Manservant Read online

  Dad opens my car door and pats my seat. “Who is she?” I ask, grinning with mischievousness.“She? Who? What are you talking about?” Dad replies, looking confused, yet I can tell he's lying.

  “Okay, Dad. I'll play along.”

  I slide into my seat, and he slams the door closed, but pokes his head in through the open window. “You know you were supposed to leave an hour ago, right?”

  “Am I raining on your lady friend parade?” I crank my seat back and rest my hands behind my head. “Is it a little bit of Monica who's in your life?”

  “Julia,” he says with a hint of haste.

  “Ooh, do you like Erica by your side?”

  “Julia, please, mind your own business.”

  “Rita. You said she was all you need.”

  “Okay, now you're acting ridiculous. You're going to hit rush hour traffic if you don't get going.”

  “Oh, my God, it's Tina you like to see.”

  Dad pushes away from my car and folds his arms over his burly chest. “Let me know when you're done singing Mambo #5.”

  “Fine, is it Sandra, Mary, or Jessica?”

  “Okay, now you're just being annoying. It's none of those women. God, you're just like your old man.”

  “Can't blame me for that,” I say, batting my eyelashes at him.

  “Seriously though, you should leave. Just remember, I'm proud of you for getting this big newspaper internship in Maine. I know you'll make me proud and eat lots of lobstahs.”

  Internship . . . sitting on the beach all summer with Jade . . . same thing, right? “I'll have a great time in a chilly office under fluorescent lights all the way up in Maine. Maybe I'll even get to write a piece about shark attacks.”

  “I don't think that's a thing in Maine,” he says, looking past my car and down the street. I can’t believe he’s nervous. Now, I have to see who she is. If I just draw this conversation out a little longer, I'm sure I can make it happen. He always tries to hide his dating life, but I know what's going on.

  “Well, I do wish I could have met this woman of yours, but you're right, I don't want to hit traffic.”

  “Maybe some other time. Okay, I love you. Drive safe, and don't look at any truck drivers who pass you. You'll give them the wrong idea.”

  “What, that I'm like driving in the lane next to them?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “She's a lucky woman, Dad. I can imagine how many ladies must be knocking on your door. You can't fool me.” I give him a wink and his cheeks burn red.

  Dad looks down at his overgrown gut and grabs it like a bag of sand. “There aren't that many ladies who are eager to scoop this up, sweetie.”

  “No one cares about those few extra pounds around your midsection. I mean, you might want to shave at some point and get a haircut, but then you’ll look so good you won’t even need a wingman. Unless you're going for the beard and man-bun look, but I don't think that’s the right look for you.

  “Actually, I understand that look is quite popular with the ladies. You forgot to forward your subscription of Glamour to your school this past year, so I've been forced to read every article for the past eight months. I know what's hot.”

  “That’s disturbing,” I tell him.

  “It is what it is,” he says. “Okay, Jelly-Bean, I will see you in fourteen weeks.” He couldn't sound more eager to get rid of me. “Just, don’t forget about me, now.”

  “I’m not Mom,” I assure him as I slip the key into the ignition.

  “Dad palms the top of my car, causing an echo to bounce around inside. “No, sweetie, no you’re not. I know you don’t have a thing for strapping young men with chiseled jaws and lifetime memberships to the gym that Planet Fitness sends gluttons to.”

  “Exactly, I prefer the guys cleaning the toilets at McDonalds, Daddy.”

  Rolling his eyes at me, Dad leans back in through the window and kisses me on the forehead. “Call me when you cross into every new state until you get there. Oh, and don’t get pregnant, and don’t come home married or something because you found the perfect guy.”

  I lift my phone from the cup holder, making sure I haven’t forgotten it like I always do. “I can’t get pregnant if I’m not even looking at guys this summer,” I tell him.

  “Yes, you can. I’ve heard of it happening before. It only takes one moment of weakness . . .”

  “Dad, I’ll be fine,” but I’m fully aware that I have a horrible track record of not being fine. “Don’t worry. I have crossed good-looking guys off my to-do list forever,” I tell him.

  He clears his throat and lifts a brow. “To-do list?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Thank God I have Shermanator. He fixes most of my dating issues anyway. If only he would cuddle after . . . “You can trust me,” says the girl who dated a douchebag that trashed our house during a keg party the one weekend my dad had to work an overnight shift. He peed on our couch, stained three carpets and broke two windows, but I still loved him because I’m stupid, naive, and blind. The threesome threw me for a loop, though. Dad doesn’t know about that part, which is probably a good thing since he’s still not over the whole peeing on the couch bit, but I've finally learned my lesson.

  “It’s not you I don’t trust,” he says in his fatherly tone. I know, it’s every penis walking around out there that he doesn’t trust.

  Avoiding his favorite line about walking penises, I let out the first, “I love you, Dad-d-d-d,” and place my hands on ten and two.

  With the vision of a car in my rearview mirror, I pause with curiosity, but Dad pulls his head out from my window and kicks the front tire. “Go, get out of here before my woman realizes I'm old enough to have a daughter who just graduated college.

  “Oh God, Dad.” She must have gigantic boobs or something. Lovely.

  “I love you, sweetie.” Dad takes a few steps back and waves me off. “Oh, and don’t trust the penises walking around!” It’s the last thing I hear as I drive off into the sunset toward penisville . . . I mean Maine.

  Almost there. I Just need to stay awake a little longer. If feels like I may be asleep, but my eyes are still open, and I can still see the road. My head is bobbing a little, but—no! I can't pull over now. I'm so close. Focus, Julia, come on. Wake the hell up. I slap the side of my face, trying to knock myself out of this partially comatose state I'm falling into, but it doesn't seem to do the trick. I open all the windows, feeling a coastal chill run down the length of my arms, then turn the AC on full blast and crank Carrie Underwood up to the highest volume. The irony of listening to her sing “Jesus Take the Wheel” is what pulls me from most of the haze, and I chuckle to myself.

  I glance down at the GPS for the millionth time and find my exit is only three miles away. I can do this. I slap the side of my face a few more times for good measure, just to make sure I don't fall back into my zombie-like state and drive off the road.

  As I become more aware of my surroundings outside of the straight path I'm focused on, I sense a pair of eyes staring at me from the next lane over. Instinctively, I glance to my left, finding an older man looking at me with bewilderment—as if I'm crazy. Ha. And Dad was so worried about me looking at men, specifically truckers, in the next lane over that he didn’t consider they’d want to avoid me because they think I’m a lunatic.

  “What? Haven't you ever seen a person slap themselves awake on the road?” I shout through my open window into his. I don't know if he heard me, but, God, cut me some slack, old man. I suppose maybe he's giving me a look because of the “Jesus Take the Wheel” song he might have heard. In any case, I'm awake now, so clearly, it all worked.

  “In one mile, take exit seven,” Siri speaks for my GPS.

  Thank God.

  After seventeen hours of driving, one seedy hotel room with a peephole in the shower, four sketchy gas stations, a sticky bun, two coffees, five Taco Bell tacos, three bags of Doritos, four bottles of Mountain Dew, fifteen calls from Dad, and five calls fr
om Jade who’s waiting for me in a town called Ogunquit, I’ve made it to my exit. Awake.

  Knowing I’m less than a few miles away from the hotel I’m supposed to stay at tonight, I grab my phone from the cup holder. “Siri, call Jade.”

  “Calling, booty shaker's cell.” Jade. I completely forgot she changed her name in my phone before she left last month. I haven't had Siri dial her yet, but hearing it out loud makes me smile with excitement to see and squeeze her in a few minutes. This is the longest we've been apart since we became friends a million years ago.

  The phone rings twice before she picks up in a fit of laughter. “Jules!” I hear a roar of people around her, and it sounds like she’s out somewhere, which is weird since we’ve spoken a few times in the past couple of hours. I told her I’d be arriving around eight tonight, and she told me she'd meet me for a late dinner before helping me find my hotel. It's currently eight on the dot, so who knows what's on her agenda.

  “Well, well, if it isn't my booty shaker.”

  “You know it, girl. I'm shaking my booty as we speak.” I can see it now. Jade's signature twerk-dropping-strip-tease—Chip's favorite move. “I’m entering . . . um . . . York, I think. Per my GPS, I should be there in about ten minutes. Where should I meet you?”

  “Julesssss,” she sings. Did she hear anything I just said? I know this Jade. This is drunk Jade. Drunk Jade doesn’t remember her name sometimes.

  “Jade, where are you?” I ask more sternly this time.

  “Guys, guys, guys . . . where are we?” She slurs to whoever she's talking to. Then I hear a bunch of babble in the background, and I’m listening carefully to hear what someone might tell her, but it’s hard to hear any one voice.

  “Okay, okay, we’re at Bumble Bee Bar and Grill. It’s in Ogunquit. If you just stay straight on Route one, you’ll find meeeee.”

  I can picture Jade now, standing in the middle of a street waving me down as she continues to dance. Except, this is a highway, and that’s not a great idea.

  “How do I get to this bar?” I ask her.

  “Hey,” a guy says into the phone. “Jade is a little wasted, so I figured I’d save you from driving in circles tonight. We’re at Bumble Grill. It’s just off Route one after you enter Ogunquit. Whereabouts are you now?”

  How is Jade blitzed out of her mind, and this guy sounds completely stone sober? “I just got onto Route one about five minutes ago,” I tell him. “And, thank you for helping me out.”

  “No prob. You should see a sign for Ogunquit in about three miles. You’ll enter the center of town, and if you take your first right, you’ll see the bar. There’s some parking out front. I’ll make sure Jade is waiting for you.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I tell him.

  “She’s been talking about you nonstop for weeks now. You’re like a celebrity around here,” the guy says.

  That’s Jade. The smallest girl with the biggest mouth—and the lowest tolerance for alcohol that I’ve ever seen.

  “See you in a few,” I tell him before hanging up.

  He was pretty accurate with the mileage. After exactly three miles, I’m entering the cutest little downtown area. Thankfully, I find the Bumble Grill right away, and there are two spots out front. The moment I pull into a spot, I find Jade out front, poking a guy in the nose.

  I step out of the car and take a quick minute to stretch before . . . “Jules!” Jade shrieks, running toward me at warp speed before locking her arms around my neck, shoving me into the hood of my car. Not only am I winded by her embrace, but also by the scent of Vodka . . . nope, that’s Tequila, and it pierces my nose.

  “Oh, Jade.” I laugh because this is my Jade. “So, you’ve been enjoying yourself here?”

  With her lips pressed tightly together, a wide smile curves along her mouth. “I loveeee it here.” She takes me by the hand and leads me away from the bar.

  “You want to see something cool?”

  “Did you finally get a tattoo of a penis on your boob?”

  No, dummy, come on.” She grabs my arm and yanks me away from the bar. “Sandwich and Brewster, let’s go,” she hollers, waving them along as if they were dogs. Sandwich and Brewster. Please tell me those are their real names because that would start this summer off on an epic note.

  The sidewalk on the small bridge we’re on is empty, but as my focus settles on the horizon, I see we’re walking toward the ocean. Finally, I can sit on a beach and stare out at the endless waves of the Atlantic Ocean for my last summer of non-adulting freedom.

  “Excuse me,” a man calls. out. I glance around, finding a man lying on his back a few feet ahead of us with his feet up on the bridge’s fence. What the hell am I looking at? One of his shoes is beside him, and the other is in the middle of the street. “I said, excuse me.”

  Jade is in a fit of giggles and turns and laughs with her oddly named friends.

  “Are you okay?” I ask the man. As we come closer, it's easy to see how drunk he must be. This is a bridge, and he's lying on the sidewalk with no shoes. Maybe in a city, I'd think he was homeless, but he's wearing Docker shorts and a pink Lacoste polo t-shirt. This is interesting.

  “Cannnn, um, can you find my shoe?”

  I look around, thinking this is a joke of some sort, but besides the three others I’m with, no one else is around.

  I step off the sidewalk, grab the guy’s brown loafer and drop it down next to his other one. “There you go.”

  “How you doin’?” he asks me in his best drunken Joey Tribbiani (from Friends) voice.

  Ah, okay, I see. “Just fine, and you?” I play along.

  “Want to help me up and go back to my place? I found a conch shell on the beach, and if you put your mouth up to it, you can taste the ocean.” Wow.

  One of Jade’s friends walks in front of me and helps the guy up. “Dude, really? First, most overused pick up line ever, and second, do you need a lift somewhere?”

  “Where’s Bumble Bar?” he asks in a slur.

  Sandwich or Brewster point him in the right direction and get him up on his feet while handing him his shoes. “Have a good night, bro.”

  I believe I have just entered party town. “That happens a lot here, but everyone is soooooo nice that it’s just funny. No one ever gets hurt, and we help each other out in a time of need,” Jade explains.

  I look back at the guy swerving on and off the sidewalk as he walks toward the bar. “I guess so,” I laugh.

  The sidewalk ends at a short ramp, leading down to the water. There isn't much of a beach though.

  “Come on,” Jade stumbles towards the rocks and . . . I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea. “It's high tide, so we have to sit on the rocks.”

  “You’re going to fall flat on your face, girly.” Of course, this is coming from the person with two left feet, so I shouldn’t be warning her when I’m more likely to fall being sober.

  “You drove all that way yourself?” one of the guys asks. I’m not sure who is Sandwich and who is Brewster, but his voice sounds the same as the person I was speaking to on the phone.

  “It was an adventure. A long, boring adventure filled with way too much junk food.”

  “I’d fall asleep twenty minutes in, and it would never end well for me,” the guy says.

  “I’d be your copilot and just punch you every few minutes. That’d keep you awake,” the other guy says through laughter.

  “Okay, who’s who?” I turn around and pull my legs into a pretzel.

  “I’m Cale,” the guy with the familiar voice says.

  “I’m Jared,” the other follows.

  “So, neither of you are Sandwich or Brewster?” I’m so confused.

  “We’re from Massachusetts and used to live on the town border of Sandwich and Brewster. Apparently, Jade can’t remember too many things at once,” he says with a smile. “She couldn’t remember our names, but she remembered those towns.”

  “That’s Jade!” I feel like I say that a lot. Jade’s
a unique girl.

  “I think she knows our names now, but the nicknames seemed to stick around after she called us by those names for the first two weeks she was here.”

  I look over at Jade, and I think she may be sleeping sitting upright. Her hands are holding her head up, at least, but she might be passed out too. I’ll leave her be for a minute.

  “And how did you all meet?”

  “Well, Jared and I are brothers, and Jade works next door to us,” Cale says.

  “Oh, so do you two live together?” I ask, looking over at Jared who seems quiet as he texts on his phone.

  “I’m sort of crashing with Jared and his wife for the summer.”

  “Sort of crashing, sort of cramping our style,” Jared pipes in without looking up from his phone. “Same thing, though, right, Cale?” I can tell Jared is the dryer of the two brothers.

  Cale stands up from the rock he’s sitting on and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Glancing at the display for a brief second, he hits the speaker button and holds the phone in front of his mouth. “Dude, where have you been all night?”

  “The usual,” the guy on the other end of the phone answers. “Working.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Cale says.

  “Oh, well,” the guy utters. “Oh, hey, uh, is Jade with you guys tonight?”

  Cale leans forward to look around me. “Yeah, she’s drunk, but her friend just arrived, so we’re keeping her company while Jade quietly remains passed out Jade style, on the rocks.” Jade on the rocks. If that’s not her new nickname here, it will be soon.

  “Is she out of control tonight because I’m—”

  “She’s a little tamer than normal,” Cale answers quickly as if he’s stopping his friend from saying any more.

  “Is her friend just as crazy?” the guy on the phone asks.

  Cale eyeballs me, and his voice lowers to almost a whisper. “She’s right here, man, and you’re on speaker, so . . .” Cale glances back up at me with an awkward smile as I hear Jared snicker behind him.

  “Moron,” Jared mutters.