She lifts a brow, the corner of her red-smeared mouth stretching higher. “That’s one I’ve never heard before.”
I spread my hands on the counter between us, laying it out on the line. “Look, I don’t know how many applicants you’ve gotten for this job, but I promise if you hire me, you will not be sorry.”
“Okay,” she says with a nod. “I like your spunk.”
“That’s just what they told me at Gucci.” I grin.
Her laughter jingles like the bells overhead. “I’m sure they did. Come in tomorrow, ten o’clock. Okay?”
My pulse picks up, making me light-headed. My first job! “Thank you so much, ma’am.”
She lifts her hand. “First things first, cut the ma’am nonsense. My name’s Jolene.”
“Thank you, Jolene.”
By the time I’m back on my bike, I’m floating on air. It isn’t long before I find myself crossing the town lines. The Welcome to Red Drum sign sits high on a wooden post, a fish tail hooking around the words. I stop my bike and set my foot down on the pavement for balance. The sun beats on my scalp and shoulders. I think about turning around and heading back, but I have nothing to go back to. I may as well keep going.
That’s exactly what I do.
I ride into Red Drum as if I’ve just dropped into Oz. Everything’s so clean and new. The parking lots boast shining sedans instead of pickup trucks, and the high peaks of large homes reach into the clouds.We aren’t in Hell's Bend anymore, I muse to myself as I take it all in. This must be the “rich part of town” Cindy was talking about.
Following the winding road around a golf course, I come up on the entrance of the Red Drum Country Club. The wheels turn in my head. This is it. The birthplace of Sarah Cartwright, entrepreneur. The turning point in her young life. I feel her blood thrashing in my veins. I want to see it firsthand and stand in the very place where she stood. I want to feel her presence here, if only for a second.
All seems quiet without a soul in sight. But the iron gates are closed with keypad entry. There must be another way inside. I stash my bike in the bushes and peek around. Wrought-iron fencing lines a side-by-side row of tall evergreens. I sneak between, hoping for a break.Jackpot. A small bend in a baluster just wide enough for me to push through. I squat down and slip in sideways, sucking my breath to make me thinner. The majority of my life has been spent in places like this. I know how to carry myself as if I belong. I strut around like I’m the Queen of Sheeba, laying it on thick to make up for the way I’m dressed. The few people I pass don’t even look up. My chest swells with old pride. I miss this life, the luxury of being able to signfor anything I want without a care. They say money can’t buy happiness. That may be true, but it can rent it for a little while.
The scent of chlorine pulls me forward, the undisturbed aqua crying to be agitated. The area is quiet, save for a few old ladies nestled in the shade of an oversized umbrella. I slip out of my sneaker and toe the cool water. Sweat slicks my shirt to my skin. I don’t have a suit, but my cotton bralette can pass as a bikini top. I think to myself,what would Sarah do?
She would go for it.
In one swift move, I pull off my shirt and dive in. The shocking cold envelops me whole. I kick my feet, allowing my body to acclimate to the temperature before bobbing to the surface. It’s not just a swim. It’s a plunge into liquid heaven, and I never want to get out.
But a shadow passes over me. I look up into the narrowed gaze of a man in a suit. “Are you a member here?”
I swallow hard, wading my arms and legs to keep from going under. “Of course.”
“Show me your badge.”
My heart slams against my ribs. The last thing I need is an escort off the property by Garson here. The rich bitch inside me bubbles to the surface. I could chew this guy up and spit him out. “I’ll have you know that my family has been a member of this club for decades, and my father won’t be happy to learn that a staff member is giving me a hard time for simply taking a swim. Do I have to ask to see your superior?”
“She’s okay,” a deep baritone floats in from behind. “I vouch for her.”
The man’s angry expression falls neutral. “Mr. McNamara, I didn’t see you there.”
I follow his stare. Troy stands at the edge of the pool with swim trunks and a polo shirt stretched across his slender chest. “Well, here I am.”
The man’s tune changes on a dime. “I’m sorry, miss. Please enjoy your stay.”
He trudges away as I make a beeline for the ladder. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I hate that guy.” He hands me the towel from around his neck. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Recreating family traditions,” I say with a shrug. I shake off the last of my swim and start collecting my things.
But Troy’s next question stops my flight. “You never responded to my friend request.”
I glance over my shoulder and slip my shirt over my damp bralette. “I’m not looking to make new friends.”
“You can stay. Use my pass, sign for anything you want.”