Page 22 of Love Delayed
Grateful neither of us were injured by the stainless-steel pans flying everywhere, we both frowned at the crumbs of food that soiled the carpet. Her head tilted down towards the floor, and I felt horrible because I had bumped into her.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, collecting the pans from thefloor and restacking them as quickly as possible.
Looking defeated, she shook her head.
“You should watch where you’regoing, dude,” she huffed and began cleaning up the foodthat had fallen out of the pans using her barehands. “I could lose my job. I have very littletime to restock the food.”
“Listen, just take these. I’ll clean up this mess,” I said, pushing the pansin her direction.
She scowled, stood up, took the pans, and hurried off. Once I cleaned the area, I wentto the front desk to inquire what time the eventwould end. that space was reserved for. When they said10 p.m. would be the end time, I poppedin around 9:45 and watched the crowd grow smaller. Iscanned the room, and when I spotted her again, Ifocused on her because she moved around the room swiftly, working like a busy, dedicated employee. She showed how trueshe was to her job; I instantly admired that. Aftereverything was broken down and cleaned, I stayed within asmall distance of her and her coworkers as they exitedthe building. I rushed out. I had no idea ifshe had her own wheels or if her man wouldpull up next, but I didn’t want to risknever seeing her again.
“Can I talk to you,” Iasked, interrupting her and a couple of her coworker’sconversations. All eyes landed on me, and then I clearedmy throat. Even though it was awkward, I did notback down. “I’m sorry for the interruptions, ladies,” Iadded with a smile, and they all smiled at mebefore giving us a little space.
“Not bad, Zamora,” oneof her co-workers said as she eyed me, walkingaway slowly.
“What’s up?” she asked casually. I triedto detect what vibe she was giving, but I knewnothing about her, so I just made my move.
“Iknow this may be a little strange, but I wantedto talk to you before you left.”
She looked mein the eyes with a look of curiousness on herface. “Why and about what? Did you want to apologizeagain for knocking the pans out of my hands?” sheasked, that time giving me a slight smile.
I smiledback, “Yes, I do, and I would also like tointroduce myself. My name is Marcus, and I am sosorry for bumping into you earlier. I wasn’t watchingwhere I was going, and I just want you toknow how truly sorry I am,” I expressed with sincerities’ and then held my breath. I stared her in theeyes, hoping she’d accept my apology that time, becauseshe didn’t care one tiny bit about my apologyearlier that evening.
Now smiling brighter, she spoke through herpretty glossed lips. “All is forgiven, Marcus, and I amZamora. Everybody calls me Zee.”
“Zamora, a beautiful name fora beautiful girl. It is so awesome to meet you.”
“Thank you, and it’s nice to meet you too.”
We both stared quietly for a brief moment, and thenI snapped back to my mission. “I know this maybe odd because we just met, but I’d liketo see you again. I mean, if you don’thave a boyfriend. If you do and say no, I’ll live with that.”
A cute, shy grin formed onher face. “I don’t have a boyfriend, and I’d like to see you again, Marcus.”
“Can I haveyour number?” I asked nervously.
“Sure,” she answered, and thena loud horn blasted from behind us in the hotel’s circular drive. I patted my front and back pocketsfor my cell, and it wasn’t on me. Shelooked over her shoulder and then back at me. “That’s my dad, and I gotta go, Marcus. Maybe I’ll see you again,” she said, backing away and proceedingto the car.
“Call the hotel. My parents own thisplace, and I’m always here; call and ask forme or leave your number if I’m not around. I promise I’ll call you.” I said in arush, and she looked up at the sign.
“I will,” she said and then got into her dad’s minivan. I watched the girl of my dreams roll away andhoped she’d call.
I walked back into the lobbyand went to the front desk first and chatted abit with the night staff before getting on the elevatorand riding up to the penthouse. It was what theindustry called manager’s quarters, but it was home tome. It was a spacious three-bedroom, three-and-a-half-bathroom penthouse with amazing views. My parents would alwayssay they’d turn it into a sellable suite oncethey bought a home, but from the looks of it, they’d never leave. I got off the elevator, andmy parents both greeted me with smiles. “Marc, you weredown there pretty late tonight. Did you manage not toget into any trouble,” my mom asked before taking asip of her ginger tea.
“Mom, I’m not akid anymore, and you still ask me that question daily. I mean, I set off the sprinklers, one maybe tentimes doesn’t make me a menace,” I joked andkissed her on the forehead and then flopped down onthe sofa next to my dad. His eyes were onthe soccer game on the tube, and he wasn’tdrinking tea.
“Listen, your troublesome days are not long behindyou, Mr. Let’s steal a bottle of liquor fromthe hotel bar and go into a vacant room tohang out with my friends,” she reminded me. Yes, thathad just happened during the last school year after thehomecoming dance, but I did the time for my crime, and I didn’t want to keep being reminded ofmy foolish choices.
“All accurate, but one more year, I’ll be out of here and away at school, somy every move can’t be detected.” Hotel living wasfor the birds because every staff member knew me, andsince we were downtown, a car took me and pickedme up from school. I hardly had any friends over, and to get from under my parent’s thumb waslike mission impossible. My parents wanted me to know allthings hospitality, so I knew everything that I could possiblyknow about the property we lived in and the othersthat we owned.
“I don’t know why you wantto waste our money on college when you know everythingabout the business, son. Going to college to get adegree to do the exact thing that you can dowithout spending a ton of money makes absolutely zero sense,” my father said, getting up to pour himself another whiskeyon the rocks. That was his drink.
“Dad, I toldyou that I want to go for technology; that’snot a waste of money,” I said for the millionthtime.
“Again, a waste of money when we have severalproperties that will someday be yours,” he said and sat.
“Your father is right, Marc. These properties are a lotof work, son, and we are depending on you andyour cousins to step up. We are ready to traveland live our lives.”
“What about my life,” I mumbled.