* * *
Ms. Patricia Nalone lounged poolside. Her doctor had told her, more than once, that at her age she should not be sunbathing. That it was practically an invitation to skin cancer. But without a deep copper tan, Ms. Nalone would no more feel herself than if she allowed her blond hair to devolve into its natural gray. So she lay on a chaise longue, her leathery skin gleaming with lotion, a glass of iced wine in her hand, though it was not quite noon.
“Really, Vito,” she said to her son, in a voice that had once been sultry but was now ravaged from a half century of smoke and drink. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”
“Nothing is wrong with me, Mother,” said Vito Nalone absently. The majority of his focus was on his form as he curled a dumbbell. Weight training wasn’t just about how much you could lift. Flinging a heavy dumbbell around wouldn’t do you any good if your form wasn’t perfected to maximize both definition and size.
In some ways, Vito was a lot like his mother. Suntan lotion gleamed on his bronze skin, too, though the skin was smooth and taut over his young, well-cared-for physique. He didn’t dye his dark hair completely, but he had indulged in a few blond highlights.
“Then why won’t you ask out Isabella Ficollo?” His mother would have frowned, but the recent Botox treatment prevented it.
Vito shrugged his muscular shoulders. “I’m just not interested in her.”
“How can you not be interested in the sole heir to billions of dollars?”
Vito put his dumbbell down on the pool deck and leaned back into his chair. He watched the staff manager, Brice Ghello, walk quickly past, brow furrowed as he examined his clipboard. There was something sincere to the point of fussy about Brice that Vito found extremely charming. He sighed. “I don’t know, Mother. I’m just not into her.”
* * *
The Hotel del Arte staff convened on the basketball court at precisely noon. It was a large gathering of mostly high school and college students. Arlo looked up at the hoops longingly. He wondered if staff were ever allowed to use them. Not that a rule against it would prevent him, but it would certainly factor into his plans.
A younger boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen came and stood beside him. He was also staring up at the hoop.
“What do you think?” asked Arlo. “Maybe they’ll let us play at night?”
The boy put his hands together as if praying or begging.
“This is Zeke Zanni,” Lena said, nearby.
“Hey, Zeke.” Arlo held out his hand.
Zeke shook his hand and smiled, but said nothing.
“Zeke doesn’t talk,” said Lena.
“Why not?” asked Arlo.
Lena shrugged. “He never said.” She pointed to the front of the crowd. “Brice is about to start.”
Brice Ghello looked to be a little older than Arlo, perhaps twenty. “Hello, everyone, I’d like to get started, please.” He examined his clipboard as he waited for conversation to stop. “As the manager here at Hotel del Arte, I want to welcome you to the first day of summer and the beginning of our peak season. Some of our guests have already arrived. Many will be arriving soon. For the few of you who are new this year, come see me after orientation to receive your uniform and assignment. You are expected to wear your uniform at all times while on duty so that guests know who they can approach for assistance.”
Arlo eyed the white polo and the tight—and what seemed to him excessively short—shorts. He whispered to Lena, “Do all the shorts fit like that?”
She gave him a wolfish grin. “It’s one of my favorite things about working here.”
“I thought you didn’t want a boyfriend.”
“There’s a wide spectrum between appreciating the sight of cute boys in tight shorts and having a boyfriend.”
“And where do I fall on your spectrum?”
Lena leaned back and examined his backside. “If you don’t prove to be a complete imbecile, there might be some room for advancement.”
Zeke nudged Arlo with his elbow and gave him an encouraging look.
“Is that her version of a compliment?” asked Arlo.
Zeke nodded.
“I want it completely understood,” Brice was saying, “that even though you have your individual responsibilities, the happiness of our guests comes first. Whatever you are doing, if a guest asks for anything, you do it. Got it? Okay, newbies up here to see me, everyone else to your stations.”
The crowd dispersed, and Lena nudged Arlo. “Let’s see what he gives you. Brice has an uncanny talent for giving a person just the right job.”
They walked against the flow of people to Brice. Arlo noticed Zeke following behind.
“What’s your job, Zeke?” asked Arlo. He wasn’t sure how Zeke would answer, but he felt rude asking Lena a question meant for him.
Zeke held his hands together like he was holding an invisible golf club, then took a swing, shading his eyes as he watched the pretend ball fly through the air.
“Caddy? Not a bad gig. Maybe I’ll get something like that.”
“Hey, Brice.” Lena jerked her thumb at Arlo. “New guy. Hasn’t proved to be a complete idiot yet.”
“Okay.” Brice tugged at his chin and narrowed his eyes as he contemplated Arlo.
“What, no Sorting Hat?” asked Arlo.
“Pool boy,” said Brice.
“Are you serious?” Arlo ignored Lena and Zeke, who were both silently chuckling.
“Absolutely,” said Brice earnestly. “The pool is one of the most popular stations in the resort. I need someone good looking but also smart enough to handle himself and others on the deck. You can swim, can’t you?”
“Well, yeah—”
“Excellent,” said Brice. “It’s an important position. In fact, it’s probably best I train you myself.”
Arlo assessed the sincere expression on his new boss’s face and forced a smile. “Perfect.”
“Oh, Lena!” called a perky voice from the other side of basketball court. A girl around Arlo’s age, wearing a pink polo shirt and white skirt, waved a tennis racket. The sunlight framed her, so Arlo had to squint when he looked at her. It gave her an almost eerily angelic quality. “Are you free to play yet?”
Lena smiled warmly. “Of course, Miss Ficollo. I’ll be right over.” She turned back to them. “Well, boys. Duty calls.” Arlo watched her jog away, realizing that the tight uniform shorts worked both ways. He let out a quiet sigh.
Brice followed Arlo’s gaze to Lena. “That’s never going to happen.”
“I consider myself an optimist,” said Arlo.
“Good luck with that.” He took Arlo by the shoulders and turned him in the direction of the pool. “I think you’ll find the role of pool boy to be incredibly rewarding in other ways. Why, I was pool boy my first year here. You’ll be amazed at how interesting it can be.”
“Can’t wait,” said Arlo. As Brice steered him toward the water, Arlo looked over his shoulder at Zeke and mouthed, “B-ball after work?”
Zeke gave him two thumbs up.
“Now,” said Brice, his eyes sparkling with delight. “The two most important responsibilities of being a pool boy are making sure the chemicals are always in balance, and skimming the surface of the water so it always looks pristine!”
* * *
“Was that the new staff member I saw you and Brice talking to?” asked Isabella, as she served the tennis ball with an artful perkiness that had taken years to perfect.
“Yeah. The new pool boy,” said Lena, as she returned the ball.
“Are you trying to pretend that you don’t know his name?” Isabella hit the ball back. “You, Lena Cole, who knows everyone?”
Lena missed the return. She calmly retrieved the ball by the fence. “His name is Arlo Kean.”
“He’s cute,” said Isabella.
“He’s trouble.” If compelled, Lena would have admitted that she found him attractive. And the way he so easily communicated with Zeke was another trait she found appealing. But there was something about Arlo Kean that made her ever so slightly unsure of herself. And that was a feeling she didn’t like at all.