a simulated lighthouse with a simulated rotating beacon beckoned to passing tourists. Inside, fiberglass replicas of trophy fish lined the walls of the lobby. In the main dining room, fishing nets were draped on the walls. Heavy ships’ mooring lines separated the lobby from the dining area.
Red, green, and blue spotlights sprayed dots of light off a 1980s mirrored disco ball whose motor had burned out several years earlier. Nautical paraphernalia – oars, compasses, barometers, chronometers, and ships' nameplates – were displayed on every supporting beam. The walls were decorated with mass-produced beach scene paintings. At each table, a seashell arrangement framed a small oil lamp. It wasn’t much, but if Dolly could get a crowd of non-Canadian golfers, singles, and small families, she could make decent tips there on a good night.
Dolly immediately set to work. Most of the lunch crowd had cleared out, so she went to the empty front section and started to prepare for the dinner hours. Side work was the part of the job every waitress liked least: all labor, low pay, and no tips. First, Dolly collected all of the condiment carriers, condiment bottles, and oil lamps and assembled them on one table. From the storeroom, she brought two-pound cans of salt and pepper, a gallon can of ketchup, a funnel, and lamp oil. For the next hour and a half, Dolly worked on autopilot. First came the ketchup. She opened all the bottles, put a funnel in the first, poured in the ketchup, and moved on to the condiment tray as the ketchup was filling the bottle.
Her mind drifted back to the previous night at White Lightnin’ and Ron Pawley. On a zero to 10 scale for looks, he was a solid 8, maybe even pushing a 9. About 6’2”, she guessed, maybe 190 pounds. Not muscled, but firm, and definitely not soft. The deep tan showed that he spent a lot of time outdoors, but the 450 SL convertible and the designer shades made it clear that the time he spent in the sun wasn’t in a tobacco field.
He said he was in real estate and condos. Showing those to customers would account for the tan. And if he was good at it, that would account for the 450SL and the boat. So far, so good, she thought. It was obvious he had plenty of free time because he was a really good dancer, and that only came from lots of practice.
She took the tops off all the salt and pepper shakers, filled them up, and screwed the lids back on. Then she started to refill another jar of ketchup and went to the salt and peppers. When everything was full, she cleaned all the containers with a moist cloth. Next she restocked the sugar and sweetener packets, and refilled the bottles of steak sauce and the oil in the table lamps. Finally, she rolled 120 sets of cutlery in cloth napkins. By the time she had set the tables in her section with condiments, cutlery, and lamps, it was 4:15. The early diners would be arriving at 5:00. She looked around to see how the other servers were doing with their sections.
There were no other girls. She looked over to Ruthie, who gave Dolly an embarrassed shrug. “Will you....?” Dolly sighed in disgust. She picked up her cell phone and tried calling April again. Still busy. With another sigh, she started the entire table-cleaning procedure all over again in the outdoor deck section.
As soon as she settled into the side-work routine again, her thoughts went back to Ron Pawley. As girl-meets-boy-in-singles-bar-encounters go, that was a pretty good night, Dolly thought. He was tall and good-looking. He dressed well, smelled good, brushed his teeth, and cleaned under his neatly trimmed fingernails. When they danced, he held her close, but not too close for a first night.
He asked her on a date that night before they left White Lightnin’. He had suggested a day of cruising the Intracoastal Waterway on his boat, and she accepted. After they exchanged phone numbers, he gave her a nice, long hug – but not too long, and not too firm. And he didn’t go for the first-meeting-trophy-kiss. Yup, she thought, this one might be a keeper.
As soon as she was done setting up the deck section, she made another call to April, but the line was still busy. The first diners for the evening arrived at 5:03. Dolly put on her best “I’m-your-server-and-I-hope-you’re-big-tippers” smile and pushed her thoughts of motherly duties and romance to the back of her mind. “Hello,” she said to the party of four middle-aged men. “My name is Dolly, and I’ll be your server tonight. Looks like you had a long, hot day on the links. Can I get you fellas something cool from the bar?”
“Sure,” said the first man, dressed in khaki shorts, a white golf shirt, and a cap with a red maple leaf over crossed golf clubs. “Whiskey, neat.”
“CC on the rocks,” said the next.
“Got any Molson or Labatt’s?” the third said.
“Sure,” Dolly replied. “We stock lots of Canadian beer. We’ve got Labatt’s, Molson, Moosehead, and Karwatha Premium Pale Ale. We also have Guinness, of course.”
“I’ll have a Molson, my dear. And what are you and your two most beautiful girlfriends doing after work tonight?” he asked. “We have a wonderful night on the town planned, and we’d love you to be part of it.”
“Sorry, fellas,” Dolly said to the visitors from the North. “I’m afraid we’d all be too tired to be any fun.” Dolly had been tempted to say, “Next time, bring your wife and you won’t have to hit on the waitresses to get laid,” or “I’d love to – but my Mamma doesn’t let me date married Canadian men.” But, as always, she quickly stuffed the idea. She didn’t dare tell the customers what she really felt. She worked hard for a living and needed the tips.
7. The Fourteen Words
SeaVue Apartments, Murrell’s Inlet
“What happened to you after I left the rave last night?” April asked her friend on the phone. “You were pretty wasted. Who took you home?”
Wendy let out a small chuckle. “Wasted? It was you who was wasted, chickee-doo. Some guy from North Myrtle gave me a ride home. I think he wanted to get it on. He tried to get into my pants, but I wouldn’t let him. He was a loser, and I wasn’t that messed up,” she said. Both girls laughed.
“Did you get caught?”
“Nah. My parents are out of town this weekend at some stupid sales convention my father goes to every year. He takes my mother along to get a bigger tax deduction. I think that’s the only reason they had me – to get another tax deduction.”
April understood. “Uh, huh,” she said. From Kenny, she knew the emptiness that came from having a father who wasn’t there and didn’t care.
“He always brings me some stupid T-shirt with a duck or a horse on it. It’s like, some big deal with him to bring me something. I think it’s a guilt thing. He’s gone most of the time anyway. There’s always some problem at his stupid office that keeps him there late every night. I hardly ever see either one of them anymore. I don’t even think they really give a shit, though. What about you? You get busted when you came home? You were pretty wasted, too.”
“I beat my mother back by a few minutes, and she never suspected when she came in. But I puked on the sheets and soaked my bed pretty bad, so I washed the sheets this morning, and she knew something was fishy. I guess I wasn’t lookin’ real good when she woke me up, and she got real suspicious. She told me I was grounded, but screw it. I don’t care. I can always hang at my father’s place. It’s a total dump, and his girlfriend’s a pain in the ass, but he doesn’t hassle me, and he even gives me weed sometimes.”
“Did you hear that they busted the rave about 4:00 in the morning?”
“No way! I can’t believe it. What happened?”
“Some kid was all messed up and had a head-on right in front of the place when some cops were drivin’ by. They saw the accident and started the blue lights. When everybody started running, they knew they had stumbled across something. They busted Suzi and a bunch of other kids for possession and confiscated all the stuff inside, but that’s about it. Rage, Melvin, and Thud all split in time, but they lost all their sound stuff. That sucked big time.”
“God, I’m glad I had C.B. take me home early. Is Suzi OK?”
“I dunno. C.B.’s gonna bail