LURE Read online

  LURE

  By Stephanie Jenkins

  Copyright 2011 Stephanie Jenkins

  PubIt! Edition

  CHAPTER ONE

  I despised the odor of fish; an unfortunate problem for someone stuck serving the grub to tourists every weekend. The smell clung to my hair, clothes, and the seats of my crappy car. Febreze never worked and perfume—even the overpowering, cheap brand old women douse themselves in—made the scent worse. Trust me, I’d tried it all.

  Rob, my boss, nodded at a tray of drinks. “Take these to six.”

  “Can't,” I said. I inhaled the glass closest to me and, sadly, almost drooled. White Russian. “Seventeen, remember?” Besides, I was having a bad night. Good chance I'd take a sip or down the entire thing before the order reached the table.

  He opened his mouth but immediately shut it after looking around the restaurant. My boss is smart. Cops always come to Romano’s on Saturday nights and have no problem calling Rob out on letting a minor carry alcohol. Kim, the college girl who’d spent the past week flashing her ID to everyone, shuffled from the kitchen. Rob flagged her down before she came around the bar. “Switch sections with Charlotte.”

  Absolutely wonderful.

  He was putting me in the section furthest away from the bar. You know, the buzz kill area. That section usually consisted of middle school kids on first dates and families with toddlers who threw ranch dressing at my hair. That section also meant fewer drunks and five percent tips. Most evenings, Rob carried the drinks for me, but tonight we were busy and short-staffed.

  Kim made a face but scooped up the tray. “Oh, well.” Fluffing the back of her skunk-colored reverse mullet, she flashed me a satisfied smirk that Rob somehow failed to notice, and added, “Too bad for you, Char. Horrible tips in my section tonight!”

  “Horrible tips in my section,” I mimicked when she was out of earshot. She knew I counted on my tips. Less than a week before, I’d told her how I wanted to start saving up for school because my dad‘s salary alone wasn’t going to cut it for tuition. Now I wish I’d taken my usual approach toward Kim: evade and ignore. I took a pitcher of tea off the bar counter and stalked to my new area, coming face to face with four Summer Boys sitting down. Rich kids flocked to Gloucester with their parents every June through August. Depending on when they had to go back to private school, some stuck around past Labor Day. Rob claimed they were good for business. Maybe he failed to realize their negative effect on my sanity.

  I sat the tea on the table and fumbled in my apron for my pen and pad. “Can I take your order?”

  “What's good here?” one of the boys asked. The voice sounded different, Southern. Nothing like the crisp, refined accent of most Summer Kids. I quit staring at my pocket and looked around the table, attempting to pinpoint who spoke to me. When I didn’t answer the question immediately, the only blonde in the group said, “Never mind. Just get me your favorite.”

  “I don't eat meat, especially not fish,” I blurted.

  Nice one, Brewer.

  His mouth curled into a grin. He tilted his head to one side, sizing me up. “What do you eat, then?”

  The other guys at the table snickered.

  Lucky me. I hit the Summer Kid jackpot: Pervs. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder. Rob’s frown told me I couldn’t get away with knocking tea into a customer’s lap.

  “I'm a vegan,” I said. Our eyes stayed connected for a few more seconds then I dragged my gaze to the top of his head. Why had I even answered him? Boys like him—golden boys with pressed Polo shirts and cocky smiles—were the ones I avoided. Shiny, superficial, and predictable. “Now, how may I help you?”

  They ordered steak, typical for Summer Kids, but I couldn’t help feeling grossed out as I thought of the poor cows that would be served, medium rare. Before I made my way to the kitchen, my friends, Andy and Sophie, stopped me at the bar. She held a menu even though she knew every entrée and appetizer by heart. They were early tonight. I mean, I always expected them to show their faces at some point on Friday and Saturday nights, but that rarely happened before nine.

  “Why are you here?” I asked. My impatience was impossible to hide, and a woman walking past us looked over her shoulder, casting a dark glare at me. She probably thought I was being an ass to paying customers. If that were true, maybe I wouldn’t be so frustrated. My friends loitered, and whenever that happened, Rob cornered me after work for a heart to heart about mixing business with my social life. I never argued with him, but in reality, my personal life was about as exciting as the Behind the Music marathons my dad loved. At the end of every talk, Rob told me to stay off drugs.

  Yeah, my boss had a bipolar method of showing he cared.

  Sophie lifted dilated pupils, twirled a frizzy, wheat-colored curl around one finger, and gave me a half-smile that was more of a grimace. “Just wanted to see you, Char.” It wasn’t seven o’clock yet, and she was high. Andy shrugged. Like always, visiting me was her idea. He tagged along so she wouldn't total her car.

  And because six months ago, he figured out he was crazy about her. It had to suck for him. They were practically attached at the hip, which meant he was stuck watching her bounce from boyfriend to boyfriend.

  “Rob has a no beggar policy. And stop stalking the bartender, I’ll hear it for that, too.” I scratched a mosquito bite on my wrist and jerked my head toward my section. “Let me go run this order to the back. Sit wherever.”

  “Bring me a Coke,” Andy called after me. What a moocher.

  Still, regardless of how much Rob whined about their visits or how many sodas they downed, I was a chocolate heart when it came to my friends. I absolutely could not ask them to leave. The three of us had been inseparable since preschool when we discovered that rolled-up balls of Wonder Bread made awesome lunch table ammo. Last year, they were the only friends who defended Mom against the rumors before, and after, she died.

  They were munching on corn muffins when I found their booth, the one with the faded upholstery in the back of the restaurant. I plunked Andy’s drink in front of him. “Where'd you get those?”

  “Your boss,” he said. That’s what I figured. For someone who whined constantly about how personal relationships hurt business, Rob sure as hell did a great job making my nonpaying friends feel welcome.

  “You do realize that when you eat for free, my paycheck disappears, right?”

  Andy rolled his eyes as he dug into his pocket. He smacked five dollars onto the table. “We good?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Not even close, friend, but keep saving your allowance. I’ll send you a bill for all the times Rob’s screwed me and my check over.” Under the harsh lighting, I finally noticed that Sophie was wearing makeup. “Plans tonight?”

  “Party at The Lighthouse tonight,” she lisped. “You’re coming with.”

  That explained their visit. Sophie learned a long time ago that I had no issue saying “no” over the phone. If she annoyed me, the mute button was my new BFF. Face to face requests were an entirely different story because I failed at turning her down in person. My eyebrows knotted together. “They always get busted. You know how my dad is about alcohol,” I said.

  Andy stared behind me, lifting his chin. “I think you’re being summoned.” I followed his gaze and snorted when I saw Golden Boy waving me over. When he saw that he had my attention, a dumbass grin plastered across his face. Suck it up and wait, I thought.

  Sophie’s eyelids lowered. She dropped her head to Andy’s shoulder and groped at his hair like she always did when she was high. Two weeks ago, he cut his massive, curly afro. We’d teased him about looking like the kid from High School Musical for months before he finally gave in and begged the stylist at the mall to attack his hair with clippers. Her mouth curled down in
disappointment, as if she just now realized his hair was gone. “Come on, Char, have some fun.”

  She was already in her fun place for the evening, messed up and absolutely out of it.

  Golden Boy bounced in his seat now, flailing his hand above his head like a kindergarten kid on the first day of school. I reached the table before Rob made it past the first few in my section. He glowered at me then left to find someone else to hassle.

  “What can I get for you?”

  Golden wiggled his glass at me. A few chunks of melted ice clinked around the bottom. “My drink is empty.”

  Rob claimed that a happy customer was a constant customer. The problem with his motto was that I didn’t want Summer Kids to return. “Let me get you another.” I pried the glass from his grip. His hand covered mine, and as we touched, a static shock rushed up my wrist. He felt it, too. Soft fingertips slid across the back of my hand, as if he hoped it would happen once more.

  I would be stupid if I let it, so I pulled away. Tiny hairs on my arm stood on end. “So, Vegan Girl, I wondered . . . can I get your number?”

  A seemingly innocent request, but the sensation from our touch stopped. I was so not this kid’s type. I towered over half the boys in my class, and my curves meant that I would never be a supermodel. His type chased thin, preppy girls who giggled when he spoke. Not smartasses like me. He was pretending to be interested in me and that kind of irritated me.

  Okay, correction, it bothered me so much my head buzzed.

  “Against restaurant policy,” I said.

  That was far from the truth since my boss only cared whether his customers returned. If that meant me trading digits with random men—including truck drivers with skinny legs, beer guts, and energy drink fetishes—Rob was 100% for it.

  Golden Boy asked for my number once more when I returned with his Sprite. His friends smirked, nodding their heads. Hounding waiters must have been their routine.

  “747-7633,” I said.

  No questions about why I changed my mind. He just eyeballed my nametag and typed into his fancy cell phone. Sucked he didn't have a normal keypad. Then he would have realized the numbers I gave him spelled “piss off”. But later, when he tried to call me for a midnight hookup, he'd figure it out. I gave the group a sugary smile. “Be back with your food in a few.”

  ***

  Sophie and Andy left around the same time as the Summer Boys. They were still pressuring me about the party as I forced them out the front doors, and I promised to call after my shift.

  Golden Boy winked at me before he left—a guarantee he would make a lame attempt at calling my fake number later. Like I said, Summer Kids and predictability go hand in hand. His party climbed into a shiny pearl white Dodge truck, and I was, admittedly, a little envious. At least they left a decent tip. Fifteen dollars, or in P.O.S. Jeep language: A quarter tank of gas.

  “Say hello to your dad and Cameron for me,” Rob said as I swiped my bag from beneath the bar.

  I cringed. “Yeah, I will. ‘Night, Rob.” If Dad was at home and my brother sober, I would be ecstatic, but there was a better chance of me choking down Sunday’s Lobster Special. Rob knew that, too.

  I stepped outside, rotated my face toward the sea, and drew in a gigantic breath of salty air. It was an evening ritual and my favorite part about working at Romano’s—the waterfront location soothed me.

  When I heard the music, I was almost to my car. My feet automatically twisted me around and pulled me across the street. I didn’t realize I’d reached the dock until the boards beneath me creaked. An old fear pinched my heart, and my fingertips clamped around the cold, moist railing. Metal and wood. The only thing separating me from drowning was metal and wood, yet I continued walking. I didn’t have a choice, it was impossible to turn around. I sank to my knees, wood from the dock scraping through my thin work pants.

  I didn’t care.

  The woman’s voice reached out to me in the darkness. It begged me to come closer, and I gripped a weathered post and strained my neck to listen. Whispery, strong singing teased my senses, and though the lyrics were indecipherable, I recognized the heartbreaking lullaby as a warning.

  Death and chaos waits beneath the waves. The music grew louder, until I shivered and my spine tingled. Come to me. It never hurts for long.

  I recoiled and nearly fell from my perch but rough hands steadied me. “Charlotte, what are you doing?” Rob stared down at me, eyes bulging.

  “Huh?”

  His fingers dug into my upper arm as he steered me from the edge of the pier. “You were leaned over. I thought you were sick.” The way he whispered the last word told me he thought I was a suicidal maniac.

  Fantastic.

  “I heard singing,” I said lamely.

  His forehead scrunched into a deeper frown. He let go of my arm so he could scratch his chin. “We’re the only ones out here; everyone else is gone for the night.”

  “Huh?” God, I was starting to sound like a ditz.

  Rob spoke slowly this time, opening his mouth wider than usual. “You’ve been off for forty-five minutes.”

  I started to argue with him, but then I checked my watch. It was ten-fifty, and Rob was right. “Are you high, Charlotte? Because you know the rules!”

  “No, I-I have a migraine.” Just to reassure him, I squeezed the area between my eyes. It was useless. Tomorrow, he’d send me to the hospital for a random pee test. I was starting to get used to them.

  Once he became worried, shaking him off was impossible. He insisted on walking me to my car. I climbed in, cursing myself for being dumb enough to say I heard voices. “Get some sleep, kid. You don’t look too good,” he said. He closed the door and rapped his fingertips on the window. My breath caught when I met his stare and saw pity.

  As I left Romano’s, I wanted to slam on the gas so I could make a fast getaway, but I drove slowly. It wasn’t worth Rob waving me down to give a lecture about the safety hazards of speeding in parking lots. I’d heard it too many times to count. Despite the warm evening, and the fact the Jeep’s air conditioner quit on me last month, I left the windows up. The only sound in my car rattled from the ancient twentieth century engine.

  I slipped into my house fifteen minutes later. Just as I figured, my father was at work. Cam was asleep in the "Man Room" (aka the garage) with a half-empty Jim Beam bottle by the couch. I lifted his feet and ankles and plopped down. He didn’t budge. Cam always liked partying, but after Mom died, the drinking became excessive. Finding him like this on a regular basis put me in a crappy position. I’d confronted him more than once, but the conversations that started out hushed quickly turned into screaming matches that Dad had to break up.

  Pushing myself to my feet, I yanked a throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him. “Love you, big brother,” I whispered. When we were kids, Mom made us tell each other that every night before bed. We hated it then, but now I couldn’t help saying it every time I found Cam passed out. I missed my brother.

  I picked up the bottle and sniffed at it before screwing the cap back on. Johnny Knoxville caught my eye on the TV screen, and I hit the power button. “Yeah, screw you, too.”

  My cell phone vibrated against my hip as I stepped into my bedroom. It was Sophie. "Are you coming?" she asked. Dad would be at the hospital for another five hours. No point in having a one-person family fun night, right? “Yeah, give me thirty,” I said.

  "Bring alcohol," she slurred. As if she needed to mix liquor with whatever her pill-of-choice was for the night. Still, I stuffed the bottle in my bag. Would Cam remember whether or not he drank the whole thing? Negative. Dad would go crazy if he knew Cam was drinking again, so my brother shouldn’t mind if I took the evidence.

  I left fifteen minutes later. He was still breathing when I helped him to his room.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Just about every summer party in Gloucester is held at The Lighthouse. Privately owned by a West Coast family that never came to town, it was t
he perfect spot for drinking and smoking up. It was also the police department’s favorite place to go when they were bored and needed to dole out underage drinking tickets. Sophie and Andy stumbled up the rocks to meet me while I locked my car doors. Before she spoke a word, her cigarette-free hand plucked the bottle from my bag. “Awesome.” She wagged her head toward the beach. “They only have beer . . . and it’s hot. Cam not coming?”

  Was she trying to be funny? “He’s asleep.”

  “Took you a while to get here,” Andy said as I strode beside him. I thought of the forty-five minutes of my life I lost after work, the weird voice that snared me during that time. “We had a group of Summer Kids come in after you left. You know Rob never likes to kick them out,” I lied.

  Sophie’s face twisted. “Rob will do anything for money.” She flicked her cigarette butt into the air and wiggled her eyebrows and hips suggestively.

  Quite a few kids from school were at the party, but I didn’t recognize the majority of people surrounding us. Sophie’s tattered Gloucester High blanket was bunched up in the sand. Andy and I sat down, and Sophie danced off with the bottle of whiskey. A guy from last semester’s Physics class passed by, waving at me. I pretended he didn’t exist. “What’s she on tonight?” I asked.

  Andy chewed his lip while he watched Sophie flirt with a guy standing by the cooler. She was sharing my stolen booze with him. “Blues,” he said.

  Xanax was Sophie’s favorite because they were a cheap thrill. Her habit began after a fling with a Summer Boy. “A few pills will take the edge off,” she’d promised. Two years later, though, her pity party was still in full swing.

  I grabbed Andy’s drink and chugged, drowning the day’s misery. Sophie was right; the beer was warm and gross. He walked to the cooler and returned with four cans. “You’re a champ.” He gave me two of his beers.

  A vivid picture of Cam slumped over in front of the television crept into my mind. Was he a champ, too? Because, the way I saw it, drinking by yourself on a Saturday night was rock bottom, especially when you toss in Jackass reruns. Andy and I drank quietly for a few minutes. Finally, I spoke, my voice trembling. “Want to change spots?”