Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(9)
“It’s amazing,” I agreed, giving the design she’d pointed out its due admiration. I’m not a visual person; I’m verbal and auditory, all the way. I couldn’t even begin to describe why the design was unique, but it definitely stood out as the sort of tattoo art you didn’t see often.
“Should I get inked again? I think I might get inked again.” Mo didn’t really require an answer, so I didn’t give one. “Of course, I should probably wait until the end of summer. Do I really want to be taking care of a fresh tat up at summer camp?”
“Hmmm, good point.” I linked my arm through hers, and looked around highbrow downtown Saugatuck. It might be a vacation town, but it wasn’t a tourist trap. Aside from its popularity with gay vacationers, Saugatuck’s claim to fame was as an art colony. The clean, white buildings of downtown housed galleries, studios, and handmade-craft shops. They overlooked a boardwalk and marina loaded with pricey boats. The pristine town subliminally told its visitors to behave themselves and, please, do try not to be gauche.
It was more on the Martha’s Vineyard end of the vacation destination spectrum, as opposed to, say, Coney Island or Myrtle Beach.
Frankly, though? For my money, Myrtle Beach was a lot more fun. I’d gone there for spring break my senior year of high school with some friends, and lost my virginity to a college sophomore whose name I couldn’t remember now. He’d come from Pennsylvania or Delaware or someplace like that. That had been a good f*cking time in every sense of the phrase.
But while Saugatuck might not be a huge party spot full of carousing people, it was calm and quiet, and I guessed that had its value, too. That was one of the reasons I was hoping to find work in town, rather than having to commute up to Holland or wherever. I wanted to spend as much time here as possible. Problem was, summer jobs were prime pickings in vacation towns. I definitely wouldn’t be the only one applying, and to be honest, I was late on the starting gun.
“Are you ever gonna get inked?” Mo asked, tugging on my arm to cut off my mental rabbit chasing and pulling me along to continue our stroll.
“I don’t know.” I frowned thoughtfully. “I definitely can’t afford it right now. And, I mean, tats are really cool, but I think I’d either have to be very drunk or very turned on to cope with it. No one reputable will do it while you’re drunk, and they probably won’t pony up with a handjob first, either. Besides, you’re not supposed to take them in the water and I can’t take time off training. Coach’ll have my ass if I get back to school and I’m out of form.”
Assuming I can even afford to go back to school.
I didn’t add that part. I didn’t think it had occurred to Mo that I really might not be returning to GVSU with her if I couldn’t hammer out the finances.
“Topher,” she groaned, switching gears abruptly. “I don’t want to leave for Traverse City tomorrow. I want to stay here and hang out with you and—I don’t know—smack you over the head when you get all defeatist and shit.”
“Gee, thanks.” I gave her a wry grimace. “But it’s gotta happen sometime. We’ve had a great week, and we’ll have another great weekend when you get back. It’s going to be a fabulous summer.” I wrapped my arm around her thick waist and squeezed, leaning my head on her shoulder. “You know you love working with those rug rats, God only knows why. So go forth and counsel. My defeatism and I will be just fine.”
“You won’t be bored? Or lonely?” she asked anxiously. “I feel like a bad hostess.”
“Darling, who needs entertainment when I’ve got that lake outside the front door? And if I need human company, I’ll just, you know, undress your dad with my eyes.”
She slugged me on the shoulder, hard enough to make my eyes water and possibly leave a bruise, which I f*cking well deserved. But it got her laughing (while cringing), enough to quit asking me what I was going to do while she was gone, because I was damned if I knew. I’d been job hunting all week and had already checked around town. The most likely suspects for jobs already had all the help they needed. I left filled-out applications with them anyway, but got mostly the “don’t call us, we’ll call you” brush-off.
When I stopped rubbing my shoulder and complaining to Mo about the punch, she led us down the street again, heading toward the boardwalk. She was going to treat me to a seafood dinner, since she wouldn’t be there for my birthday. While we walked, she started throwing around ideas of what I could do while she was away.
“You know, you might not get paid for it, but you should see if the theater company needs any volunteer help. It would at least keep you occupied. Props, costumes, that sort of thing.”
“Woman, when am I going to have time to volunteer? I plan to be working, remember?” I shook my head, frowning. “Besides, I’m too big a diva for that. If I can’t be on stage, I don’t want to be involved at all. I’d be miserable, sitting backstage watching others doing what I want to be doing.”
“Well, find out what their production schedule is, see if they have open auditions.”
“Come on, Mo. You know I wouldn’t stand a chance. I’m lousy with choreography and I haven’t even sung in a choir for two years.” And I wasn’t good enough and would never be good enough, and no one wanted to listen to me anyway. I’d certainly received that message often enough.