Excerpt: Tumbled

(warning: swears)
\Nora locked the Jeep and walked into the hotel lobby, looking for signs for the Bassett room. She felt unsure of how to hold the portfolio and the purse. Her low-heeled pumps felt strange on feet used to sneakers, boat shoes and Crocs, although they looked nice enough.
Now that she was standing outside the Bassett room, nervousness kicked in. She had to get this job. She could not stand serving any more greasy fried food. She hated the feeling. She could not stand the way her face felt, the way her pores clogged from all the oil in the air. She swore to never eat another fried clam again. Okay, that wasn’t true. Never to serve them again, except maybe to Eddie after they were married.
That thought brought to mind the ring on the chain around her neck. She didn’t like wearing it on her finger. Wasn’t sure she wanted to get married.
The door to the Bassett room was in front of her. Nora gazed at it. Knock? Or just walk in?
She knocked. A muffled man’s voice said something garbled.
Shit.
Nora gazed at the door, wondering the odds. Fifty/Fifty that he said “come in” versus “I’ll be right there.”
If he said come in and she didn’t, she looked like an idiot. If he said wait and she came in, she looked like an idiot. Or was it a test? Damn it, she’d failed already.
Nora tucked her portfolio under her arm and went in.
***
The room was too large, the space intimidating. A man sat at a table by the window, alone. It wasn’t a desk or even a small table, it was a long table like one would set up a buffet on. He looked small and lonely. Because the light was behind him, Nora couldn’t see his features.
She walked slowly across the room, her shoes pinching her toes with each step, giving the man way too much time to study her. She didn’t walk gracefully, like a model. Her hips rolled and her knees were loose and fluid, the pose of a girl who grew up on a boat.
Unsure, Nora stopped a few feet away and gazed at the silhouetted man. He said nothing, just looked at her. Maybe he did say “wait a minute” and not “come in” she fretted. Finally she spoke. “I’m Nora McKinnen.”
“I’m Christopher Lastname,” he replied. “Have a seat, Ms. McKinnen.”
He was sitting at the short end of the table. She sat kitty-corner from him, feeling as if she had been smacked upside the head by an oar.
Christopher Lastname. She had never met him, only seen him at a distance, but he was one of the most-hated men in Sussex. He had bought the Fish Islands, all four of them, torn down the old homesteads, and built a monstrosity of a house in their place. He was old-money rich, with publishing and banking money. It was well-known that he had his eye on a few other islands, those that surrounded the Fish Islands. He wanted to put up guest houses for friends, apparently.
Becoming aware that she was clenching her jaw, Nora consciously relaxed it and laid her portfolio on the table between them. She did not want to talk to this asshole. She did not want to work for him. She did not want to be here anymore.
Maybe serving fried clams with a side of French fries and little white paper cups overflowing with tartar sauce and ketchup wasn’t so bad. She could aspire to manage the Lobster Lobby, maybe someday own it. Nora swallowed. “This is my portfolio,” she said, pushing the leather folder toward him.
Now that she was closer, she could see his face. She knew he was around 30. His hair was dark blond and wavy, and she couldn’t see the color of his eyes. The planes of his face looked strong, maybe a bit petulant. He opened the folder. Her attempts to scrapbook the work she’d done, as an example of her graphics skills, suddenly looked unprofessional and childish.
He gazed at the pages intently, taking his time before flipping to the next sample. Nora didn’t know what to think. Should she explain, keep silent?
He finished and went back to the beginning, leaving the folder open. “A lot of restaurant promotion in there,” he remarked.
It wasn’t a question but she felt compelled to defend her work. “I’ve worked at the Lobster Lobby since…for six years. So that’s where most of my experience is.”
He nodded. “I see a few other things in here,” he said neutrally.
He hated her. That was okay, because she hated him too.
“I sometimes for fun come up with ad campaigns on my own for stuff—local businesses or even national ones.” It sounded stupid. But Nora didn’t want to work for this creep. He had spent so much money buying the Fish Islands that everyone’s taxes had gone up.
“I’m looking for a rebranding,” Christopher said.
“Of what product?”
He ignored her question. “But it’s more complex than that. I can’t just hand over a dossier of the product in question and explain where it is now and where it needs to be. There has to be a period of,” he paused, gazing at her. “Intense observation. And it may have to be concealed as something else. What other skills do you have?”
Flustered, Nora produced her resume and handed it over. He didn’t even glance at it.
“Tell me what you can do.” It wasn’t quite a demand. His voice was soft, slightly deep. She liked it.
Flustered, Nora started listing all the obvious things—software she knew how to use, classes she’d taken in college.
Christopher cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I can read.” He tapped her resume. “I’m sure all that is listed adequately on this lovely piece of rag paper, and I believe you also emailed me a copy when we set up this interview.”
Nora’s confidence faltered. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you want.”
“What do you do? You work at a seafood restaurant on the dock, the one with the big lobster on the roof, right?”
Feeling herself blush, she nodded. The giant plaster lobster was an eyesore, but it was a great marketing tool.
“I’m guessing you can pilot a little boat, probably fish, and swim like one?”
Another nod. It sounded stupid.
“How long have you lived in Sussex?”
She gazed at him, unblinking. “I’m a Tinman, a Tumbled Islands Native. I’ve lived on Scotch Isle my whole life. So has my dad, and his dad, and my great-grandfather. I don’t consider that I live in Sussex, no matter what my driver’s license says.”
His turn to nod. “Very nice,” he said thoughtfully. “I didn’t dare hope for a—what did you call yourself?”
“Tinman.” She said it proudly. “What exactly is it that you’re looking for, sir?”
“Call me Topher,” he said absently, turning his head to gaze down the length of the table. “I would like to hire you as my personal assistant during those times I am in Connecticut. Your secondary, unspoken role would be to observe me and how I fit into island life, and figure out how to rebrand me so I’m not a bad guy anymore.”
Christopher started to ask something, but paused. “I can’t ask that,” he said with finality.
“What?” Nora leaned forward. “What do you need to know?” She mused that he was probably not used to conducting job interviews. She wasn’t sure what his exact title was—Grand Poobah Junior, perhaps—but surely he had an army of H R people at his companies to weed out the chaff first. Why, then, was he doing this one all by himself? In spite of her hatred for him, she was intrigued.
“I need a copy of your driver’s license,” he said after a long pause.
Ah. That meant he wanted to know how old she was, but by law couldn’t ask. But no law said he couldn’t ask for her ID, and she couldn’t refuse to give it. Nice work around.
Nora slid it across the table, face-up. She was 23. Big deal. A year out of college and no real job to show for it.
He picked up the house phone on the table and murmured into it. A moment later a hotel employee came from the other side of the closed partition and took the card, returning almost instantly with the card and two copies.
While they waited, Topher gazed out the window and Nora studied at him. Her eyes were adjusting to the weird back lighting and she could see his face now. Black and white newspaper photos did him no justice. Christopher really was a handsome man. His hair was a dark blond with very subtle highlights. He probably paid more for those delicate streaks of pale than she made in two weeks schlepping trays. His eyes were a strange shade of very dark amber, not really brown, but with no green or blue mixed in. They looked like lager, and when the sun hit them as he turned his head slightly, they looked like ale.
She couldn’t tell how tall he was, but he didn’t seem excessively fat or thin. His hands seemed too large for his body, a little gawky, and his expensive-looking clothes fit him perfectly.
She should have worn a dress. Changed in the clubhouse. Oh well.
He accepted the documents from the hotel employee and handed her license back. Their fingers brushed.
And she felt something. Nora’s mouth fell open, just a little. Because she never felt anything, except on rare occasions with Craig, and even then he had to work for it. 11 years with Eddie and she’d never experienced anything like this. Topher’s casual accidental touch went up her arm and into her belly, where it churned and teased. It must have shone in her eyes, in her expression, because she had no idea how to hide it. Was this lust?
He blinked once and folded the copies in his pocket. She hadn’t seen him even glance at them but she was sure he had memorized all her personal information. He seemed like the type to have that sort of memory.
“You are familiar with the home I own in the Tumbled Islands?” His voice sounded businesslike and professional. Whatever had happened to Nora hadn’t registered at all.
“The Fish Islands,” she answered. “Four islands that from above slightly resemble a fish. The two biggest are called Nose and Fish, the two smallest are called East and West. They comprise the tail section.”
“I bet you can name every island.”
She smiled slightly. “I’ve done some work as a fill-in tour guide. My friend’s father owns one of the boats.” Her boyfriend, actually, but she didn’t feel like bringing that up. The engagement ring felt heavy and hot under her blouse against her skin, a promise made under duress, under false pretenses. “I know most of the history too.” Not bragging, just simple truth.
“I’ll expect a personal tour. Do you have your own boat?”
“Everyone in my family does, although we don’t really need them. We have plenty of dock space on Scotch Isle.” A personal tour? What did that mean? Was she hired? Did she even want the job?
“How many houses are on that island?”
“We have five now. The sixth one burnt down before I was born. The five families own the open space—the cellar hole of the old house plus the center of the island—in common so it can’t be purchased without everyone’s agreement.” That was a subtle jab against people like Christopher who bought up islands for fun, not caring about the history.
“That’s the one where the houses are in a ring along the outside?”
She nodded.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
Nora looked at him, unsure of how to answer.
He chuckled a little. “That was unfair. If you are honest, you think I won’t give you the job. If you lie to me, I won’t hire you because you’re afraid of me and also a liar.”
He hadn’t decided yet if she was hired. Was that good or bad? “I’m not really clear on what exactly the job is,” she hedged.
“I’m calling it a personal assistant, but it’s more than that. I need someone who knows the islands and the people, to be a liaison when I need to interface with the community. I need someone to understand what I am trying to do and help me make myself look good without being obvious about it.”
“You want to hire someone to ingratiate you into being a Tinman,” she said flatly.
“Is that possible?”
“It depends. What do you want to do? Your purchase of the Fish Islands at such an inflated price has had a bad effect on the taxes and values of the other islands. People are afraid of being forced out of their homes, in some cases their family homes. Other people, who have no attachment to their homes, or no family to leave them to, hope you or your rich friends will buy up their homes or island parcels and allow them to retire rich. Those who love island living are terrified you will make them an offer they can’t refuse and next thing they know, they’ll be at the dock with a U-Haul full of their goods and you’ll be tearing down their house too.” The last came out a little more heated than she had intended.
Christopher looked down at the table, then straight at her. “Are you afraid of that?” He asked softly. “Is your family afraid?”
“Our island…it’s a nice size…and if one or two of the five families wants to sell, there would be a real problem. The land in the center is common land we all use and share and always have, and now the land where the house was is too. If an outsider came in…” Her voice faltered. “One house is owned by an elderly woman. I had hoped, when I got married…” What are you thinking, Nora? Don’t tell him that!
“You wanted to buy the house and keep living on the island in your own place.”
She nodded, staring at her hands folding on the table before her.
“And now you think I’ll buy the house instead, tear it down and ruin the island.”
“No.”
“No?” He sounded surprised.
“I won’t be able to afford to buy it now. It’s worth too much.” And was she really going to marry Eddie? That was the big question, the one she kept avoiding. Seeing Craig this morning hadn’t helped with the decision.
“I’m not here in Connecticut all day, every day,” Christopher said. “But when I am here, I expect you to be available to me. Since you have a boat, I don’t have to loan you one. I will give you a docking sticker so my security man won’t give you a hard time or cut your boat loose. You will work at my place, where I have a home office. If you are there during meal times, food will be provided, or you can bring your own. You may have little notice, so I expect you to quit the job at the lobster restaurant and keep yourself available to me. You have a cell phone, right?”
“Uh, no. They don’t work that well on the islands. We don’t have a close enough tower.”
“I’m working on that. I’ll get you a phone. What kind do you want?”
“Am I hired?” Nora blinked at him.
“Of course you’re hired, you’re the only suitable one who even applied. And you’re much better than I had hoped for. So, the phone. Tell me you don’t want a pink one with rhinestones?” He smiled at her.
Something inside Nora clicked. She smiled back, a real smile. She could not believe this man was her enemy. “I don’t want a pink one with rhinestones,” she replied.
He turned over one of the photocopies and with a beautiful pen wrote a few words, speaking slowly. “Neon pink, extra rhinestones.”
Nora laughed. “One that makes and receives phone calls is fine. Any color, really.”
“I’ll have a selection of them sent to you, you pick the one you like and return the rest.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” she protested.
He paused, as if thinking. “Do you want an i-phone?”
She opened her mouth to say, “Of course not,” but what came out was “Really? An i-phone?” Weren’t they like, six hundred dollars?
“You own your own vehicle?” He made a note on the paper, probably to buy her a pink i-phone if one existed.
“I have a Jeep. But it’s old, not very nice. Gets the job done. Do I have to drive you around?” She was horrified at the idea.
“Only in a boat, maybe.” He scrawled something else on the paper. “I’ll get you a laptop too. Do you have a wireless network in your home?”
Nora closed her mouth, opened it again to say, “We have an internet connection that doesn’t work very well.”
Christopher sighed, made another note. “I’ll take care of that too. Okay, I’ve got to head back to New York today, but I’ll be back on Fish Island in two days. Can you be there Wednesday morning at 9 a.m.? What kind of boat do you have?”
“The Fish Islands,” she replied.
“What?” She had obviously confused him.
“Fish Island is technically only the big one in the middle. You bought the whole body. And we always refer to it in the plural. Fish Islands.” She described her little boat to him. “It’s called the Dragon Lady.”