The Shore (11 page)

Avery shook her head as she headed for the front door. “Best to just let him sleep it off.”

“We’ve lived in the same house for two weeks and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him sober after three in the afternoon,” Polly said as she and Avery left the house and stepped out into the morning sunlight. “You think he’s an alcoholic?”

“I hope not,” Avery said.

A minute later they were walking down the beach, their shoes tucked into their tote bags. The sand squished between Polly’s toes in a pleasing way. It was just after ten, and the beach was starting to fill up with families under the brightly colored umbrellas.

As usual when they walked to work, Polly dropped her eyes to the sand, searching for shells. She had only found one really good one, so far—it was the size of a baseball and black with gold streaks—and she kept it in a place of honor on her dresser
in between a picture of her parents and another one of her grandparents.

“You’re quiet today,” Avery said, interrupting her thoughts.

Polly looked up quickly. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool, you’re just usually more talkative. Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Polly lied. In reality, things were far from fine. Every day all around her it seemed like everyone else was partying, hooking up, and even getting into relationships. Why can’t I just meet a nice guy?

“How’s the man-hunt going?” Avery asked with a grin.

Polly blushed, surprised that Avery had seemed to read her mind. “Not as well as I’d like,” she admitted.

“What about Fred? He likes you.”

“But nobody likes him,” said Polly.

“That’s not true,” Avery said. “Just a few big mouths in our house.”

“Yeah, but I have to live with them,” Polly said. And, anyway, she didn’t want to talk about it, and the best way was to change the subject. “What about you?”

“Me?” Avery asked, caught by surprise. “I’m with Curt.”

“You never wonder about other guys?” Polly asked.

“Who?” Avery asked.

“Anthony?”

“Our manager Anthony?” Avery asked bewildered. He was the manager of The Seashell and therefore her boss.

“Yeah, he’s gorgeous, and I think he likes you.”

Avery laughed. “No way.”

“Come on, even I’m not that naive,” Polly said. “He’s so obviously into you. Why else would he tell you that you were too pretty to be a waitress and make you the hostess?”

“Uh, maybe because he saw immediately that I’d make a terrible waitress and he couldn’t think of anything else for me to do?” Avery said.

“Nice try, Ave,” Polly scoffed. “You’re not that naive either. Now don’t make a big deal about it. It’s not your fault you’re beautiful and men fawn over you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Which part?” Polly asked. “That you’re beautiful, or that men can’t help fawning over you?”

“Uh, both?”

“Sorry, even Lucas stares at you sometimes.”

“He does?” Avery asked, sounding surprised.

Polly shook her head. It was ridiculous that Avery didn’t know this. “They all do, Avery. Even the ones who pretend not to.”

“I guess I just don’t notice,” Avery admitted.

“Well, do me a favor and from now on, notice a little. It’s frustrating that you don’t even enjoy it. I would kill to get a tenth of the attention you get.”

“I’m sorry,” Avery said.

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t pretend it’s not happening,” Polly said, surprised at her own bluntness.

“Okay, but seriously, I am sorry about the hostessing thing,” Avery said.

“Well, at least as a waitress I get tips,” Polly said, trying to make Avery feel better. “And don’t forget, if there’s a party of six, I automatically get fifteen percent.”

“Right,” Avery said, grinning. “Would it help if I steered the larger groups to your tables?”

“As long as the other waitresses don’t notice, that would be great. Thanks!” Polly said, thinking, I may not have met a guy but at least I’ve made a friend. Things could be worse.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for getting me the job,” Avery said.

“You’re welcome,” Polly said.

“No, I owe you. Suppose I make it my mission to help find you a guy.”

“Serious?” Polly asked, excitement running through her.

“Dead serious. If I can’t find a guy in this town who would want to be with a sweet and pretty girl like you, then there is no justice in this world.”

Polly hugged Avery. “That would be the best present ever.”

Avery patted her shoulder. “You deserve it.”

A few minutes later they arrived at the restaurant. The exterior was made up of dark wood and brass, and a sign declared in delicate pink letters the seashell restaurant. Large, round windows rimmed in brass faced the beach and the surrounding pier. There was an indoor seating area and an outdoor one. The tables
and chairs outside stood on a deck that ran halfway around the restaurant.

Next door was the Surfin’ Spot, a bar with live music where a lot of people, including Owen and his friends, often hung out. The bar was always loud and rowdy with people crammed inside and out. Anthony managed both places.

Polly slipped on her white Keds and Avery a pair of white strappy sandals. They climbed the steps that led up to the pier and to the entrance to The Seashell. Inside, the air was cool and the lighting muted. The nautical theme carried on with starfish, large shells, and red plastic lobsters scattered among fishnets hanging from the ceiling. Three other waitresses were already seated at a table, all wearing the same pale pink skirt and midriff shirt that Polly had on. Being a redhead, Polly had always avoided wearing pink and she knew that the outfit didn’t look that great on her. As hostess, Avery wore a simple, strapless, white cotton dress that offset her smooth shoulders. Polly would gladly have changed places with her.

Anthony, the manager, came out of the kitchen and ran an eye over all of them. He was just over six feet tall and had the sandy blond hair and tan that would have made him look like a beach bum were it not for the pleated linen white pants and a white long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. As Polly had said, he was gorgeous.

“Okay, ladies,” Anthony said, addressing them all. “We open in twenty minutes. Susie, Sandy, and Sarah will work the
dining room for lunch. Polly, you work the deck, and if Terry ever shows up, she’ll be out there with you.”

Polly sighed, frustrated. She hated working the deck alone, and she was pretty sure she was stuck because Terry was a flake and often missed work. The other three, or the Triple S Threat, as they were called, couldn’t be counted on to help. Susie, Sandy, and Sarah were triplets and they hated one another. They did, however, work well together in some sort of freaky superconnected way. Bottom line was that guests inside would be well taken care of. Polly and the guests outside would be miserable. It’s going to be one of those days.

It’s one of those days, Curt thought as he stared in frustration at his bandmates. Bobby, the bass player and songwriter, was sitting sullenly in a corner, his hand bandaged. The idiot had cut himself on a broken beer bottle. Austin, the lead singer, hadn’t hit a single note all morning. Darek sat by his drums, his long brown hair flopping into his eyes, and glared out from beneath his locks.

“All right, guys, come on,” Curt urged them. “Tonight’s the night. We came here for the chance to play, and we’ve got to take advantage of it.”

“I don’t think we’re in a position to take advantage of anything,” Darek said quietly.

“Except maybe some hotties after the show,” Austin said with a grin.

“If I were you, I’d be more worried about hitting notes than hitting on chicks,” Bobby said.

“Maybe if you wrote notes and lyrics that actually flowed and made sense, my job would be a little easier,” Austin flared.

“Maybe if you actually took care of your voice, you would actually be able to sing the music,” Bobby said.

“Fine talk from a guy who messed up his hand right before the gig. How did you do that again?” Austin asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“Cut the crap, both of you,” Curt said. “Arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“Neither is practicing, at this point,” Darek spoke up.

Curt turned to look at Darek, feeling his temper start to get out of hand. The last thing he needed was for the drummer to start in with BS like that. They might have a long way to go as a band, but they had come so far already and he wasn’t about to stop now. “I’m not giving up,” Curt hissed finally.

“You miss my meaning, dude,” Darek said. “Look, the night before a play opens, the actors take a break. They relax and don’t rehearse.”

“We’re not actors,” Bobby said.

“But we are performers,” Darek shot back. “It’s as much about the attitude as the playing. We should take a page from the actors. I don’t think we should rehearse right before the gig. We should knock off, get some rest, relax, whatever, so we’re fresh for tonight.”

Curt figured it couldn’t hurt. Anything had to be better than what they’d been doing for the last two hours. He nodded slowly. “Okay, maybe you’re right. Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Cool,” Austin said, almost visibly relaxing.

“Just one thing,” Curt added. “Austin, maybe you could gargle some lemon water or something. Bobby, see what can be done for your hand. Darek, get some sleep. We’ll meet at the pier at seven to set up. Agreed?”

They all nodded. Curt put Lucille back in her case and started for the front door.

“And what are you going to be doing?” Bobby asked.

“Looking for a little inspiration,” Curt said.

The band’s house was one block over and five houses up from the one he and Avery were staying at. As Curt trudged slowly back toward the house he thought about Avery. They hadn’t seen each other much in the past two weeks. She’d been putting in long hours at the restaurant, and he had been rehearsing with the band. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend time with her, it was just difficult to find the time to spend. He knew she wanted to go to the amusement parks on the boardwalk, but he just really wasn’t into that. Sooner or later he’d take her, though.

He was worried about the gig. The recent rehearsals had been disastrous. Maybe Darek was right, maybe they just needed to kick back and relax until seven. The house came into sight and he headed for it. Avery would be at work with Polly. The only one who might be home was April. Her job at the video store
came with crazy, random hours, usually in the evening. They’d talked several times about music since that first day when she’d played for him. He thought she was pretty cool, even if she was into that emo bleeding-heart music.

He entered the house and climbed the stairs. When he got to his and Avery’s room, some impulse took hold and he headed past it and straight for April’s door. He knocked and she opened it without even asking who was there. Guess I’m the only person who visits her.

“Hey, come in,” she said, smiling. Today she was wearing a tight black T-shirt and tight jeans, which showed off the shapely figure she often hid under baggier clothes.

He forced himself to smile in return. “Still playing that emo junk?” he asked, kidding her.

She grinned and fired one back. “Still playing so loud that no one can hear what you’re singing, or tell that you suck?”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Of course, you’ve never heard me play, so that’s just a guess on your part. But it just so happens that we’re playing a sunset concert tonight. You want to come?”

She glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes. “What would Avery say?”

“Why would she care? I’m just talking to a roommate and fellow musician. Besides, you should come, you might learn something.”

“And that would be that I was right all along and your band sucks?”

He actually laughed. “No, the band is good, especially if we’re playing covers. It’s our original songs that don’t make it.”

“Really?” she said, sitting on her bed and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“Yeah,” he admitted, sitting down next to her. “We need better material, original stuff, to actually go anywhere. But the songs Bobby writes suck. Unfortunately, none of the rest of us writes any better.”

“Sing me one,” she urged.

“You serious?” he asked, gazing at her slowly, letting his eyes run briefly down her body.

“Of course, I am. Come on, I sang one of mine for you,” she said. “And like you just said, we’re all musicians here.”

Curt nodded and picked up her old Yamaha acoustic. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He began to sing “Love in a Strange World.” He knew he had an okay voice and he played fine, but even he winced as he heard the words: “Love in a strange world, where I’m a boy and you’re a girl. We buy a ticket for the lottery just like love we hope we’ll soon see.”

“Stop!” April held up her hand. “Please, stop.” She picked up a pillow off her bed and buried her face in it.

“I told you,” he said, putting down her guitar. Her shoulders were shaking. “What is it?” he asked.

The only reply was the sound of muffled laughter. Impulsively, he lunged forward and ripped the pillow away. Lying on her side
on the bed, she looked up at him with eyes wide and dancing. Her lips were parted with laughter, and a strange sensation came over him. What would it be like to kiss her?

April didn’t think she’d be able to stop laughing. The song Curt had sung was awful. Absolutely terrible. When he snatched the pillow from her, though, she suddenly felt something completely different. She was no longer thinking about the song. Now she was staring up at his handsome face. His eyes were intense, and his lips were curled into an alluring smile. She reached up and pulled his lips down to hers.

He kissed her gently. First her lips, then her neck. When his lips returned to her lips, she parted them. Meanwhile his hand slid over her T-shirt, and April began to feel herself flood with desire. She kissed him harder and threw her arm around his neck. His left hand slid under her T-shirt, and she let the rough tips of his calloused fingers slip up her stomach. She arched her back, inviting him to undo her bra. He started to fumble with it, tugging, pulling . . .

Then yanking . . .