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“Leela?” He questions, raising an eyebrow. He picks up my kitchen ticket, showing me where LEELA is printed clearly in bold letters at the bottom under modifications. Nick reaches over Zaden’s shoulder and snaps the ticket out of his hand, crumpling it up.
“I don’t know her name,” he explains. “Tell me she doesn’t look like the Futurama chick.”
“See you tomorrow, Nick,” I say with a smirk, talking around Zaden and turning to leave.
“Bye, Leela,” Zaden says to my back, and I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
The incessant heat returns the moment I step outside, and I walk up to the road. In order to speak with Evan, I have to spend the night here. Somewhere.
NO VACANCYsigns flash in front of the condos as far as I can see, and I glance over at the small motel. A woman with long, dark hair ambles around out front, halfheartedly sweeping trash into a dustbin while holding a phone to her ear and smoking a cigarette. I guess this is thesomewhereI can start.
I nod at the woman sweeping as I walk into the lobby and approach the front desk. The interior looks as dated as the outside, like they chose their color palate from a Burger King circa 1987, complete with wall art of random geometric shapes and awful pots of dusty fake ivy everywhere.
“Welcome to the Sunrise Motel,” the woman says, stubbing out her smoke and walking back behind the desk. She’s close to my age, maybe a few years older. In a black tank top, shorts, and flip flops, if it hadn’t been for the sweeping, I wouldnever have guessed she works here. Her green eyes meet mine, and it stops me for a moment. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“You don’t have any open rooms, do you?” I’m hopeful, but I know the answer before she can say it.
She shakes her head. “Nope, we’ve been booked up for months, just like all the hotels on the strip. If you need a room without a reservation now, you better look over the bridge in town. Even then, good luck.”
Fuck.“You don’t have anything at all? Look, I’ve had a really shitty few days, and I only need to be in town for one night. Maybe two.”
“Vacation?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest.
“Personal shit,” I answer. “And apparently I have a job interview.” Fuck me, right?
“On the beach?”
I nod toward the restaurant down the catwalk. “The Sandbar.”
“You have an interview at the Sandbar?” She chews her bottom lip contemplatively, walking over to the computer. She clicks around for a moment before glancing back up at me. “Okay, here’s the deal. I have an empty room, but it doesn’t have running water. There’s a leak in the wall and I’m waiting on a plumber to get in some part for one of the tankless hot water heaters. He said it’s going to be at least a week. I can rent it to you half off for the inconvenience if you’re okay with using the restroom in the lobby. Whenever he fixes it, I’ll have to honor the standing reservations first. But you have a few days at least.”
“Sold,” I say before she can change her mind, sliding cash across the counter.
“Did you just get into town?” She asks, typing up the room reservation.
“This morning,” I answer.
“I’m Raven,” she says, not looking up from her screen. “I also wait tables at the Sandbar, I’m just covering for my mom tonight while she’s at a meeting for one of her MLM home businesses. The soft leggings or the wax melts or the customizable jewelry. I really can’t keep up anymore. The back window of her car is like a billboard for pyramid schemes. Straight up, a warning that she’s going to try to sell you something. Probably every day. Her name is Alice. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
I smile. “Thanks for the heads up.” Then I think about it. “Did you say your name is Raven?”
“Yeah. Do you have your ID?”
I start to reach into my pocket, then stop. Raven. She works at the Sandbar, and with Evan at the Aurora. If she finds out I’m Paige’s sister, she might tip him off. I’ll lose the element of surprise.
“I lost it.”
She glances up at me. “That’s unfortunate.”
“Like I said, it’s been a shitty few days.” I feel like she can see the truth of that statement in my eyes, and she glances back at the screen.
“Don’t worry about it. What’s your name?”
“Ivy,” I say, my eyes landing on one of the pots of fake foliage adorning the counter. “Ivy… Collins.”
“Okay, Ivy. Room 219. It’s the first door on your left, right up the stairwell. There’s an elevator on the other side if you need it. Call me if you need anything. The lobby doors are open 24/7.”
“Thanks,” I reply, taking the keys from her. I follow her directions, around the side of the building and up the concrete stairs to the second floor. The room faces out toward the beach with a great view of the marina, and the restaurant sitting just to my right. The slight arc of the motel curves around a small pool with a connecting hot tub. It’s quaint. Far from the sixteen-story hotel I work at, cliffside in California. But it has a humble, small-town local appeal.
