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You are my private garden, my treasure, my bride, a secluded spring, a hidden fountain...Come into your garden, my love; taste its finest fruits. -Song of Solomon 4:12, 16 (NLT)
The music pulsated throughout her body. She felt the drums in her lungs, the bass in her spine, and the vocals in her nerves. The sanctuary was dark but the stage was awash in multi-colored lights cast from rigs on the ceiling. It was the kind of lighting used at rock concerts: spiraling teals and purples intermittently spiked with yellow-green dots. The lights shifted like a kaleidoscope turning in front of her eyes. I can't believe I'm in church, she kept thinking. It seemed to be the only thought that she could grab on to. Everything else in her mind was swirling wildly, moving too erratically to process, just like the crazy dancing lights.
The song ended and the worship leader began a prayer. Leah bowed her head instinctively, but she was distracted, imagining what her mother would say about this display. It was hard to believe she was there at her parents' suggestion. The minister of this church, Pastor Brian, had gone to seminary with her father. As soon as he learned his old college buddy had taken over this up-and-coming church on the Delmarva Peninsula, he'd encouraged Leah to give it a try...perhaps due more to curiosity than loyalty? she now suspected. Pastor Brian had earned a reputation for quickly amassing huge, vibrant congregations. He was working his way down the east coast: New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and now the eastern shore of Maryland. He'd stay three to five years and then move on to the next venue. He'll probably time it so he can retire when he reaches Florida, she mused. Maybe I'm performing reconnaissance so Dad can learn the method to his madness?
Madness is probably the word my mother would use to describe it all right, she smirked. The over-the-top sound and light system; the young, good-looking song leaders casually dressed in jeans; and of course the rock band instruments. She tried to envision an electric guitar being played in her parents' church back home. Her mother, who had led the music at church since she could remember, had just recently broadened her horizons enough to use a digital keyboard. She couldn't begin to imagine something like this spectacle in her parents' church. Yes, Mom would call it a spectacle.
The band segued into the next song, which had a driving beat and fast tempo. She felt her hips begin to sway to the rhythm before she could think to stop them. It was a song she'd heard on Christian radio. She felt her mouth open as her vocal chords began to vibrate in her throat, the lyrics escaping quite uncontrollably past her lips. Her eyes closed but she could still see the dizzying lights pulsating against her eyelids. She felt the music in her soul, down deep where the Holy Spirit resided within her.
Leah had perfected her weekly routine. It wasn't hard to do when sixty plus of her hours were devoted to The Pearl, the upscale resort where she worked. She'd started out as the front desk night manager, fresh from finishing her undergrad in Hotel Administration from the prestigious program at Cornell. A year later, she'd snagged the assistant general manager position when the incumbent left to take a job at a resort someplace tropical...was it the Bahamas? Bermuda? Something with a “B,” Leah thought, scanning her memory as if the detail mattered.
Her boss had retooled the job description and given it a swanky new dual-purpose title which was so ridiculous that she had to forcibly restrain herself from eye-rolling when she announced it: Guest Experience Strategist and Staff Liaison Specialist. Most of the time after she delivered the full title, she had to clarify, “I make sure everyone is happy: guests and employees.”
Her parents were still adjusting to the idea of their daughter working in the hospitality industry. Since her birth, they'd not foreseen any other future for their daughter, the oldest of three, aside from being shipped off to Bible college and settling down with an aspiring minister, much as Mrs. Miller had done circa 1980. Leah was born in 1984, exactly nine months after her parents' wedding. Naturally, her parents had found the perfect way of doing things. Why wouldn't their daughter want to follow in their footsteps?
She still remembered the day she told them she was applying to Cornell. Her guidance counselor, confident that Leah would be named valedictorian of her class, was devoted to helping her precocious mentee gain acceptance into a prestigious school. She showed Leah hundreds of college brochures and signed her up for dozens of mailing lists. Soon the Millers' mailbox overflowed with packets from universities all over the country, each selling themselves as the best value with the best faculty and the most engaged student body.
“How will you ever decide?” Mrs. Miller had asked. And Mr. Miller had replied, “Well, eliminating the ones we can't afford should make it easy.” They didn't anticipate that Leah would get a scholarship to attend an ivy league school like Cornell. She was able to leverage the trend of encouraging bright young women to study science and math. Leah sealed the deal by committing herself to the engineering program.
However, engineering never quite seemed as appealing once she started classes, especially not after the hotel administration program lured her in like a siren. Perhaps it stemmed from her growing up in a land-locked state and being especially susceptible to happy promises of working in tropical locales or aboard cruise ships. Something about that carefree, sun-drenched lifestyle was wildly alluring after growing up in a tiny little dot of a town in the cornfields of the Midwest. When she told colleagues she hailed from Wahoo, Nebraska, the looks on their faces were priceless.
Some thought the obscurity and town name were so comical that she must be making it up. Every once in a while, a devoted fan of late night television would say, “Isn't that the fictitious home office of the Late Show with David Letterman? You know, when he does his Top Ten List?”
It was true. For a while, her town was the honorary “home office,” which was something Letterman agreed to after town officials relentlessly harassed him. “How else do you get your little town on the proverbial map?” many Wahoo residents had joked. Her father had even joined in by doing a little bit of Top Ten Listing from the pulpit. It was still a source of pride even to present day.
Leah Miller was the small town girl who ventures far from home and makes a name for herself in the big city. Just another cliché, she thought as she slid her conservative church-going pumps off and contemplated what to do with her one day off. She didn't feel especially motivated as she propped her feet up on her rattan ottoman. All she wanted to do was replay the events of the previous night when she'd been called into work unexpectedly.
There's nothing more aggravating than being called into work at the last minute on a Saturday night, Leah sighed as she clicked the red button on her cell phone to end the call. She was known as the Go-To-Girl at The Pearl, the manager who would cheerfully spring into action whenever called to duty. Such as tonight. One of the bartenders was going to be out taking care of her sick toddler, a bartender needed to work a large private party which had been booked months in advance.
“It's the off season in a resort town,” her boss had reminded her. “We've got to impress this group so they'll continue to book here. They've nearly blocked all the rooms. We could have a lucrative long-term deal on our hands if they make this a regular thing!” His voice was animated and full of urgency.
“What kind of group is it?” Leah had inquired, curious about what kind of organization wanted to party in a ghost town. During the late fall and winter months when it was too cold for warm-weather beach activities, Ocean City hibernated.
Her boss, Barry Sampson, checked the record on his computer. “I'm not really sure,” he admitted. “It just says Casey's Group. They reserved the ballroom, and we don't book that for less than 100 guests. No catering contract, but they requested the full bar menu. It's going to be a busy night, too busy to rely on only two bartenders.” She could practically see the dollar signs dancing in front of his eyes.
“Okay,” Leah had smiled into the phone. Fake it till you make it was one of her most oft-repeated mantras. “I guess I'll brush up on my bartending knowledge this afternoon then.”
His audible sigh of relief whistled through the phone. “Atta girl!”
“It's no problem,” she assured him. Besides, it's not like there's anything else going on in Ocean City in the middle of November, she had thought. I'd otherwise be home alone wishing Netflix had better movies to stream and stuffing my face with junk food.
She climbed the steps to the back entrance of The Pearl and entered the door that led to the administrative offices. There was a pile of mail and notes on her desk right in the center. Her administrative assistant's last action before leaving each night was to dump anything received throughout the course of the day on Leah's desk. Leah didn't spend a lot of time in her office. She was a hands-on manager, always making the rounds to the front desk, to housekeeping, to the kitchen, then out to the pool and then back through the lobby to mingle with the guests. She took her responsibility to keep everyone happy very seriously.
No time to look at that pile now, she thought, glancing at her watch. It was 6 PM and the party started at 7. She needed to get over to the ballroom and see how the set up was coming along.
She greeted the other two bartenders with a little wave. “Trish called off tonight,” she explained. “So I guess you're stuck with me. I couldn't find anyone else to come in.”
“It's all good,” the tall, thin African American bartender assured her. “We'll have you doing Tom Cruise moves from Cocktail before the end of the night!” he predicted, the words sliding smoothly out of his wide, toothy grin.
The other bartender, Gina, was a short, slight woman that Leah guessed to be around 50 years of age. “Oh, look at her, staring at you like you've got two heads!” She shook her head at her colleague. “She's too young to remember that movie!” She had her dyed-auburn hair with the slightest wisps of gray peeking out around her temples whisked back into a severe bun.
Steve chuckled his deep, silky laugh. “Don't mind her,” he told Leah, cocking his head toward his fellow bartender. “She always likes to remind everyone how old she is. I think it's kinda amusing, especially since I'm even older.” He winked.
Leah's eyes grew wide. She would have never guessed Steve was older than Gina, not in a million years. Guess I'm not too good at this age guessing thing, she thought, tying on a blue apron emblazoned with The Pearl's logo. She pushed the double doors open into the back of the ballroom and peeked inside.
The room looked festive and elegant. Ornate brass chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling with their pearly white glass lamps, the bulbs turned down so only a faint glow was cast throughout the room. Twenty white tables were spread with fresh white linen tablecloths, anchored with round mirror tiles holding long white taper candles rising from shiny silver and blue candlesticks. Between each pair of candles were simple, tasteful floral centerpieces that featured white roses, blue carnations and greenery with little sprigs of faux pearls jutting out like baby's breath.
Leah scanned the perimeter of the room. Two sets of dark wooden doors on the side connected to the rest of the hotel and on the short sides hung floor-to-ceiling navy blue velvet curtains. On the wall where she stood, the swinging doors to the kitchen blended into the navy walls so that they were nearly imperceptible. A bar area was set up not far from the entrance to the kitchen. Directly across the room, the D.J. would set up his station in front of the parquet dance floor that would soon pulsate with multi-colored lights as music thumped throughout the room. The other long wall had the appearance of being all windows, but in the middle a set of glass French doors opened to the patio. The four ballroom walls were studded with art-deco style sconces which projected soft halos of light all around the room. Plush navy carpet with a floral paisley pattern stretched to all four corners of the room.
The ballroom was empty except for two waiters adjusting the centerpieces on the tables so that everything aligned perfectly, and the D.J., who was beginning to wheel in his equipment. Leah imagined what the elegantly appointed room would look like in another hour, filled with at least a hundred people, perhaps ladies in cocktail dresses and men in suits? She wasn't sure what to expect from Casey's Group, but by quickly perusing the contract she gathered it was a local charity organization.
The image bubble she'd created burst as the double doors from the hallway pushed open and a middle-aged woman with immaculately coiffed copper-colored hair and long, red manicured fingernails sashayed across the paisley carpet on four inch stiletto heels. She was a woman of girth, with broad shoulders and wide hips, but she carried herself with confidence and appeared to be on a mission. She immediately turned to Leah with a look of determination and began addressing her long before she got within ten feet. “The night manager at the front desk told me that his supervisor was bartending tonight? A Ms. Miller, I believe? Would you mind getting her for me?”
Leah smiled. She was used to guests underestimating her rank and mistaking her for a local college student at a weekend job. I'm sure wearing this apron only furthers that assumption, she thought. “I'm Leah Miller, Guest Experience Strategist. I'm more than happy to assist you with whatever you need to make your stay at The Pearl extraordinary.” It was her well-rehearsed, standard introduction, accompanied by her outstretched hand.
The copper-haired lady didn't seem taken aback, but rather launched into a lengthy complaint involving the front desk staff not allowing early check-ins or late check-outs for her guests, then morphing into something about an eight foot table that was supposed to be set up in the hallway and finally a tangential-sounding rant regarding a problem with the drink special. Leah only understood about half of what the woman spouted, but the pleasant smile affixed to her face did not waver. Instead she simply replied, “I'm sorry, I think I missed your name?” extending her hand toward the lady again after having retracted it shortly after the tirade commenced.
“I'm so sorry,” the lady sighed, grasping Leah's hand firmly. “I guess I'm a little stressed. This is our first time booking an event here, and you have different protocols than the last place we used. I'm Casey Fontaine.”
“No apologies,” Leah smiled warmly. “I will talk to the desk staff about the checking in and out issue. Now, about that table...” She turned to one of the waiters who was wheeling a cart of leftover mirror tiles back to the storage closet. “Peter, please get an eight foot table and tablecloth from storage and...how many chairs do you need, Ms. Fontaine?”
“I think four would do nicely,” she replied. Peter was off and running no sooner than the words passed through Ms. Fontaine's lips.
“Let me grab Steve and Gina, our regular bartenders, to clear up the matter about the drink special,” Leah offered. “Just a moment, please.” Ms. Fontaine nodded graciously as Leah headed off for the kitchen, swiftly reappearing with her staff in tow.
Steve went over the drink specials with Ms. Fontaine and within a few minutes, the worry lines had faded from her face. “Thank you so much,” she gushed, grasping Leah's hand firmly in both of hers. Despite her brusque, assertive personality and large stature, Ms. Fontaine's hands were soft and warm. “You've been a huge help, Leah.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Leah asked, eyes glowing with her guest's compliment. This was the part of her job she loved most: seeing contentment and satisfaction on her guests' faces after she offered service above and beyond their expectations.
“I'm so glad you'll be behind the bar tonight. I will definitely come and find you if there are any other issues!” Ms. Fontaine replied.
“Yes, please do!” Leah encouraged her. She watched Ms. Fontaine and a few of her entourage who had assembled during the impromptu meeting exit the ballroom to the hallway. The waiters had propped open the doors and Leah witnessed the party occupy the four seats that Peter had carefully placed behind the cloth-draped eight foot table. Leah walked past them on her way to the front desk to have a word with the night staff about the early check-ins and late check-outs. Nothing could be done to correct the early check-in issue, but she advised her staff to leave word for the morning shift about the late check-outs. It would certainly not be a problem on a Sunday in November.
Within the hour, guests began to arrive to the party. Most entered the ballroom concealed in coats or wraps and Leah was quite surprised to see that most of the ladies were rather scantily clad underneath. Some wore corset tops with short black skirts, fishnets and scarily tall high heels. Others donned curve-hugging low-cut dresses out of which ample cleavage spilled. The men were definitely more conservatively dressed, sporting dress pants and button down shirts or polos.
Leah had spotted a sign next to Casey's table in the hallway announcing the “Charity of the Month.” They were collecting cans and nonperishable items for a local food bank to distribute the following week. The large gift-wrapped box was overflowing by the time the last of the guests arrived. But Leah had no clue what the provocative attire had to do with the food bank collection.
She was also perplexed when she surveyed the dance floor. It was difficult to distinguish couples as the guests seemed to frequently trade dance partners. She'd seen one gentleman squeeze the posteriors of several different ladies. And there was a lot of kissing going on, more than just a peck on the cheek. What the heck kind of party is this? she wondered as she hustled back to the bar.
A trio approached together, a couple along with another man. The middle-aged woman was petite with long, curly dark hair that brushed against her exposed shoulders. She wore a tightly-laced bustier that forced her ample bosom to strain against the smooth black leather and a short denim skirt with thigh-high leather boots which also laced up the front. Her arms were interlocked with both men, one barely taller than her with a black mustache and dark, heavily lashed eyes. The other man broke free from her clutch to pay for the drinks. He was tall, 6'2” or 6'3” with tousled, sun-kissed sandy blonde hair graying at the temples and matching silvery facial scruff that outlined his full lips and chiseled jawline. He handed Leah a twenty dollar bill for the $11 check and grinned enough to show a dimple through his beginnings of a beard.
“Keep the change,” he winked, his blue eyes revealing both a buzz and a hint of mischievousness.
“Thanks,” Leah returned his smile, quickly making change and stuffing it into the tip jar. She planned to let Steve and Gina split the contents at the end of the night.
“You're not really a bartender, are you?” he guessed, his eyes locking onto hers. She noticed that the dark-haired couple for whom he'd bought the drinks had already made their way back to the throng of guests congregating near the D.J.'s table. She watched the woman grind her pelvis against the backside of another woman on the dance floor until the silvery scruff-faced man at the bar's piercing ocean-blue gaze drew her back in to his realm.
A magnanimous charisma emanated from him, a halo of good-natured warmth and acceptance. He seemed the type of person to whom everyone gravitated, the type people would share their deepest secrets with. Leah had felt the pull of this stock character's magnetic charm before. She knew what kind of power a man like that could have over women, even in her naïve 27-year-old state, one with only a small catalog of romantic endeavors.
“Actually, no, I'm not,” she replied pleasantly, struggling to remain in work mode. “I had to fill in tonight for a bartender who called out. I'm the Guest Experience Strategist.”
“You don't say,” he smirked, his dimples even more evident. “I, too, like to think of myself as an Experience Strategist!” His right eye flashed another wink as his lips spread into a grin and parted wide enough to show his pearly whites.
Leah suppressed a gasp as she scrambled for a response to his not-so-subtle innuendo. Just who does this guy think he is, anyway? she wondered. She could feel the testosterone oozing out of his pores. I'm sure liquid courage has something to do with his boldness, she theorized. She had dealt with plenty of inebriated guests in her short career. She always felt the best strategy was to smile and nod, unless hotel rules were being violated, of course.
He straightened to his full height and extended his hand to her. “I'm Captain Chris Sheldon,” he offered smoothly, the slightly smarmy tone from moments before swiftly vanishing, replaced with suave and debonair.
“Military?” Leah asked, her eyes bright, ignoring his outstretched palm. There was an Air Force base in Dover and a Navy base on the Eastern shore of Virginia, so it wasn't unusual for her to have officers as guests at The Pearl.
He chuckled, flashing the dimples again. “No, no, I'm a charter fishing captain. My friends call me 'Cap.'” He pumped his arm up and down once as if to remind her he was waiting to make contact with her.
When she finally accepted his handshake, she felt the warmth of his skin wrap around her and sink into her pores. “It's nice to meet you, Captain Sheldon,” she said formally.
“The pleasure is all mine...” He paused with an expectant grin, waiting for her to reciprocate by sharing her name.
“Oh, sorry, I'm Leah, Leah Miller,” she managed awkwardly, surprised at how quickly his tone morphed back into Slightly Drunk Flirty Guy Mode.
“Leah,” he repeated, his hand still wrapped around hers.
She wondered if he was ever going to let her hand go. Then she began to contemplate whether someone had forgotten to turn down the heat in the ballroom or if her cheeks were flushing from embarrassment. Either way, this is almost painful! she lamented, eagerly waiting for him to loosen his grip on her.
“I bet you haven't ever bartended a party like this before,” he conjectured, letting her hand slowly slip from his. She felt the warmth his touch had generated evaporate from her skin.
“I've never bartended at all,” she admitted, glad to have her hand freed. “Not a party 'like this' or otherwise.” What in the world did he mean by that? she wondered, trying to conceal her curiosity behind the forced business-like smile plastered to her face. It was an expression she had perfected throughout her time in management.
He laughed and stepped another foot closer to her, close enough that his elbow could rest on the bar while he leaned in toward her. Why isn't anyone else coming up for a drink? she panicked, glancing around at the seemingly happy crowd and then toward the kitchen door to see if either Steve or Gina were returning from their break.
“You don't know what kind of party this is, then?” he wagered, his eyes glued back onto hers.
She was beginning to feel flustered and in need of rescue. She hadn't planned on having any in-depth conversations with the guests, unless they were about how the hotel could make their stay more enjoyable. This was beyond the scope of her job. It's none of my business what kind of party this is, she thought, even if the guests do seem a little different than I expected. She let the plastered smile hold her lips in place as she very slowly shook her head and raised her eyebrows.
Captain Sheldon laughed again. “It's a swinger party, Leah. We're swingers.”
That Sunday afternoon the details of the prior night's party still buzzed in her head, and Leah was finding it difficult to relax on her day off. She heard Captain Sheldon's voice echoing through her mind as she zoomed through all the cable channels, unable to land on any program compelling enough to pull her attention away from her thoughts. Her observations about Casey's Group immediately made sense to her after his admission. Everything clicked: the provocative attire, the kissing and groping, the exchanging of partners on the dance floor. But still: swingers? It seemed like a mythical construct to her, like Santa Claus or Bigfoot, instead of a real thing.
To each their own, she surmised, her stance unwavering even after she'd had some time to think about it. The guests looked happy and Casey Fontaine was beyond pleased with the outcome of the event. The Pearl had done a great deal of business that night. The bartenders poured drinks well past midnight and nearly all the rooms had been booked. Leah's boss would be pleased and that was what mattered most. So that's that, Leah decided, I'm going to chalk it up as a win!
After that final judgment, she took her puppy for a walk and filled her mind with thoughts of her family, the morning church service and its over-the-top spectacle, and all the files on her desk eagerly awaiting her return to work. Despite her careful attention to all of those important matters, that Cap character from the party kept triggering little flashbacks. Those ocean-blue eyes and dimples were simply unforgettable.
