Page 15 of Bridesmaid for Hire
Out of all the people to see on the small island of Bora-Bora, it has to be my best friend’s sister in a tiny-as-shit pink bikini.
Of course, just like every other interaction—besides one we won’t talk about—she was irritated, rude, and fully annoyed. And I haven’tdone anything to her. She’s been like that from day one. Just irritated to see me. Must be my face. I don’t know.
But I can’t focus on that. I have to put her out of my mind and remind myself why I’m here and the plan for tonight.
Still feeling green and unsettled, I stare at myself in the mirror of the men’s room in the Saint Hopper lobby. Opulent paradise is the perfect way to describe this hotel. With its polished hardwood flooring, tiled walls that mimic the effects of stacked bamboo, wooden crossbeams along the ceiling, and thatched light fixtures, it gives you the feel of paradise with the added elegance that Hopper Hotels are known for.
Not to mention, this means an attendant is standing in the corner of the bathroom with a towel draped over his forearm, minding his own business but also probably waiting for me to have a mental crisis as I stare at myself in the mirror.
I lean forward over the sink and turn on the water. I splash some water on my face, hoping that will help with the nausea. Granted, a few hours ago, I got lost and had no time to call up my roommate for the week, a local in town who offered me a chair to sleep in—yes, a single chair. The sacrifices I’m making to win this proposal are unmatched.
Boat nausea.
Chair bed.
Unruly wench sighting.
I’m dealing with it all and can still sport a smile.
When I lift up and wipe the water from my eyes, the bathroom attendant nearly startles me right out of my goddamn sneakers, now standing about a few inches away, holding out a towel.
“Jesus fuck,” I say, taking a step back. “Dude, make some noise before you scare a guy like that.”
He bows his head, saying nothing as he holds the towel out to me.
I give the man a quick once-over, trying to decide if he’s trustworthyor not, but when he doesn’t move, towel outstretched, I realize that he’s probably programmed this way and I’m going to have to take it.
Towel in hand, I dab my face as he goes back to his position near the door. Yup, programmed.
“So,” I say. “You excited about the wedding this weekend?”
He stares straight ahead, completely still like a Buckingham Palace guard. I see how this is going to go.
“Yeah, me too,” I say as I strip out of my shirt from the plane and fold it on the counter. I take my towel that I dried my face with and wet it so I can wipe my body down. Yup, that’s what we’re doing right now. If I had my way, I’d be taking a shower before the welcome reception, but given the fact that these bungalows are over fifteen hundred a night, there isn’t a bat’s chance in hell that I’m forking out that kind of money to stay here. I make decent money, but not fifteen hundred a night kind of money…for a week.
I swipe the towel across my chest, leaving my armpits for last and when I’m done, my bathroom attendant friend is at my side again, offering another towel.
“Thanks,” I say as I slowly take it from him. “I’m Brody, by the way. I work for Mr. Hopper back in the San Francisco office.”
The man nods and returns to his position by the door.
“You know, I wouldn’t tell anyone if you talked to me. It could be our little secret. Could kind of use the company, as I’m a bit out my depth at the moment.” When he doesn’t say anything,shocker, I go on, “I’m actually here to try to get on Mr. Hopper’s good side. After the wedding, he’s deciding between projects to back, one of them being mine. I’m hoping to, I don’t know, put in a good word for myself, you know?” He stares straight ahead, causing me to sigh. I open my toiletry bag and take out my deodorant, toothbrush, and toothpaste. “This weather is nothing like San Francisco. This is…this is like walking through a thick cloud of water, the humidity is making my nostril hairs curl.” I glance over at him and no, not even a smile.“I actually don’t have any nostril hairs. My best friend Gary? His wife made us do this thing where she stuck wax up our nose with a stick attached, and we had to answer trivia questions. The first person to get two wrong lost one stick. Either way, we both lost because we couldn’t live with the wax up our noses. It had to come out somehow. And that hurt like a motherfucker, but you know”—I tilt my head back and examine my nose—“my nostrils have never looked better. So maybe worth it in the end.”
I apply some deodorant and air out my armpits, letting them dry for a moment before putting my shirt on.
“Did you know I’ve never worn linen in my life? But my manager back home took me shopping and said this is what I should wear.” I gesture toward the linen suit that I carried onto the plane with me out of fear of it wrinkling and getting lost. “Not a fan, feels like I’m wearing some first aid gauze as an outfit. Jaleesa tried to pair the white ensemble with a light pink shirt, and I told her to go to hell. I was not showing up looking like fucking Don Johnson fromMiami Vice. So we paired it with a white shirt. The colors are just off enough to have some dimension, but they don’t make me look like a douche. Not sure how long the jacket will last. I’m already sweating just thinking about having to put it on. Do people get dehydrated here quickly with the amount of sweating they do?”
I slip some toothpaste on my toothbrush, and then start brushing. I lean against the counter, facing my new silent friend and I study him. What a freaking shit job. Just having to stand there and hand out towels. Is it his choice to not to talk or is that a job requirement? Could never do it. I’d go crazy.
I spit out my toothpaste, rinse, and then wipe my mouth with…a new towel thanks to my friend.
“Now I’m going to change in front of you, okay? I’m not about to hop around putting on a linen suit near a toilet in a small stall. That just screams disaster waiting to happen. But I have to warn you, I’m wearing nude colored boxer briefs. Jaleesa picked them out for me. Said I couldn’twear black with cream linen pants. But fucking nude? They make me look like a goddamn Ken doll, no dick, just a flat crotch. Not a fan. Just warning you so you’re not startled.” I strip out of my joggers, toss them on the counter, and then slip on my linen pants.
“Ugh, fuck, I hate the feel of these. They touch my skin in a weird way. Oh, you know what it reminds me of? Have you ever seenThe Santa Clausewith Tim Allen and the annoying, whiny kid? Well, when Tim, or Scott Calvin if you will, has to put on the dead Santa’s suit and the fabric is all flowy and gross and he’s like ‘you never know where this has been.’ That’s the same kind of feel I get with these.”
He shifts on his foot, and I feel like I got him on that one. He liked the reference—I know he did.
I tuck my shirt into my pants, then reach for my cologne, but my man is at my side before I can even uncap it. He takes the cologne from me and holds it out, ready to spritz.
