Page 59 of More With You

I have to say, stealing an intimate moment is a little trickier when there’s a kid around. Not that I mind. It’s been two days since Grace became my new roommate, and she’s the best roommate I’ve ever had. Ben being the sole exception.

“John’s on the floor, yeah, but he asked me to tell you that Harry wants to speak to you before you start your shift,” Sandra replies, with a wary look on her face. It’s understandable. No one wants to be called in to see Harry. There are only three reasons Harry wants to speak with someone: you’ve been accused of stealing, you’re terrible at your job, or you’ve made a mistake that’s lost the casino a lot of money. Occasionally, he doles out a promotion, but it’s pretty much always bad news. He just does the promotion thing to lure everyone else into a false sense of security.

“Okay,” I say tightly, fastening my newly re-looped laces. Maybe it’s good news. Maybe John’s had a word with him about my grandma, and he’s going to offer me a higher-paying position. That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but my instincts aren’t so optimistic. My gut senses that I’m a dead woman walking, as I make my way through the concrete and vinyl halls of the staff passageways, to the general manager’s office.

I knock before entering, shaky with nerves. It’s like approaching the doctor’s office after having mysterious aches and pains for months, uncertain of the prognosis.

“Come in,” calls Harry, in his gruff southern brogue.

I do, keeping my head down. The atmosphere is taut with friction. It prickles my skin into unpleasant goosebumps—a fleshy premonition of a bad omen, akin to walking home in the dark and feeling eyes watching from the darkness.

“Sit down,” he instructs with a sigh. He’s around fifty, with a shaved head to hide some balding, and flinty eyes that I can’t picture crinkling up in laughter. His dry lips are set in a serious line, his fingernails scratching at his cheek and dislodging some thin shards of dermatitis. I watch them float down to his white shirt, where they’re camouflaged. It’s worse when he wears black.

I obey, squirming in the scratchy blue chair, where holes have been picked through to the foam beneath over years of anxious hirings and firings.

For a while, Harry doesn’t say anything. He flips through a document that’s hidden from view by a barrier of in-trays and out-trays, and an ancient computer that’s probably still running Windows ’95. Is he enjoying this? Does he get his kicks from making people panic? I guess there’s not much else going on in his life. It’s common knowledge that he’s first in the building and he stays later than his contract requires. There’s no wedding ring on his hand, no family pictures, nothing to humanize him at all.

Finally, he takes a sip of his coffee and sprawls across his swiveling leather chair, swaying slightly from side to side like a pendulum of fate. “You’ve been a good addition to the team, Summer,” he begins, and I’m immediately aware of his turn of phrase—not you are a good addition to the team but verging into past tense.

“Thank you, Mr. Pearson.” I swallow: my tongue too thick for my mouth.

Harry sighs with greater intent. “That’s why it’s a shame I’m going to have to let you go. It’s not what I want, Summer—the customers request you, you keep them happy, you do your job well, you’re never late—but I’ve had a call from the head office. You’re getting a promotion.”

I sit there, completely confused. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pearson; I don’t understand. Are you letting me go or promoting me?” Obviously, there’s a difference.

“I’m letting you go, because it’s an opportunity you can’t afford to miss,” he explains. “Like I said, the top dog called. They want you for our sister casino in Milwaukee. General Manager position. Five decent figures.”

The second I hear “Milwaukee,” I smell the rot of something fishy, undercut with the telltale, floral aroma of Mrs. DuCate’s Chanel No. 5 and the leathery scent of Mr. DuCate’s golf caddy. I believe wholeheartedly in fate, but I don’t believe in coincidence. This has to be a bribe disguised as a promotion. They’re trying to get rid of me, in a way they likely know I won’t be able to refuse.

Levi’s told them everything and they are pulling out all the stops.

“Thanks, Mr. Pearson. That’s super generous, but I like it here and I’m getting by,” I tell him, hoping there’s some leverage to be found somewhere. “You can tell them I’m not interested.”

Harry steeples his fingers and huffs out a frustrated breath. He’s just as uncomfortable as I am. I see it now. “It’s not that simple, Summer. Believe me, I’m pissed, but it’s kind of an all or nothing deal. You take the Milwaukee job, or you take no job. I’ve been told to make your position available, one way or another.”

“Ever heard of labor laws?” I pull out the biggest guns I have. “You can’t fire me without a good reason.”

Harry nods, like he expected this. “I’m aware of that, Summer. This isn’t me trying to fire you. If I had my way, I wouldn’t.” He pauses. “You’ve pissed someone off, and they’ve got influence with the higher-ups. In all my thirty years of doing this, I’ve never known anyone call to specifically move one person to another casino. I’ve never had them ask me for a favor, either.”

“But I don’t have any strikes against me,” I insist, fidgeting with my name badge.

“I know,” Harry replies. “But, if you don’t take this job, they’ll make something up about you and use it as a reason to drag you through the courts, if you try to fight back. They’re determined, Summer. I tried to talk them out of it, but someone’s put the fear of God into them. They won’t budge. Either you agree or you’re fired, effective immediately.”

I stare down into my lap, fighting to control my breaths, which are rapidly reaching hyperventilation. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Harry takes a long sip of his coffee, grimacing like it’s either too cold or too bitter. “I don’t often give out advice, Summer, but I reckon you ought to take it. You can’t afford not to.”

My head snaps up. “You think I don’t know that? I need this job, Harry.” I drop the honorifics in my desperation. “I’m building a life here. I’m not going to let some rich bastards bend all the rules to chase me out of town. If they think I’m going to back down, they’ve got me all wrong. I’ll fight this, through every court if I have to.”

“Summer…” His voice softens in a way I’ve never heard. “You don’t have the money to fight them. I think that’s the point. They know you can’t do anything.”

My mouth falls open. He’s right, of course. If I try to start some litigation or something, it’ll drain what meager resources I have left. Sure, I could ask Ben for help, and I know he’d agree, but this is a futile battle. His finances would take a huge hit, and the outcome would be the same anyway. The DuCates would win. They’ve probably got lawyers on standby, or already looking through my history and my files, picking me apart at the basest level. If they know where I work and where I’m from, it stands to reason that they know all about my grandma and my financial difficulties. They probably have from the beginning.

I tremble with bitterness, despising the name DuCate with all my heart. There are two obvious exceptions, but they aren’t DuCates to me. They’re something else. Something precious. And I fear I’m about to lose them because I made the mistake of underestimating old grandma and grandpa.

“I’m sorry, Summer,” Harry adds, tilting his head to one side. “Can I ask who you pissed off?”

Eyes burning with unadulterated rage, I meet his curious gaze. “The DuCates.”

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