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I laugh. “I haven’t learned the cycles here yet.”
“The Southerners are always the first,” a voice says from across the deck. I glance over as Raven stands from the picnic bench, taking a pull from her cigarette. “As soon as school lets out, they’re down here. Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee. Mississippi should be coming in soon. They’re just like Giana said, obnoxiously drunk, but super flirty and always want the cheapest beer on tap. They keep their tips to cover the $1 Totino’s pizzas and Natural Ice suitcases they’re carting up to their hotel rooms. If they do tip, it’s never more than $5.”
“They’re also the drunk jumpers,” Giana adds. “Several of them try it every year, climbing balcony to balcony at the condos. Or jump for the pool.”
“Remember that one last year that made it to the pool but hit the shallow end?” Raven says, shaking her head. “Yeah, the Southerners are the more chaotic bunch. But they can also be a lot of fun, if you like that rambunctious,hold-my-beer-while-I-light-this-firework-the-size-of-my-headbrand of fun.”
“It has a place,” I agree.
“East Coast and Texas usually come later,” Raven continues. “With motorcycles. Lots of loud, revving, leather-clad, weaving through traffic Harleys. They tip better, but they underestimate the sun and the rip currents. So they’re as red as lobsters, and typically the ones who need to be rescued a mile offshore after drifting away on unicorn floats.”
“Those make national news sometimes, even where I’m from,” I add. “Crazy tourists, Disney World, hurricanes, and Florida Man. That’s all we know about you guys. It’s not a super appealing image, but it seems to do the trick,” I say, waving a hand toward the packed parking lot.
Raven stubs out her smoke. “Would you visit a zoo if it didn’t have wild animals?”
I shrug. “Bland lives need spicy adventure.”
“Exactly,” Raven agrees. “It’s a different beast in the offseason, though. It’s like a ghost town. Half the restaurant and retail stores close and won’t reopen until late February. We still get tourists, but they’re elderly northerners here to take advantage of cheap room rates. Right now, they’re $200/night. But over winter, they’re $200/week.”
“They’re all about the deals,” Giana adds. “They cut coupons, buy things on sale, and when they return north in February, they take everything they don’t use back to the store for a refund. They will take your condiment bottles and sugar packets, and use a calculator to compute exactly ten percent for the tip. To the penny. Which is not a lot, considering they used the maximum combination of coupons on a senior dinner, with water.”
“Have you ever had one of those moments when you start todoubt your life choices?” I ask sarcastically, glancing out at the waves crashing on the beach.
“Nah,” Giana says, shaking her head. “When you live in the zoo for so long, you forget if you work there, or if you’re the attraction.”
“Have you always lived here?” I ask, looking back at her.
Giana nods. “For the most part.”
“Pelican Beach is one of those places that sucks you in,” Raven says. “And never lets you go. You get stuck in this endless cycle of feast and famine. Summers are rich, with $300 tip days, working doubles, maybe a shift off here and there. You can see the sun, but you can’t enjoy it. Everyone will tell you to bank the cash, but that’s hard. Because six months out of the year you’re poor, and when you have money again, you want to barhop. Shop. Throw all your money at whatever will quiet your mind and help you paste on that fake smile for the next sixteen-hour shift. During the winter, most people are laid off. If you were smart, claimed all your tips, and worked at least six consecutive months, you could apply for unemployment. Which helps. Most pick up two or three retail or fast food jobs, and eat Top Raman until spring.”
“You’ve lived here a long time,” I deduct. “You must love it if you stay.”
Raven shakes her head. “I stay for personal shit.” She nods at the Sunrise Motel. “I can’t leave my Mom here alone. We don’t have any other family, and she loves it here. She’s one of those people who fully embrace the beach life. Living paycheck to paycheck, rent but never own, her nights spent at the dive singing 80s karaoke. She stacks her MLM businesses, lives inflip-flops, decorates her home in seashells, and wears a jacket when it drops below eighty degrees. She is the embodiment of local Florida.”
“It’s hard leaving a place that has been home for so long,” I add. “Like learning to walk again.”
Raven nods. “Right now, we just exist. We live to work, one day at a time. Who knows, maybe one day it will be different. Change will hit without warning, and without recourse. And we will have to evolve.”
I glance over at Giana. “Is that how it is? You’re just waiting for a catalyst to come along?”
She nods with a sly smile. “I always hope it’s going to be a man. Rich, handsome, likes to travel.”
“Good Lord, you guys,” I say, shaking my head. “For two people who sell Florida for a living, you really suck at it.” They laugh, and I turn to head back inside.
I walk into the cubby of the server station and lean back against the wall to stare at my notes. I add details about Giana and Raven. Other servers I just met, Mason Oliver and Rhonda Miller. The kitchen staff with Chef Lloyd, Katrina on sauté, and Ryan in dish. I tap my pen against the notebook, glancing back at the hustle of the dining room. I should check my notes against the employee schedule to make sure I’m not missing anyone.
Evan’s shadow eclipses the light from the dining room as he steps into the narrow space of the server station with me. I hurriedly tuck my notebook into my apron.
“How’s it going?” He asks, filling up his styrofoam to-go cup withwater.
“Good,” I say, shuffling around items on the table and throwing away random straw wrappers.
“You starting to get it? Make sure to watch Giana on the register. The modification menus can get confusing.”
I nod. “I’m watching…” My gaze falls on the wall behind the tea urns where a bulletin board of photos hangs. In the pictures are Sandbar employees, laughing and spending time together. Birthdays. Holidays. At work. On the beach. I focus in on one, my heart thudding faster in my chest. It’s Paige, standing beside Natalie and Raven in a club. Evan looms behind Paige, his arms wrapped possessively around her. Clutched to Raven’s chest is a clear tray with an inlaid ring of blue neon. It has to be the Aurora nightclub.
“I’m watching… everything. Hey, is that the girl?” I say, pointing her out to Evan. “You guys look pretty close.” I study him closely as he squints at the photo and sighs. He tugs it off the board and drops it into the trash beside me.
