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Ella:I would clear my calendar a million times over for you.
Charlotte:I’m on the run now. See you soon!
My stomach churns as I wait for Charlotte to show up to join my shift. I slide my phone back under the counter and into my bag. Jason's talking to me, muttering some mundane conversation, but I’m not giving any attention. We aren’t more than twenty feet from the restaurant's entrance. Thus, forcing us to wear fake smiles plastered on our faces the entire time because God forbid an affluential customer sees a lowly employee looking anything but pleased to be serving them on our weekend.
Jeffrey, our manager, checks his watch while typing away at the computer. It must be almost time. We haven't heard who's working the Nest tonight, but those who want to earn our chance at making some extra money have already signed their nondisclosure agreements in preparation for the event. Nellie, the last girl that worked the Nest quit the same night, and no one has seen or heard from her since. But the rumor is that she is holed up in some swanky beach house playing as an escort to some billionaire. Or maybe she took the money and ran. I want to think that is what I would do.
I'm still looking at Jeffrey when he finally locks eyes with me, tilts his head, and beckons me with his finger. My insides shiver with anticipation and excitement. Maybe it's finally my turn. I desperately need the money. I can't afford shit, and I'm almost out of ramen. Mom's funeral expenses are always at the back of my mind, scratching like long claws, lodging in my brain. It's like she's haunting me in a way I’ve never expected.
I rush over to Jeffrey. He's in his forties and has been running Misty gardens for the last ten years. His brown hair is combed back and cut stylishly out of his face. He wears a very nicely pressed suit. Always charcoal with a matching gray button-up shirt. He never looks like a poor schmuck because he must look suitable for the clientele. This restaurant is the most snobbish out of the town and probably out one hundred miles in all directions.
A lot of people who work here hate it. The clients always have a way of making you feel like you don’t matter. Like you aren’t worth much. I don't care if the rich look down their nose at me so long as they give me their money.
“Ella,” he says, his voice slow and soft. “It looks like you got the luck of the draw tonight. Do you still want to do this? He asks.
“Of course, I do.” I’m eager, and I don't care.
“Okay. You'll be heading back in under a half hour. Once there, you'll have ten minutes to prepare the Nest. Then the client will show up, and you'll do what you need. Do you understand? Don't fuck it up.”
Jeffrey shoos me away with his hand like I’m a pest, but it doesn't hurt my feelings. Working the Nest is the best news I've had in a long time. I finally feel like I'm not drowning. Maybe this is the start of something brand new.
Chapter 7
I’ll never forget the first time I met Charlotte. September of our first year of college at a frat party at a beachside mansion the color of lemons. The music was loud enough to rattle your bones. Tables everywhere held copious amounts of liquor and red cups galore. The doors and windows were open, lending the brisk night air free reign of the house, clearing the day's humidity.
I remember the dark hardwood floors were polished and perfect, bearing no defects. It made me sick to my stomach, the sticky floors of my old apartment back at home never leaving my mind. The comparisons never stopped. I would never be good enough. Forever a poor girl. Jealousy and envy filled me to the brim, heating my face. Feeling out of place led to me drinking too much. And instead of dealing with the anger, I drank more, wishing I had someone to distract me from my memories.
It was like a sign from heaven appeared. Wish granted. A cute boy with a dimple on his strong chin wearing dark denim pants with a tight white tee appeared from nowhere and flirted with me. Muscles rippled from head to toe. He reeked of some macho team sport, probably wrestling. I knew I should be weary, but it felt nice to let my guard down for a night and have some fun.
How often does a rich, sporty guy hit on a weird girl who is always alone with her face in a book? Of course, he could be with any sorority girl. I could never remember his last name, so I nicknamed him Danny Danger. He had slicked back dark brown hair and a broad smile with blue eyes that twinkled so much it made my spine weaken. I fell hook, line, and sinker for him.
I overlooked the crushed drugs he snuck in my drink. He smirked at me, “I gotta go, Red. But enjoy the drink and the party. I’ll try to find you before the end of the night.”
I nodded awkwardly at his words, watching with awe as he left me. I downed the drink in seconds.
Charlotte was at the party; of course, I noticed her. There's no way you couldn't. I watched her as she interacted with everyone, always courteous. Her hair was a curtain of dark curls that traveled well past her mid-back.
She wore a pair of cut-off denim shorts, simple sandals, and a gray t-shirt. Her tanned legs went on for days, and she had muscles I could only dream of obtaining. I have a solid aversion to claustrophobia-inducing, smelly gyms with perves galore, and I also don’t enjoy manual labor of any kind.
Her skin was golden tanned with a subtle hint of red like she had stepped off the beach and into the party. Maybe she had earlier. There was a beach nearby. Her cheeks were perfectly blushed and rosy. Freckles across her nose and cheeks stood out even more from recent sun exposure.
She was the most beautiful girl in the raucous frat house with never-ending ceilings. I couldn't help but stare at her off and on throughout the night. I felt so self-conscious back then.
Charlotte never seemed to stay with one person. Instead, she effortlessly floated through conversations with multiple people and with a beautiful smile that never left her lips.
She heard me as I fumbled at the drink table, trying to pour myself a mixed cocktail. I knocked over a bottle of whiskey, spilling it onto the perfect dark hardwood floors. I was so embarrassed. I could barely hear anything aside from my heartbeat pumping in my ears.
She touched my arm and handed me some napkins, “Let me help.”
I began sputtering a half-assed protest, “You don't have to. I mean, I can't believe this.”
“Don't worry about it,” she said. “I'm glad to do it.”
She finished mopping up as much of the spilled liquor with the napkins from the table as I hovered nearby, waiting to give an apology, “I'm so embarrassed. I'm so sorry. I don't know how to make it up to you.”
Charlotte just smiled, “I do. You can join me out on the beach in ten minutes. They have a huge bonfire. It should be the most fun we can have at a pretentious place like this.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
