Georgie, All Along (31)
“I’ve been showing her some hope chests!” the proprietor chimes in, and Olivia oohs and aahs at the one on the floor that I’d forgotten all about.
“Another great find, Pam,” Evan says, and approximately sixty-year-old-Pam has the approximate vibe of thirteen-year-old me at the moment. “We’ve picked out a few things, too, when you’re ready for us.”
Pam clasps her hands together. “The Fannings are my best customers,” she says to Bel and me. “How many of your guest rooms have pieces from here, Evan?” I’m pretty sure she bats her eyelashes.
“Oh, about every one,” Evan says easily, and her cheeks flush. He’s still got it, I guess. For a second, his eyes meet mine, and I don’t know how he does it, but it’s as if he’s winking at me without actually winking. Like he’s telling me he noticed that I noticed his charm, like we’re in on a secret together. Somehow, he manages to do this without seeming smug, and I admit it: the body scan turns up something this time. Not a full-on stomach flutter, but . . . a stomach something.
“Y ’all still work at The Shoreline?” Bel asks, and I narrow my eyes at her a little. I haven’t heard Bel say y’all since sophomore year, right about the time she joined the debate and forensics team.
Olivia beams. “Evan’s the general manager now. I run the spa.”
Bel’s eyebrows raise up. “I didn’t know there was a spa! Georgie, there’s a spa! We’ll have to come out sometime.”
“Oh, I’d love that,” says Olivia. “We have a pregnancy massage that people rave about.” She looks to me. “And obviously tons of other services! Probably not as fancy as what you’re used to, coming from California!”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” I say with a smile. Olivia seems nice, even if this meeting overall is extremely confusing for me personally. I’m standing on a cliffside and the water below is comprised entirely of the question: Why don’t you two talk to your older brother? I’m itching to jump in.
Instead I say, “I didn’t usually have time for spa visits, anyway.”
“Oh, I mean. You wouldn’t, right? You’re probably so booked!” Not anymore! my brain chirps. It’s just me and my old notebook full of silly ideas for now!
“Speaking of booked,” says Evan, looking down at the smart watch he’s wearing. “Pam, maybe we’ll give you a call about the pieces. Unfortunately we both have to do fill-in shifts in the restaurant tonight.”
Pam clucks her tongue. “Still having trouble, huh?”
It’s Olivia’s turn to groan. “You would not believe it. Tons of competition for servers right now! We’ve got a couple of new people onboard, but it’s still tricky staffing shifts.”
“Last week I tripped up the steps from the patio and dropped a half-full bottle of Mo?t,” Evan says, shaking his head, all easy comfort with his own clumsiness. “I wonder what disasters await me tonight.”
“I’m sure you’re wonderful,” says Pam.
“You know,” Bel says, and it’s the way she stretches out the know. You kno-oh. It’s the way her elbow presses into my side. I know what she’s going to say even before it’s out of her mouth, and I’m powerless to stop her.
“Georgie has tons of restaurant experience,” she finishes.
Olivia puts her hands up, spreading her fingers wide, her mouth in an O that she transforms into a dramatic, “Ohmygod.” I have never seen anyone be this impressed by my past work as a waitress, but it makes more sense when Olivia adds, “Isn’t that how you got discovered?”
At this description—as if I’m a model or an actress or something!—I actually do laugh. “Sort of. I was working as a waitress in Richmond when I got my first on-set job.”
A fluke, really—at the time, there was a prestige cable drama about the Civil War filming in and around the city, and four nights a week, the director came in to the restaurant where I worked to have dinner. He wanted the same table every night, was usually alone, and always had his laptop. When it crashed halfway through his entrée one Wednesday evening, I helped him out by texting Justin, the guy who lived in the apartment two floors below and ran a side gig doing tech support. Justin got a thousand bucks in cash and two pieces of chocolate torte that was going to get thrown out at the end of the night, the director got his laptop up and running better than it was before, and I got an offer to come by the set as a thank-you for helping save the next day’s shoot. Soon enough, I had a new temp gig during my days—delivering coffees, picking up dry cleaning, reporting to the AD about how long the lead actor had been arguing with his boyfriend on FaceTime.
“You must be a real talent,” says Evan, and there’s Bel’s elbow again. Jeez, she’s gotten strong. I wonder absently whether I should renew my subscription to the fitness app I only used six times last year.
I take a half step away from her and wave a hand in embarrassed dismissal of the compliment, although I’m not sure why. Maybe I’ve gotten used to the word talent as describing a certain sector of the workforce I was involved in, a sector that didn’t include me.
“I mean,” I say, a teasing note in my voice, “I never dropped a bottle of champagne.”
Evan laughs and Olivia claps once, bouncing on her toes. Pam seems a bit miffed over there, because she thinks I’m trying to steal her boyfriend.