“Holly, my darling one, come over here,” Peter says, standing up and gesturing for me to join him and Joel. My next-door neighbors have spent the past couple of hours bellied up to the Golf House Bar, as they tend to do on Sunday mornings. “We’ve got a proposition for you.”
“I don’t accept propositions from strange men at bars,” I say, smiling. “Particularly not when I’m on the clock.” And then, for good measure, I add, “But I’m not surprised by your come-on. I’m lookingdamngood this morning, if I do say so myself.”
“Loving the blowout,” Joel enthuses. “So sexy.”
Luisa took me shopping for the wedding, and then we headed over to La Barna, where her mom gave me the best blowout of my entire life. I don’t typically invest time or money in my look. But I thought,Why not?Well, actually, I thought,It wouldn’t hurt to show up at Monday night’s jazz jam looking hot.
While we were trying on dresses, I found myself chatting excitedly with Luisa about the date, but then worried that maybe I was crossing a line. We are, after all, business partners (so to speak), and I don’t want to come across as unprofessional. Still, I feel like we’re moving toward being friends—slowly—even if Luisa still hasn’t spilled on what the hell is going on with her and Eli.
In the meantime, at least I’ve got Peter and Joel. They’re quite skilled at dishing.
“Get your adorable little ass over here and listen to what we have to say,” Joel commands in his most bossy-pants voice. “Or I’ll evict youandthat ragamuffin son of yours.”
Byron stands behind the bar, smirking. Clearly, he’s in on whatever they’re cooking up.
“All right,” I sigh, knowing it’s useless to resist. “But make it fast. Because, unlike you two”—I point accusingly back and forth to Peter and Joel—“I don’t get a Sunday Funday. This is my place of business, I’ll remind you.”
It’s a perfect May weekend, crisp warm air, clear blue sky, and I’ve conveniently arranged to work setup for the club’s Sunday brunch, which is held on the terrace, adjacent to the Men’s Grill, and overlooking the eighteenth green. Eli is somewhere out there now, playing a round with Griggs, Jim Wade, and Judge Billy Thacker. His goal is simple: Slide right into the foursome and drop subtle hints about his deep pockets, lack of experience, and desire to invest. If he plays his cards right, he’ll be invited back by the time they leave the green. Meanwhile, I’m making myself look busy here beside the nineteenth hole, hoping to get intel when he returns.
Joel and Peter both swivel on their stools to face me, and Byron leans across the bar and rests his chin in his hand. Byron’s resting-chin pose is a surefire sign that he means business, so I’m starting to feel a little stressed about whatever it is they’re going to tell me.
“You need to be the next general manager of this place, Holly,” Joel says.
Oh, this again.
“You’re far and away the most qualified person for the job,” Peter adds.
“Exactly how many drinks have these two had?” I ask Byron, my voice teasing. “Because, as I told you, that’s never gonna happen.”
He shakes his head in response, and then, with his most authoritative deep voice, he says, “They’re right, Holly. And you know it.”
“Y’all are on drugs,” I announce, shooing them away with my hand.
Except, this time, I find that I really am thinking about being the general manager. Maybe it was my experience at the Altamaha Country Club, realizing how much more of an expert I am than most event managers—how much I’ve learned over the years, and how my peers respect me. I guess this whole scheme with Luisa has also helped me see that I can set a big goal and stick to it. I can problem-solve my way out of unexpected predicaments (hello, Eli’s perfect accent; hello, Hugh Pridmore). And I can keep my cool in a crisis. Aren’t all these classic managerial skills? Maybe they’re right about the GM job, maybe I should apply. I think back to what Luisa said last night, and I wonder if she could be onto something. Would it be possible to use these skills while also being my own boss?
It’s all moot as long as the whole Griggs situation sucks up my free time and energy. So instead of replying, I fall back, as I tend to do, on a self-deprecating joke.
“Come clean, Byron. Have you been adding ’shrooms to your signature Bloody Mary mix?”
This elicits laughs all around—until Joel rearranges his face into that plastic fake smile he wears when someone he deplores is coming close. Peter and Byron stare in the same direction and their laughter fades away. I look over my shoulder, following their collective gaze, and see none other than Griggs Caldecott Johnson III. My eyes dart around the room, searching for Eli. How did I miss them leaving the course? And where in God’s name is Eli?
Joel stands up stiffly, extending his hand. “Hello there, Griggs. It’s good to see you.” That’s a lie and I know it.
Griggs shakes Joel’s hand, smiling amiably. “How are you, buddy?” Then he steps in and places the same hand on my shoulder. I flinch at his touch, which I’m sure the entire bar notices.
“Hello, Peter,” Griggs says, his voice booming. He tends to be especially warm and gregarious around the two of them, as if to demonstrate that he’s a modern man, in line with the times,perfectly okay with the gays.
“Griggs,” Peter says in response, his tone low and maybe even a little threatening.
I’m watching their exchange, a part of me seething with anger at Griggs’s casual touch, feeling the terrible burn of it through my magnificent new dress.
“And what are you folks over here gossiping about?” Griggs asks, inspecting my freshly styled hair as he casually keeps his hand on my shoulder. Then he turns to look at Byron. “Am I imagining it, or is our Holly all gussied up for us today?”
“We’re actually over here deciding that Holly should be the club’s next GM,” Joel says confidently, standing up to face Griggs. “She’ll be submitting her application in no time.”
“Well, good for you, Holly,” Griggs exclaims, his voice too jovial. “I’m a voting member of the board, so you have the right connections,” he says. “If you butter me up a bit, that is.”
Disgusting man.We’re all silent for a beat, until Griggs lets out a burst of too-loud laughter.
