Masie’s Morning

When Lila tumbled into the room with a mild case of beard burn and well-marinated in bourbon, I was on the balcony in my pajamas and a Dunhill bathrobe, still sketching the buildings across the street, the Irish coffee long gone.

“Masie!” She sang out before opening the French doors and stumbling over the step up, glowing like a candle.

“Ooh, let me see!”

I knew she’d reach for my sketchbook, so I pulled my pencil away to avoid calamity, but she clipped the empty mug, and a second later, we heard it shatter on the sidewalk. Good thing no one had been under it.

“You’re so freaking talented. For the life of me, I don’t understand why you don’t have shows.”

“We’ve been over this. Moving on. Looks like you enjoyed your evening.” I swear to God, she blushed and then her smile took over her face, and she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulders. I said, “Lila Daniels! Is that a hickey on your neck?”

“What!” She thrust my sketchbook into my lap and bolted back into the room, remembering the step, and flew to the bathroom. She was back in a flash. “Masie Adams! I swear you’re meaner than a copperhead with a backache! You scared me!”

“Gotcha,” I grinned at her. Lila hates hickeys, never would let anyone leave his mark on her, even in high school. The one time Sam left one on her, she refused to see him or speak to him until it was gone.

I gathered up my pencils and followed her back inside to brush my teeth and get in bed. She filled me in on her night while I flossed, then ran me out so she could get in the fabulous shower.

The bedroom had a king bed, so there was plenty of room for us to bunk in together like we did when we were kids and had sleepovers at each other’s houses.

In the morning, I called down to the desk to ask about breakfast service and learned that I could come down to the restaurant or order room service. On my way down, I grabbed a coffee from the self service table across from the elevators on the upper mezzanine.

The restaurant had a wall covered in presumably local art, mainly landscapes and still lifes and an enormous topographical map of North Carolina on the wall facing it. A few of the smaller pieces caught my eye while I waited to be seated.

When the server, a petite redhead, came out of the back, she chatted me up on the way to the table, asking if I was local or a hotel guest, where I’m from, and all of that. When I answered her questions, she told me I sounded like someone who used to work there.

“Lila?” I asked.

Her server smile got pushed out of the way by a real one as she nodded so emphatically her ponytail bounced up and down.

I put my coffee down on the table and told her that Lila was asleep upstairs.

Her smile gained even more wattage, and she hugged me, insisting that I must be Masie, to sit down, and she’d be right back. She left a paper menu in front of me and said her name was Nikki as she scurried past the host stand, calling, “Tee-uummm!” as she pushed the kitchen door open. I laughed and remembered Lila telling me about Nikki, claiming she pronounced Tim’s name with more syllables than letters.

I looked around the nearly-empty restaurant and wondered why it wasn’t busy. Nikki returned with a carafe of ice water and asked if I’d like a Bloody Mary or mimosa, and I took her up on the Bloody. She shook her head and said, “Just like Lila.”

When she came back, I was impressed that it was a proper Bloody Mary, just a stalk of celery and a wedge of lime to garnish it instead of the three ring circus so many places added to it. I was especially relieved that there was no olive, then learned that wasn’t the norm, but Nikki “figured I liked mine the same as Lila, who said it ‘wasn’t a tomato martini for Chrissakes.’”

Then she pointed out Lila’s favorite items on the breakfast menu, insisting that I try the Asbury stack, assuring me it was savory, not sweet: potato pancakes with nduja gravy and two eggs. I added a side of bacon and ordered the eggs over easy.

After establishing that Lila probably wouldn’t be down there in time for breakfast, I asked Nikki how long it would take me to get to Quail Hollow, and she responded that everywhere in Charlotte was a thirty-minute drive.

I punched it into my phone to take a look at the route and saw that it was a twenty-three minute drive and considered that close enough to give credence to Nikki’s maxim.

And then Lila appeared, hugging Nikki before she sat down and tore into my breakfast.

“Oh my God, I forgot how good this is with the gravy and the egg yolk on the potato. Culinary magic,” she announced before taking a daunting sip of my drink.

Nikki returned with a Bloody Mary for Lila and said, “You won’t believe who’s back!”

True to form, Lila didn’t spoil Nikki’s news by telling her she saw Tim last night, and for all I knew, their impromptu date might be on the downlow. I couldn’t imagine that he’d want his staff teasing him about Lila until the end of time.

“Hands off, Daniels. Get your own breakfast. I have a tee time.” I checked my watch and saw that I had plenty of time after I said it, but Lila was right about that Asbury stack, and I didn’t want to share any more of it. I was impressed by how perfectly the eggs were cooked, lacy brown edges on the whites without any hardening of the yolk, absolutely perfect.

Nikki returned with two cups of coffee from the “staff pot,” earning her a nod of approval from Lila, who explained that Dunhill coffee was weaker than she was when she had mono, so she made a pot of properly strong coffee for the staff.

“I bet you made lemonade for everyone, too,” I said as I stirred cream and sugar into my proper coffee.

“She did!” Nikki exclaimed. “And she always came in with dollar scratch-off tickets for everyone on Fridays.”

That was news to me, and I gave Lila a look.

She explained, “I used to pick up a strip of ten and hand them out on Friday. Small investment to put everyone in a good mood for the busiest shift.”

Nikki nodded. “She gave one to everyone in the restaurant, the valets, and the desk. It was fun, and I won fifty bucks once when I really needed it. And nobody in the kitchen ever got mad at Lila, except Tim, but she used to piss him off on purpose. He was ready to kill her over the signs she put in the walk-in.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, “What did it say, Lila?”

“Employees must stop crying before returning to work,” Lila replied.

“Why on earth would you put that in the walk-in?” I asked.

“Because everybody goes to the walk-in to cuss or cry. Figured it might get a laugh out of the emotionally overwhelmed. And Tim’s so cute when he’s mad.”

I looked down and saw that I had cleaned my plate. Lila said she’d share hers and that we should also get an order of beignets, every bit as good as Cafe du Monde.

I texted my new golfing buddy, and he confirmed our tee time and asked if I wanted to hit 19 before we teed off. Of course I did—I was on vacation.