Makin' Whoopee Read Online Free Page B
Author: Billie Green
business."
"Sure. But we can look the place over at our leisure. No late nights or early mornings."
She ignored that, wondering if his statement was a shot in the dark, or if he really knew that she started work early and stayed late. She shouldn't be surprised at anything he said; Charlie was sharp.
"I like my work," she said, her voice only slightly defensive. "Not many people can say that."
"I agree completely. But you go at it tooth and nail, as if it's a twenty-four-hour fight for survival."
It was, she said silently. But she wasn't about to admit it to Charlie. He had a spark of genius when it came to business. He had burst upon success. She had gotten there by dogged plodding.
"It probably didn't occur to you that I'm having a good time," she said, resting her elbows on her knees. "When Charlie Sanderson has a good time—which is always—everyone knows about it. I simply have fun quietly—while I work."
"Ah, Sara," he said, his eyes regretful as he took her hand and stared down at it. "You've never in your whole life relaxed enough to really have fun. You're afraid to loosen the tight control you have on your emotions long enough to have a good time."
She yawned broadly. "You're not allowed to analyze me this weekend, Charlie. It's against the union rules—no psychiatric analysis in the presence of two or more inches of dirt. Besides, it wouldn't work with me lying down on Spanish furniture. The two things cancel each other out."
Chuckling softly, he leaned back. "Still running," he said. Before she could comment, he added, "With a little effort, this place could really be something."
She glanced around. "It has possibilities. I'm trying to picture it full of people, but right now all I can see is dust and cobwebs."
"I can see the people. Back behind the bar is our fatherly bartender, dispensing drinks and advice to the crowd. And over there is a trio playing soft jazz. Three couples are on the dance floor. They're still wearing ski suits, and one fellow has a broken foot."
"Which he got tripping over this ugly furniture."
"Which he got swooshing down the mountain," Charlie corrected her. "And in front of a blazing fire, sitting on our comfortable but elegant furniture, drinking our excellent booze, several people are talking and laughing."
" 'Hey cute cheeks, what's your sign?' " she suggested.
He tugged her hair in reprimand. "They're talking about deep, meaningful subjects."
She looked down her nose at an invisible guest. " 'Whom do you support on the question of nuclear winter? And if it is a genuine possibility, does that mean we could ski year round?' "
Charlie's eyes narrowed as he glared at her. "How would you like a fat lip? Those kind of people are not welcome at my lodge."
"No ski bunnies? No bronzed gods?"
"No," he said firmly. "Let them go to Vail."
"You mean we're not going to install saunas and hot tubs?" She shook her head. "How disappointing."
"You're trying to turn my lodge into a singles' club. I tell you, only the best people will come here."
"Okay, so what we'll do is have everyone fill out an application. If they measure up, we'll let them come here."
Standing, he reached down to pull her to her feet. "I think it's bedtime.You're beginning to make sense to me."
They walked companionably up one of the flights of stairs. "These are meeting rooms," he said, indicating the five doors that opened off the balcony.
They took the hall to the left wing, and she let him guide her to the bedroom he had chosen for her. Inside the medium-sized room, she glanced around.
Just as she had feared, he hadn't exaggerated. The Spanish influence was even stronger here, and it was simply awful. She suspected some of the carved furniture was actually plastic, and she had never liked wrought-iron wall sconces.
Charlie followed her gaze around the room. "I think the decorator now deals exclusively in bus stations," he said, picking up a garish pottery vase to blow the dust off it.
She
"Sure. But we can look the place over at our leisure. No late nights or early mornings."
She ignored that, wondering if his statement was a shot in the dark, or if he really knew that she started work early and stayed late. She shouldn't be surprised at anything he said; Charlie was sharp.
"I like my work," she said, her voice only slightly defensive. "Not many people can say that."
"I agree completely. But you go at it tooth and nail, as if it's a twenty-four-hour fight for survival."
It was, she said silently. But she wasn't about to admit it to Charlie. He had a spark of genius when it came to business. He had burst upon success. She had gotten there by dogged plodding.
"It probably didn't occur to you that I'm having a good time," she said, resting her elbows on her knees. "When Charlie Sanderson has a good time—which is always—everyone knows about it. I simply have fun quietly—while I work."
"Ah, Sara," he said, his eyes regretful as he took her hand and stared down at it. "You've never in your whole life relaxed enough to really have fun. You're afraid to loosen the tight control you have on your emotions long enough to have a good time."
She yawned broadly. "You're not allowed to analyze me this weekend, Charlie. It's against the union rules—no psychiatric analysis in the presence of two or more inches of dirt. Besides, it wouldn't work with me lying down on Spanish furniture. The two things cancel each other out."
Chuckling softly, he leaned back. "Still running," he said. Before she could comment, he added, "With a little effort, this place could really be something."
She glanced around. "It has possibilities. I'm trying to picture it full of people, but right now all I can see is dust and cobwebs."
"I can see the people. Back behind the bar is our fatherly bartender, dispensing drinks and advice to the crowd. And over there is a trio playing soft jazz. Three couples are on the dance floor. They're still wearing ski suits, and one fellow has a broken foot."
"Which he got tripping over this ugly furniture."
"Which he got swooshing down the mountain," Charlie corrected her. "And in front of a blazing fire, sitting on our comfortable but elegant furniture, drinking our excellent booze, several people are talking and laughing."
" 'Hey cute cheeks, what's your sign?' " she suggested.
He tugged her hair in reprimand. "They're talking about deep, meaningful subjects."
She looked down her nose at an invisible guest. " 'Whom do you support on the question of nuclear winter? And if it is a genuine possibility, does that mean we could ski year round?' "
Charlie's eyes narrowed as he glared at her. "How would you like a fat lip? Those kind of people are not welcome at my lodge."
"No ski bunnies? No bronzed gods?"
"No," he said firmly. "Let them go to Vail."
"You mean we're not going to install saunas and hot tubs?" She shook her head. "How disappointing."
"You're trying to turn my lodge into a singles' club. I tell you, only the best people will come here."
"Okay, so what we'll do is have everyone fill out an application. If they measure up, we'll let them come here."
Standing, he reached down to pull her to her feet. "I think it's bedtime.You're beginning to make sense to me."
They walked companionably up one of the flights of stairs. "These are meeting rooms," he said, indicating the five doors that opened off the balcony.
They took the hall to the left wing, and she let him guide her to the bedroom he had chosen for her. Inside the medium-sized room, she glanced around.
Just as she had feared, he hadn't exaggerated. The Spanish influence was even stronger here, and it was simply awful. She suspected some of the carved furniture was actually plastic, and she had never liked wrought-iron wall sconces.
Charlie followed her gaze around the room. "I think the decorator now deals exclusively in bus stations," he said, picking up a garish pottery vase to blow the dust off it.
She
Readers choose
Leslie McAdam
Anne O'Brien
Dana Marton
Brian Herbert
Marie Force
Tiff P. Raine
Tom Kratman
Angelita Gill
Angie Martin
Livia Lang