Remarkably Bright Creatures(43)

Moments later, he returns, waving a sheet of paper.

“I’ll fill it out now.” Cameron picks up a pen that’s sitting on the table.

A slow grin spreads over Ethan’s face. “Well, on my recommendation, you’re a shoo-in, laddie. So what do you say we have some fun with it?”

THE NEXT MORNING, at quarter to eleven, Cameron returns to the aquarium. This time, the door swings open.

Ethan apparently called his “mate” first thing this morning, then banged on the camper door at ten, stirring Cameron out of a heavy sleep. Ethan’s green eyes were bright; it seemed he was completely unaffected by their late night. In a chipper tone, he told Cameron to be down there in an hour for his interview.

“Remember, his name’s Terry and he’s a bit of a fish geek, but he’s a fantastic bloke,” Ethan had explained for what felt like the tenth time. “Just relax, and I’m sure he’ll offer you the job on the spot.”

The guy who swivels around in the office chair is not what Cameron had expected for a so-called fish geek. He could be a linebacker. He’s clearly in the middle of a phone call, but he nods at Cameron to come in.

Sorry, he mouths, before turning back to his phone conversation.

Cameron hovers in the doorway, caught in the awkward place between not wanting to eavesdrop but wanting to follow instructions. He doesn’t need to start off a job interview by flouting orders.

The fish geek lowers his voice. “Tova, look, I’ll tell you the same thing I told you last time you called. If your doctor says six weeks, I insist you take it.” Brows furrowed, he scowls at whatever response comes from the other end. “Okay. Fine. Four weeks, and we’ll reevaluate.” Another pause. “Yes, of course I’ll make sure they’re capable.”

Pause.

“Yes, I know how the scum builds up around the trash cans.”

Pause.

“Yes, I’ll make sure they use pure cotton. Polyester will streak the glass. Got it.”

Pause.

“All right. You take care, too.” At this, a note of tenderness creeps into his voice, which lilts with some vague accent that might be Caribbean. Not that Cameron has ever been to the Caribbean.

Letting out a long sigh, the fish geek replaces the receiver, shakes his head, and stands to offer his hand. “Terry Bailey. You must be here for the interview?”

“Yeah.” Cameron straightens, remembering what Ethan told him. “I mean, yes, sir. The maintenance position.” He passes his application over the desk.

“Good, good.” Terry sits back down and starts to scan the paper. Cameron sits, too, suddenly regretting everything he wrote. He and Ethan had thrown back most of that bottle of scotch, and Ethan had assured him that whatever he wrote didn’t matter, that his recommendation truly was good as gold.

Maybe they’d had too much fun with it.

Terry frowns. “You managed tank maintenance at SeaWorld?”

“Right.” Cameron nods.

“And you were on the crew that constructed the shark tank at Mandalay Bay? Like . . . in Las Vegas?”

“Yeah.” Cameron feels his mouth twitch. Too far?

Terry’s voice falls flat. “The shark exhibit at Mandalay Bay went in back in . . . what was it, 1994, I think?”

“Yep. Gotta love the nineties, man.” Cameron chuckles, trying for nonchalance.

Terry’s not buying it. “You couldn’t have even been born yet.”

Cameron was born in 1990, but it doesn’t seem wise to point that out to Terry. Instead, he says, “Yeah, so some of that might be an exaggeration.”

“Okay. Thanks for your time. You can go.”

Cameron looks up, surprised at how effectively the words pierce him.

“I mean it.” Terry’s voice is flat. “You’re wasting my time.”

“Wait!” Cameron says, horrified at his pathetic, pleading tone. But that damn tire. Aunt Jeanne’s cruise. He absolutely needs to land some cash, and quick. Pointing at the application, he says, “Okay. None of this is true.”

“You don’t say.”

“Ethan said you would think it’s funny.”

Terry sighs.

“But, man, hear me out,” Cameron goes. “I’m in a tough spot. I can do repairs, maintenance, whatever you need . . . I’ve got years of construction experience. Building luxury homes for rich pricks down in California.” He doesn’t add that he’s been fired a zillion times, but he’s worried it’s written on his face.

Terry leans back and crosses his arms, arches one brow. Universal code for Fine, I’m listening.

Cameron leans forward, earnest. “I’ve sealed up more Carrara marble than you could imagine. Whatever you need done, I can do it. Promise.”

Terry stares at the application for what seems like a ridiculously long time. Finally, he looks up, eyes narrow. “I don’t care about California or Carrara marble. And I do not appreciate this little stunt.”

Cameron studies his hands, which are knotted together in his lap. This is weirdly like being in the principal’s office being chewed out for sneaking cigarettes under the bleachers. He probably deserves it now, just like he did then.

Terry goes on, “You know, when I went to apply for college in the United States, my standardized test scores were not that great. But I knew sea life, I sure did. I was raised on a fishing boat outside Kingston.” He shifts a stack of papers on his messy desk. “I knew I wanted to come here to study marine biology, and a lot of people took a chance on me to make that happen.”