Finding Reese (Tremont Lodge Series Book 1) (2 page)

“No one calls me a nerd and gets away with it.”

“Duly noted,” says Finn, backstroking toward the ladder of the pool. He flips his head backward and shakes water from his hair. The tattoo on his neck appears to be a butterfly, an odd choice for a guy. “You know!” he yells. “It’s kind of creepy to stare. Someone once told me that!” But before I turn away again, another cannonball sends a fresh load of pool water all over my head. Finn laughs and dives under the water. I walk in the direction of the buffet that has been set out, grab a hotdog and a bag of chips, and walk up the stairs and back to my room, dripping water along the way.

I slide my key down the security pad, waiting for the light to turn green. That’s when I realize I’m not alone. I turn the knob.

“Really?
You just met the guy, Tinley. Have you no self-respect?” Tinley is staring at me like she’s been caught shop-lifting and I’ve just threatened to call her parents. The strings from her halter dress hang untied at her shoulders, and Murphy’s hands freeze on her waist. With one swift motion she pushes Murphy off her. So not expecting her sudden change of mind, Murphy flies off the bed, though he’s not all that much larger than her.

“Do you know how to knock?” he says, angrily shoving his shirt back into his khaki shorts and slipping on his flip flops. Tinley runs past us holding her stomach and gagging as she throws open the bathroom door.

“Aren’t you going to thank me now?” I ask. Murphy grunts and brushes past me, slamming the door behind him.

I’m awakened by a text the next morning.

Blake:
Having fun up north?

Me:
Just making money.

Blake:
Try to loosen up. You’re living in a resort.

I slide my phone to off and put it away in my purse. If only I knew how to do this like my sixteen-year-old brother.

“Reese?” I hear my name but drawn out and painful sounding, like a bird call from a dying bird.
“Reeeeeesssseee.”
I roll over so I am facing Tinley who is lying on her bed with her face smooshed against the pillow. “Thanks for last night.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing. I am a domestic engineer after all. I’m all about cleaning these days.”

“I would laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly, but I’m sorry I was an ass. You’re really not so bad after all.”

“Well, I guess coming from you, that’s a compliment,” I say.

“It is, and…thanks for interrupting, you know…when you came back to the room.”

“You mean you’re not still mad about me busting your “date” with Murphy?”

“He’s not so bad, either. We weren’t going to
do
anything.”

“Of course not. That’s why your dress was practically around your waist.”

“You know, you’re not my mother. I try to apologize, and…oh, never mind. I’m going to take a shower.” Tinley throws off her covers and limps to the bathroom. I am hoping that she has to plunge a few more toilets today because smelling someone else’s crap might open her eyes to her own.

“Girls you are late, late, late,” says Helen as we amble onto the 8
th
floor at 9:00 AM. This happens again, and you will be demoted to sanitation duty. Understand?” We shake our heads
yes
in a sorry act of contrition though I doubt Helen would ever demote us. I’m pissed that I even waited for Tinley this morning after she begged me to, but it will be a long summer if we can’t at least be agreeable. “Now, I cannot stay mad at my girls. I want to hear
all
about the staff party last night, but first we work, work, work.” Helen points me toward a cleaning cart and one direction in the hallway and Tinley toward the other. “I will meet you in the middle. Now get going. And, remember to tuck the sheets tight—very tight—under the ends of the mattress.”

“Yes, Helen,” we say in unison.

My first room is a disaster, and it’s a
multiple
as Helen calls rooms that are checked out for more than one night. Those rooms tend to be messier, I suppose, as people know they aren’t leaving soon, so there’s no need to be packed and organized. I wonder, though, if it’s the people with the perfect pedigree homes where everything has its place who are the worst hotel guests. Where else can they let down their guard more completely than at a hotel? After all, they have a maid cleaning up their mess and catering to their whims. The stench hits me first. It’s a mixture of greasy pizza, dirty socks, and cigarette smoke. Great. That means I’ll have to scrub down the walls and then spray to cover up the cigarette smoke that is not even allowed in this room. I make a mental note to tell Helen to let the hotel management know.

I put my headphones on and crank up my iPhone despite the rules against that. What Helen doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Cleaning always moves faster when assisted by a good beat. I also slip on disposable gloves. Even though I am not well-traveled, I know what kind of stuff happens in hotel rooms. I once made the mistake of watching a news show that did a private investigation of some of the best hotels around the country. They shined a black light on the common areas in a hotel room, and the fluids and grossness that light revealed was enough to bring the strongest man to his knees.

We didn’t travel any more after we went to live with my grandparents. Taking in two young children when they were well past the child-rearing stage themselves was not only an emotional and physical burden, but a financial one, too. Blake was still in diapers and drinking formula. No Disney World for me, or even Great America, for what that’s worth. But when the Spanish Club at my high school sponsored a dozen fundraisers for our trip to Spain my junior year, I’d attended every one of them. I was there setting up chairs before anyone else arrived for the spaghetti dinners, and I stayed to mop floors, not leaving until the advisors said that everything was spotless. It was a great trip with plenty of camera-ready moments, but it was my first kiss in the middle of Puerta del Sol, the plaza in Madrid, that stains the forefront of my memory. While waiting for the rest of our group to return from shopping, I became enamored by a street performer who played the guitar in front of a large fountain. His chiseled good looks reminded me of statues we’d seen earlier in the day at Museo del Prado. The melody strummed from his guitar, filling the space with words that, though foreign to my mind, played familiar to my heart. He’d beckoned me closer, and I’d gone. I felt as though I were an audience of one despite the large group that filled in beside me. And then, right in the middle of one of his songs, he paused midstrum, stood up, walked over to where I was standing, put one finger on the bottom of my chin, and tipped it up. Then he kissed me on the lips, very softly. I must have closed my eyes because only the applause of the audience we’d attracted brought me back to reality. Of course, my Spanish teacher who was by then grabbing me by one arm away from the street performer, was aghast and yelling at him in all sorts of Spanish words she’d not taught us. If I’d penned the most romantic first kiss scene possible, it could not have matched that day.

A tap on my shoulder sends the vacuum cleaner careening across the floor into the edge of the dresser. A half cup of coffee falls to the floor. I turn around expecting to yell at Tinley for scaring the crap out of me. “Look what you did!” But it’s not Tinley I am yelling at.

“Well, you didn’t hear me the five times I called out to you, so what was I supposed to do?” A man about my age with squinty blue eyes and a head full of perfectly gelled blonde hair and no smile is staring back at me. I pull off my headphones.

“Sorry.”

“Are you deaf or something?” he asks.

“No. I was wearing these,” I say, pointing to the headphones. “Are you blind?”

“You can kiss your tip
good-bye
, you stupid…”

The frustrations of the last 24 hours come pouring out of me like an opened dam. “Don’t call me a bitch.” I push against the stranger’s chest with all 120 pounds of my might. He stumbles toward the wall.

“I can’t believe you just did that.” He grabs my wrists and pushes me away from him, hard enough that I fall back on the bed, landing in the box of leftover pizza. Greasy cheese clings to my elbow.

“Reese, how are you doing today, dear? Just checking on…oh my goodness!” Helen stops mid-sentence, with feather duster in hand. “Lawson? What’s…?”

“It’s okay, Helen. It seems that
Reese
tripped over the vacuum cord and made an ungraceful landing in last night’s dinner.” My mind registers confusion. Who
is
this guy?

“Well, that is most unfortunate,” she says. “You’re back early from your golf lesson. So sorry your room was not made up yet.”

“It’s okay, Helen. I won’t tell Mr. Oakley.” Lawson laughs, though no one else does. “It’s a joke, Helen. Relax. You know I love you.”

“Yes, yes, Lawson, you are such a jokester. Well, Reese, let’s get finished in here for Lawson. Nothing but the best for each of our guests.”

“Especially for a certain favorite nephew, right?” Lawson jabs Helen in the shoulder.

“Every guest is special. Every single one.”

“Sure thing, Helen. Now run along. I know you have things to clean. I’ll make sure Reese gets back on track.” He grins at me, revealing a perfect set of teeth that with the rest of his exterior most likely gets him out of a lot of trouble, but I don’t buy the façade for one minute. As soon as Helen closes the door, I jump up from the bed and brush pizza crumbs on the floor. “You know you’re just making more work for yourself, right?” Lawson says.

“Who is your uncle?” I spit out.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He laughs again, loud and obnoxious.

“I don’t ask questions I don’t want answers to.”

“You sure are feisty. Typical brunette. I’d be a little nicer if you want to keep this little job. Let’s just say that I have a bit of influence with what happens around here.” I bite my cheek and count to five in my head while breathing deeply. In…out. In…out. I need this job. I need to be here. I need answers. I wipe my hands on my shorts and thrust my hand at Lawson.

“My name is Reese Prentice.
Lawson,
it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Well, that’s better,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Reese Prentice. My name is Lawson Oakley.”

“You’re Mr. Oakley’s son?” I ask.

“No. Mr. Oakley doesn’t have any children. He’s too busy mingling with the ladies to settle on just one woman. I’m his favorite nephew, his
only
nephew,” he says with emphasis.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Lawson Oakley, why is it that the nephew of the owner of Tremont Lodge lives in a standard hotel room?” I see a flicker of anger pass through his eyes before he settles his sight back on me.

“I choose to stay in this room rather than with the college crew across the street. I have my
own
room. And my uncle likes to have insider reports about what is happening at his lodge. How else can he know what his staff is really up to if he doesn’t have a soldier on the ground, so to speak?”

“And what war are you fighting here, Lawson?”

“The war against incompetent help.” I switch on the vacuum cleaner to suck up the pizza crumbs and drown out Lawson’s voice. He darts back and forth in front of me at every turn I make in the room like some toddler tormenting his mother. I didn’t know it was possible to hate someone so much after just meeting him. When he sees that I am not surrendering, he tires of his games and opens the balcony door where he sits in a recliner and smokes a cigarette.

After the floor is clean, I throw out his trash, noting an opened condom wrapper on the floor behind the garbage can. I hate him even more now. I make the king-size bed, restock the bathroom with clean towels, and scrub down the sink and shower before assessing my work. The room looks great, but the thought of having to return every day makes me nauseous.

“Well done.” I jump at the sound of Lawson’s name. “Man, you sure are skittish. I like that. It tells me you are a girl who likes to be in control.” I roll my eyes and reach for my cart, ready to leave. “Wait. Look. I was an asshole. It’s just something I do when I meet people—test them out—you know?”

“If you are anything like your uncle, it’s no wonder he’s still single,” I say. With that, I open the door and push the cart into the hall.

By the time I got on the tenth floor to room 1014 today, it had already been cleaned. Having Helen catch me on the wrong floor again wouldn’t bode well for my job standing, especially since I was late this morning, and who knows what Lawson will tell his uncle about her cleaning staff. She’s been pretty amazing as far as a boss goes. There will be plenty of time to get into the room another day. Tinley is waiting by the laundry room on the ninth floor when I am done cleaning with my last room.

“My fingernails are a mess,” she says. “How does anyone expect to protect a French manicure when working in conditions like these?” I look down at my own unpolished nails, picked short because of a nervous habit.

“Maybe you should try to switch jobs, Tinley. I’m sure you’d make a great pool girl serving drinks or something.”

“I know I would, but then I’d have to work nights, and, well, I like having my nights to myself, you know? There are lots of guys here. I want to explore my options.”

“Funny you should say that.” But I stop myself from talking further. As much as I think that Tinley is a bubble-headed, entitled flake, she doesn’t deserve someone like Lawson. “Let’s go out tonight,” I say. “I’ve heard they have a good pizza place here. My treat.”

The pizza restaurant is located in the main level of the dormitory where the college help is staying for the summer, but it’s open to the guests at the lodge, too. It’s a very casual atmosphere with wood paneling and a hand carved bar top that spans almost the length of the entire restaurant. A jukebox is playing country music in the corner of the room, and two teenagers are playing pool. Tinley and I decide to sit at the bar. She tucks her too short skirt underneath her bottom, but one false move and her butt cheek is sitting on that bar stool. I’m wearing shorts and a tank top again, but I have applied a little mascara and lip gloss and tied my hair up in a high pony tail.

The bartender sets two beers in front of us though we haven’t even ordered. “Compliments of the boss,” he says, gesturing toward a corner booth where Lawson is sitting in between two blondes who are oblivious to his inattention to them.

“Do you know that guy?” asks Tinley. “He’s hot.”

“We met today. He’s trouble, big time, Tinley. Stay away from him.”

“Why did the bartender call him the boss?”

“His uncle is Mr. Oakley, the owner of this place.”

“Ted is his uncle?”

“Ted?”

“Ted—Mr. Oakley to you, I suppose—is an old fraternity brother of my dad. Why else did you think I’d pick
Michigan
to spend my summer? He assured my dad that this place was cool and I’d love it here.”

“Hmm, do you love it, Tinley?”

“It’s okay, but we need to meet a lot more guys.”

“Yeah, that sounds fine.” Lawson is roaring for another pitcher of beer which the bartender obliges right away. “Let’s get our pizza
to go
and eat by the lodge pool, okay?” I ask.

“Ooh, you’re a rule breaker after all. I like that.”

“If we just try to blend in, no one will know the difference between us and the guests,” I say, knowing that a visit to the dormitory pool for the college staff is likely to get me in more trouble like the party last night than fraternizing on guest turf.

“I want to change into my suit if we’re going to the pool. You wait for the pizza while I go change. Meet you there in fifteen.” She shimmies off the barstool and leaves me sitting alone before I have a chance to argue. I’d give anything for a pair of Dorothy’s red shoes right now.

“Who’s your friend?” Too late.

“Nobody who’d like your stellar personality,” I hiss at Lawson.

“It’s not my personality that the ladies like,” he says and grins, running his hand through his hair.

“Look, just clean up your own mess tonight. I’m not cleaning up after you and your little friends again.”

“Oh, jealous, are we?” He is standing so close that I feel his breath on my ear, and it smells like cigarettes and beer.

“Order up,” says the bartender to me. “Hey, Lawson, how are you doing?”

“Feeling challenged, Ian.” I throw a twenty dollar bill on the counter.

“Keep the change,” I say. Lawson doesn’t try to stop me as I brush past him, purposefully turning my head so that he gets a mouthful of my ponytail.

I walk through the open yard between the dormitory and Tremont Lodge. It’s really beautiful, meticulously landscaped with lush greenery and flowers of many colors in bloom throughout. There are children running around screaming. Some are playing giant yard games, like life-size chess and ladder ball. Others are simply enjoying the soft grass by turning somersaults. I wonder if that’s what I did once, too, though nothing on the grounds of Tremont Lodge triggers any memories of my parents.

The wooden stage in the middle of the grounds catches my eye, not only because it is surrounded by people that sit on the lawn or in Adirondack chairs pulled over from around the fire pit, but because the performer atop the stage is Finn. An open guitar case sits at his feet where women and children alike are dropping in dollar bills. He’s currently taking requests from the audience as I try to slip by unnoticed.

“I think I heard
Brown-Eyed Girl
from this brown-eyed beauty. Thanks for your request, miss.” He tips his baseball cap at me as if thanking me for the request I did not make. But as I walk away toward the pool and hear the melody of the song float through the air, I bat my brown eyes and smile.

I scan the pool deck looking for Tinley. There are very few available chairs. With the humidity on high, it looks like everyone’s been driven to the pool. At the far end of the pool, along the edge of the giant hot tub is where I spy Tinley. So much for wanting to fit in with the hotel guests. She’s leaning over a guy in the water. The straps of her white bikini are untied, and with every heave of her breath her boobs fall closer and closer to his face. He’s clearly amused by everything she’s saying.

“There you are Reese. I’m famished.” She pats her perfectly toned stomach. I suck mine in instinctively even though I’m not even wearing a bathing suit. I have a good body, but it takes the rare girl to be able to compete with someone who looks like Tinley, and I cannot. “This is Dean and his cousin Harrison. They’re from New York City. Isn’t that fabulous?” Both guys grin at Tinley.

“Hey. Nice to meet you. I’m Reese.” Dean doesn’t take his eyes off Tinley, but Harrison gives me a cursory once over. He must like what he sees upon closer inspection because he gets out of the hot tub to take the pizza from me.

“Let me get that for you. Come on. We have a table over there.” I follow him to the back of the pool deck. For a redhead, he’s not bad looking.

“Your friend tells me you guys are working at the lodge this summer,” he says.

“Yes.”

“So, what do you do when it’s not summer? Community college?” Oh my gosh, they’re just snobby rich kids like Tinley.

“And why would you assume that if I’m cleaning rooms for the summer then that must mean I’m only smart enough to attend community college, assuming you think that’s such a bad thing?”

“Well…I…uh, sorry I offended you. There’s nothing wrong with community college.” I sigh and grab a piece of cheese pizza, which is cold by now.

“I attend Michigan State in East Lansing.”

“You’re a Spartan. Cool. Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

“I didn’t see the need.”

“I just finished my first year at New York University Law School in the city.” I wipe my fingers on his towel, grab another piece of pizza, and wish I’d never agreed to meet Tinley here. She’s now in the water saddled up under Dean’s arm and whispering in his ear.

“Why are you at the Tremont?” I ask.

“Family wedding. Dean’s sister is marrying some guy from Michigan. The wedding is Saturday night.”

“Here?”

“The wedding is on the big lawn over there, and the reception is in the ballroom. You should come.” That thought makes me laugh out loud.

“Yeah, wedding crashing is one of my hobbies.”

“No, I’m serious,” says Harrison. “You could be my date—unless you have to work the event or something.” He looks away like he’s embarrassed.

“No, thanks. Have fun.” I stand up and push my chair away from the table, ready to leave. The last thing I need is to be asked out by a guest. It’s one thing to mingle with the guests at the pool. It’s another to party with them. Tinley’s still smothering Dean when I exit the pool.

While I’m already breaking one rule by being at the lodge pool, I decide to round out my evening by touring the lodge. When we clean, there’s a back door behind the scenes that we are supposed to use. From there a service elevator takes us to the floors we are assigned to clean. There are usually six or seven other girls who all meet up together for our ride to our respective floors. Some are foreign because I don’t understand their conversation, and I’m wishing I had taken more Spanish in high school because they seem friendly. Then there are two girls that clearly know each other from outside of the lodge because their conversations usually cover old news like, “
Remember when so-and-so dated so-and-so and she cheated on him. Well, now they’re back together. Can you believe that?”
The only girl I’d even want to talk to is a short girl with glasses who has a nervous habit of whistling Top 40 songs. I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it. Tinley stares at the girl like she has the plague, but I enjoy the challenge of
naming that tune
, even if I’m only playing against the girl in my head. Plus, she seems unpretentious which is a refreshing change from my roommate. Maybe I’ll introduce myself tomorrow.

The long corridor from the pool to the lobby is cluttered with stores on either side. There’s a deli with a sign in the window that says
Open for breakfast at 6:30 a.m.
A convenience store with extra toothbrushes and razors and candy and pop is across from the deli. The largest store has a display window with touristy souvenirs like Tremont Lodge t-shirts and shot glasses. There are pictures of the lodge in the wintertime in the display window, too. As busy as this place is in the summer, I can only imagine what it’s like in the winter when the ski slopes are open. I wonder if our family ever came here in the winter before the summer I was five.

“Can’t get enough of the lodge?” asks a voice from behind that startles me.

“You’re not going to turn me in, are you?” I ask Murphy.

“Not if you try to get me another date with Tinley,” Murphy says.

“You are a real piece of work,” I say. He puts his hand on my arm.

“I’m not so bad. Seriously. Look, some of the guys at the dorm and I are jamming on top of the mountain tonight if you two want to come. I’m done at the gift shop at 9:00.” He sees my look of surprise. “Yeah, don’t hold it against me. I’m a natural with the old ladies, so they put me in the gift shop to entice more sales.” I laugh despite my distrust of guys like Murphy, interested in only one thing.

“I thought the chair lifts to the top of the mountain are strictly off limits to staff,” I say.

“They are, but they close at 9:00, too, and there’s a lift about a half mile behind our dormitory that operates until midnight. Don’t worry. Management knows about it, been going on for decades. They don’t mind as long as no one gets stupid and falls off the mountain.”

“I’ll let Tinley know, but you have a little competition in that market.” I point toward the pool.

“I like a good challenge. See you around, Reese.” He turns back to the grandma who is buying t-shirts at the counter, most likely mementos for her grandchildren. “And while you’re walking on the wild side, you should check out the library across the lobby from the check-in desk, if you like that kind of thing,” yells Murphy from the counter. I wave a
thanks.

The lobby is huge with large wooden beams spanning the width of the ceiling. Even a wooden totem pole in the center of the room climbs to the ceiling. It is definitely a rustic vibe with moose and deer heads adorning the walls, but they don’t scare me. Grandpa took me hunting for turkeys once when I was about twelve. I didn’t eat Thanksgiving dinner for three years after that experience. It just didn’t seem ethical. Hunting may be necessary, but I identify more with the helpless turkey. Some might say I like playing the victim, but that’s only partially true. How can I be
playing the victim
when a seemingly innocent family vacation turns into a nightmare making you the poor little girl who was abandoned by her parents?

Excusing myself around the line of guests lining up to check in the lodge for the evening, I see the double French doors across from the desk to which Murphy was referring. I turn the knob and find myself staring into a huge room filled with books. Obviously a library, what strikes me the most is the ornateness of the room, so out of place with the simple, rustic feel of the lobby. Gold-colored lamps sit atop the end tables that anchor the many claw-footed couches in the room. A huge chandelier with large crystals hangs from the ceiling, casting light in every direction from the sun streaming in through the skylight. Every book upon the floor-to-ceiling wall of shelves is placed perfectly, with spine out, and grouped by size. I run my fingers over the spines and read aloud titles like
War and Peace, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,
and
The History of Michigan
. I can almost understand why the employees aren’t supposed to use the library. I mean, who would want to leave? This place is heaven.