The Player by Camille Leone Page B

darted away to the back of the car for their bags. His demeanor took her back to life in Trinidad where her dad and brothers worked at a swanky hotel, constantly in motion and smiling for the tourists. They’d bow and grin wide, speaking in an exaggerated dialect just so the tourists could think they were experiencing a genuine islander.
    “These tips help pay for your costume,” her dad had said, so easy going no matter how obnoxious some of the tourists acted.  They’d call him by his first name, when he was restricted to always refer to them as “Mr.” or “Mrs.” Even the younger children had to be called “Miss” or “Sir.”
    As she walked through twin doors of frosted glass, Harlow was greeted with a spectacular, wide open living and dining area. The only way she could tell which room flowed into another was when the furniture changed. There was no separation of space, no walls to block her view. From the main entrance she could see all the way to the sliding glass doors of the backyard. High ceilings and marble floors with a gloss so bright that she almost squinted. Everything was modern, large in size and highly impersonal.
    The color white was overwhelming. White tiled floors, white walls, high ceilings painted white. Kyle said his sister had over seen the renovation. The quiet was also unusual. It just seemed like his home was perfect to have friends and family over, yet all she heard was the whine of a vacuum cleaner, making her wonder how many rooms there were in this mega mansion bachelor pad.
    She couldn’t take in the whole sight without doing a pirouette. And there was Kyle, grinning like a proud papa, bending close enough to whisper, “I just want to watch you going up those stairs and salivate over every little jiggle of your butt.”
    Unable to stifle a laugh, Harlow’s outburst was met with a what’s so funny? stare by Willa, whose trout pout didn’t match with her warm, sherry brown eyes, chic tapered hair and pixie frame. Willa had a face that was better suited for a male. Some would call her a “handsome” woman, but Harlow could already feel something wasn’t clicking between the two of them.
    Trying to catch her bearings, Harlow decided to approach winning over Willa rationally. Maybe it’s me, she thought. All the ugliness with Ozzy’s aunt, Tantie Eustace, had made her standoffish when getting to know other women. It had taken a while to become friendly with Torii, but then Torii was the frickin’ queen at putting people at ease. She always had her shit together.
    Kapono hustled back to Harlow’s side, motioning toward an outside patio. “For you, Miss Harlow, in preparation for your luncheon.” On a large rectangular glass table she could make out sliced melons of red and orange awaiting her. A single red rose in a clear vase swayed from the warm breeze.
    “Oh, thank you.” With Kyle’s sister looking like an owl about to swoop down on a mouse – Harlow being the mouse –  her unease was evident. “Once I get to my – Kyle’s room, I’d love to eat a little something before my friends come over.”
    Kapono bowed again. “I will show you the way.”
    Steeling herself, Harlow sucked in her stomach, wishing that she’d kept a few of her panties that held her butt in check. It wasn’t Kyle’s eyes she was worried about, but the vague feeling she got that Willa was noticing not just her behind, but her every movement.
    “Well, she’s certainly . . . tall,” Willa whispered to Kyle, once Harlow was on the second floor and almost out of sight.
    “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘statuesque,’ he said, never taking his stare off Harlow’s rear end.
    “What about Maddy?”
    “What about her?”
    “I just wondered why she isn’t here for Thanksgiving.”
    “Maddy’s not here because she’s with her mother’s family. It’s something they’d planned a while ago. Just like Harlow’s daughter couldn’t be here because she’s with her father