoopla is lost on me.
The ballroom is generally used for large weddings or other galas hosted by celebrities or the wealthy elite. Today the place looks like one great big American flag. Red, white and blue is splashed everywhere, from the cocktail napkins to the Dixie cups. We are even given tiny American flag pins to wear on our lapels.
“Maybe I should wear a red, white and blue headband,” Suzie suggests as she takes in the patriotic decor.
My sister and I often like to wear our hair in different colors and/or styles so people have a way to tell us apart. Today we’re both wearing our natural blonde hair long and straight, but we’re wearing different color headbands.
“Do you actually have a headband like that?” I ask.
“I’ve got a purse full of different colored headbands. I’m always prepared.”
Right now she’s wearing a white headband with cute little pink flowers. “I’d stick with that one.”
She flashes me her megawatt smile. One thing that only the most observant people notice about us is the difference in the way we smile. Suzie has an enormous grin that lights up her entire face when she smiles. My smile, on the other hand, is much smaller and more reserved. Suzie likes to call mine a sneaky smile because it’s one that you’re not 100 percent sure is actually there.
When we have both bars set up Penny hurries over to us. “You.” She points to me. “Twin One.”
Even though we’ve been working at the resort for nearly a year our boss has never bothered to remember our names or figure out a way to tell us apart. She simply refers to us as Twin One and Twin Two, but she doesn’t even use those monikers consistently. I could be Twin One in the morning and Twin Two by midafternoon.
“I need you to come with me,” Penny demands.
As I follow her out of the ballroom I glance back at my sister and notice that she’s laughing at me.
Neither one of us cares very much for our boss. She’s just a few years older than us, in her mid-twenties, but she acts like she’s twenty years older, all business all the time. She’s rail thin, but not in a good way. She gives the impression that she’s starving, but just doesn’t have time to eat. Her jet black hair is tied in a tight ponytail and her dark eyes always look tired. She’s always coughing. One of those dry smoker’s coughs. And she smells like an ashtray, but tries to hide it by constantly chewing spearmint gum.
It doesn’t work.
She ends up smelling like a chain-smoking stick of gum.
Penny hacks for a few seconds before she says, “I need you to help Sam Elliot with the name tags. The conventioneers will be here in less than an hour and she’s still got hundreds of name tags to assemble.”
Great. Sam Elliot is the resort’s Activities Director and one of the few people on the planet who I love to hate. She’s the embodiment of everything I despise in one perfect little package. Whenever I lay eyes on her I throw up a little in my mouth.
I want to ask why me, but I know Penny will just get mad at me for whining. She hates it when her employees complain. Anything she perceives as questioning her authority, even if the question is legitimate, is a big, fat no-no.
“Thanks so much for helping out,” Sam says when Penny and I approach.
Every word out of Sam’s mouth sounds more like a cheer than an actual statement. She’s bright and shiny. Full of energy day and night. Remember the Energizer bunnies? Sam is like an Energizer cheerleader with no off button. She just keeps cheering and cheering and cheering until you want to punch her in the nose to get her to stop and chill out.
Penny eyes me. “When you’re done here you can go back into the ballroom with Twin Two. It’ll probably be just about time to start serving.”
“Got it, Boss.” I reply as my own little passive-aggressive retaliation for making me work with Sam. Penny hates it when I call her Boss, but there’s not a whole lot she can do about it. She just gives me the stink eye before heading out of the Activity Center.
“So all of the name tags are decorated like American flags.” Sam holds one up and displays it likes she’s Vanna White displaying a Wheel of Fortune puzzle tile.
“I see that,” I reply.
“All you have to do is take one of the printed name stickers and place it on the name tag.” She demonstrates the action for me as if I’m a little kid and she’s my teacher.
“I can figure it out,” I assure her.
“And make sure you put each sticker on straight,” she reminds me.
“I get it.” I’m doing my best to try and keep my cool, but if she gives me one more ridiculous instruction like I’m incapable of even the simplest task I’m going to lose my cool and probably say a lot of things I’ll regret.
I take in a deep breath and remind myself that even though she’s not my boss, her uncle owns the resort. Today is not the day I want to lose my job.
I’m filled with gratitude when Sam and I actually finish making the rest of the name tags and she doesn’t say another word to me. Thanks to whatever Supreme Being is looking down at us from upstairs because Sam not speaking for more than a few minutes at a time is nothing short of a miracle.
As soon as our task is complete I don’t wait around long enough for her to even thank me for helping her out. I just want to get out of the Activity Center and back behind a bar, where I feel comfortable.
As I hurry down the hallway, half paying attention to where I’m going and half thinking about how much fun it would be for me and my sister to run a restaurant together, I run right into a very tall and very attractive guy. Luckily he grabs my elbows before I fall on my ass.
“Sorry,” I say as I look up into his sparkling green eyes.
He makes a motion and I see he’s got a phone in his hand. After he makes sure I’m steady on my feet again he resumes the call I must have interrupted when I ran into him.
“I understand.” He’s got a naturally loud voice, but it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to hide the conversation either. “I know the polls aren’t looking great…I know we’re behind…I understand…I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”
When he glances over at me again I feel like I’m eavesdropping. I know I should probably feel embarrassed, and try to step away to give him some privacy, but the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m a specimen he’s studying.
Once he ends the call he turns to face me again and gives me a big, charismatic grin. “Where were you going in such a hurry?”
I’m not sure why I feel nervous all of a sudden, but my palms are getting sweaty and my heart is starting to race. I swallow in an attempt to calm my ne
rves but it doesn’t help. “I have to get back to the ballroom. I’m tending bar at the fundraiser.”
He nods. “That means I’ll get to see you again.”
I’ve never been this close to a man so perfect in my entire life. From his perfect fitting Armani suit to his perfectly shined black dress shoes to his perfectly proportioned body, and from his perfectly styled brown hair to sparkling eyes and sexy smile, he looks like he could have just stepped out of the pages of a GQ magazine.
I gulp as I try to get rid of the golf ball sized lump in my throat. “You’re going to the fundraiser?”
My voice has never sounded so squeaky in my life. Maybe because it’s a ridiculous question. Where else would he be going dressed like that? Besides, golfing season is over and ski season hasn’t begun. The only visitors to the resort have been men and women at various conventions.
“Honey, I am the convention.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but he exudes so much confidence and charisma he could probably say the sky was lime green and I’d just nod in agreement.
I’m surprised when he holds his smartphone up to his eye and snaps a few photos of me. He thumbs through the photos he’s taken and gives what appears to be a pleased nod. More to himself than anyone else. I’m a little creeped out that he just snapped my picture without really asking, but he gives me the impression that he felt entitled to do it.
Then he reaches into his breast pocket and takes out a gold business card holder. He carefully removes one of the cards and hands it to me.
Drew Graham. He’s the guy Suzie was telling me about. Mr. Sexy Republican. No lie there. The guy is sex on a stick.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks.
I nod.
“Good. I may have a job for you.” He looks me up and down. “What are you about five feet six inches?”
I nod again.
“That would make you about five eight in two inch heels. And you’re a size two?”
“How did you know?” Most guys don’t have a clue about women’s clothing or sizes.
He looks like he’s inspecting me and I have no idea why. What kind of job could he possibly have in mind? Maybe something that requires a uniform?
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