“No way! That’syourjob.”
He’s got a point, doesn’t he? The little bastard. I quickly start stacking their belongings onto the cart. “Where are you folks from?”
Worn-out dad, who is wrangling his daughter—a gifted climber who has shimmied up the pole of the cart—turns to me. “London, which means we were up at three a.m. to get to the airport.”
“Oh, dear, so you must be at your wit’s end.”
“You think?” he says, sarcastically.
I need this job. I need this job. I will lose my inheritance if I quit or get fired.“Would you care for a refreshment?” I ask, pointing to the table on the far side and suddenly noticing there are only a few glasses of the awful passionfruit-mango drink left.
“Does it have booze in it?” the woman asks with an expression that says the answer to that question will determine whether or not she bursts into tears. I glance at her son, who is clinging to her arm and lifting his feet off the ground as though his mum is a jungle gym instead of a human being.
“I want to swimnow!” he says again.
I smile broadly at her. “If it’s booze you need, it’s booze you shall have, milady. Let me tidy up the mess of luggage, and I’ll get this party started.”
Her eyes fill with hope, and she nods gratefully. I can’t help but pity her. She must need copious amounts of alcohol every damn day to get through her life. I need to fix this for her.
Five minutes later, the carts are full, I’ve placed the juice order and begged the catering manager for as many appetizers as they can bring. I’m now in a golf cart on my way to the nearest bar. When Bree saw me leaving, she gave me a what-the-hell look, but since she’s on the phone, she couldn’t stop me. I mouthed, “Trust me,” to her and took off like Pierce when he sees a lizard.
I hit the brakes and all but run to the open-air bar that sits poolside. Giving the bartender a quick nod, I say, “I need a package of solo cups, two bags of ice, two bottles of vodka, two rum, two bottles of tequila.”
“For what?”
“Emergency lobby party. Libby’s orders. Chop-chop.”
Apparently, dropping Libby’s name is the equivalent of “open sesame,” because he starts moving at lightning speed. “I’m going to take some of your lime and lemon slices as well,” I say, stepping behind the bar and finding a clean stainless-steel bowl. I spot an empty cardboard box on the tile floor and set it between us, and the two of us fill it with the supplies I need.
The sound of the resort’s reggae band comes floating across the water. “Can I have them, too?” I ask, pointing to the four musicians.
“You can have them. If I never hear “Stir It Up” again, it’ll be too soon.”
Moments later, I’m off again toward the ice cream bar that sits along the path toward the beach. I load up with boxes of ice cream bars, popsicles, and drumsticks, get back in and head toward the lobby, only to have another brainwave while I drive past one of the pools. “If it’s swimming he wants, it’s swimming the little bastard will get.”
I make one last stop at the pool, filling up the backseat with towels and commandeering a lifeguard named Monica from the deck. Can you commandeer a person? I’m not sure if that’s a thing, but I’m doing it anyway.
I pull up to the lobby with a screech, the band in a golf cart behind me. Turning to Monica, I say, “Grab the towels and head to that fountain. I’ll have some customers for you momentarily.”
I like Monica. She doesn’t ask a lot of questions and instead shrugs and does what I’ve asked. I point the band in the direction of the front steps. “If you can set up under that large palm tree, that would be perfect.”
Bree spots me immediately and hurries down the steps. “You can’t just take off like that. Especially when we’re in the middle of a crisis.”
“Sorry, but in a few short moments, the crisis will be averted, and you will love me.”
She follows me as I walk around to the other side of the cart. “Unless you left and came back a computer genius, we’re screwed.”
I lift the boxes of ice cream out and hand them to her. “Computers aren’t my particular strong suit, but you could say I’m a bit of a party savant.”
“Oh, well, that’s something to be proud of…” She watches me as I lift the box of bottles out of the trunk, her expression the epitome of skepticism.
“Give me five minutes. I’ll have these people so happy they won’t care if theyeverget to their rooms,” I say. “In the meantime, I need you to give each of the people in the queue a number to hold their place in line.”
Hurrying up the stairs, I make my way behind the refreshment table and quickly set up a makeshift bar. A room-service cart pulls up to the steps, and two servers get out.
Two minutes later, there’s a wonderful spread of appetizers, complete with plates and napkins ready. Next to them sit the boxes of ice cream treats, and I’m standing on the other side, ready to make cocktails.
I cup my hand over my mouth and call, “Hello everyone! If the lovely Brianna has already given you a number, come on over to have a bite and a drink. We’ve got ice cream for the kiddies—or grown-ups who like that sort of thing—and for the swimmers among us, we’ve arranged for a very special, never-before-done Paradise Bay wading pool and fountain experience right outside! Don’t worry, mums and dads, we’ve got towels there and one of our top-drawer lifeguards, Monica, will be happy to keep an eye on your children while they splash around. Let’s not let some silly computer business stop you from starting your vacation.”
