Unwanted Stars (2 page)

After I checked into my hotel room, I was able to take a quick nap before meeting with my supervisor, Michelle. Michelle was also American. During our phone interviews, I immediately knew she was from "New Yawk.” Brooklyn, to be exact. She moved here three or four years ago to be a guide for Jordan Tours and loved it so much she pursued a career with the company. I'm hoping she'll be a cool supervisor without being too strict or harsh. I'd been studying my ass off to learn all the great stories about the different sites we'd be visiting on the tours. But c'mon, I hadn't been to some of these countries since I was a teenager. Hadley and I came here after graduation, but we only saw a handful of places. It was going to take some time for me to get reacquainted with Europe. I couldn’t freaking wait though. I needed this badly.

"Have a seat," she said flipping her long hair behind her shoulder.

Michelle's hair was really dark, almost jet black. She had thick eyebrows and puffy lips, and in my opinion, a little too much eye makeup. She totally looked like she could be a roommate on
Jersey Shore
. I had to keep that bit of info to myself though, because I was pretty sure it would not be appreciated.

"How was your flight?" she asked, paging through what looked like a training manual. Her office was bright green with various Jordan Tours posters with smiling travelers splashed around the walls.

"Good. Watched a couple of movies," I replied with a non-committal shrug. What I failed to mention is that the movies were god-awful. Seriously, they were years old and completely ridiculous. A plane full of grownups watching some stupid-ass movie about teenagers rebelling against their parents. Insert eye roll here. My ticket was freaking expensive. The least the airline could've done was give me a movie with a sexy man like Ryan Gosling. Was that too much to ask?

Michelle nodded and I could tell she was ready to move on to the next order of business.

"Okay, so your training will begin tomorrow. You're going to shadow another tour guide on his tour."

"His?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, no, just making sure I heard you right."

I hadn't dated in a while, and I know, I
know
that I shouldn't be looking to date my co-workers. But, I wasn’t gonna lie. I was curious. I'd always dreamed of running away with a hot Italian or French man. One whose accent made my toes curl with beautiful anticipation.

"His name is Thomas Mashburn and he's one of our best. He'll teach you everything you need to know."

"Sounds good," I said with a decisive nod. I didn't want her to think I was a diva or something. And the name Thomas didn’t exactly sound like someone exotic, so it'd be easier to focus on the job.

"When you return from your tour, we'll have an apartment ready for you. I must warn you, Jordan rents very small flats for their guides since we're hardly there...usually on the road."

"Makes sense to me. I don't need a huge place," I said with a wide smile. Okay, that might have been overkill, but I was starting to feel really guilty about my Jersey Shore thoughts and wanted to backpedal a little bit.

Michelle handed the large binder to me and grabbed another for herself. She reviewed all of the rules and regulations for Jordan Tours’ employees before sending me on my way. As instructed, I returned to my hotel and prepared for my first training session, which would last exactly fifteen days starting bright and early tomorrow morning.

Settling into my small, drafty hotel room, I had to turn on the TV just to distract myself from the noisy hallways. The pubs must have just closed and tourists were heading back to their rooms for the night. Pulling the scratchy quilt up to my chin, I laid my head on the lumpy pillow, daydreaming of what this year would bring. And feeling like perhaps I could really feel at home...for the very first time.

I was
such
a fucking idiot yesterday. Like big time. Seriously, I'm not even kidding.

We were traveling through Germany and Tom (my Australian trainer) was giving a little spiel about Munich, the latest stop on our "European Decadence" tour. It was the beginning of our two week jaunt, and the people were just getting to know one another on the bus. They'd slowly been making small talk and discovering where everyone was from. We had South Africans, Americans, Canadians, and Aussies on this trip. Tom was really cool and I guess I'm sort of attracted to him, but that's neither here nor there. Okay,
maybe
it is. But that comes later.

The point is, this afternoon, as we were approaching Munich, Tom was giving his speech about the Hofbräuhaus. How it's one of the most famous breweries in Germany, how Hitler used to have Nazi meetings there, how the wait staff couldn’t be hired unless they could "fist" five beer steins at a time. When he said "fist" the beer steins, I was drinking from my water bottle. Hearing the word "fist" used as a verb made my mind go to a really dirty place, and I spit my water on the seat in front of me. Tom stared at me, his mouth agape. One of the Americans started to snicker and Tom turned bright red like a tomato.

He glared at me, laughed nervously, and went right back to his speech. I mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," as he continued, but I could tell I was in for it. He was going to ream my ass out. So fucking unprofessional,
so
fucking stupid.

When we arrived at the hotel, we both stayed in our seats, allowing all of our tour members to leave the bus first to gather their luggage from the undercarriage compartment. I prepared myself for the tongue lashing of the freaking century.

Tom shook his head, raised a sandy brown eyebrow and simply asked, "Are you fucking kidding me?" His Australian accent was thick with sarcasm.

"I'm sorry. Seriously, I am." My brows knitted as I clenched my teeth. "I'm such a moron."

He threw his head back in laughter. "You made me look like a dickhead in front of the entire group."

"I know," I said, really confused at his lack of anger.

"Don't do it again. But, it was fucking hilarious." He paused and then smirked. "Fisting? You've got a sick little mind."

"Oh, thank God. I thought you were pissed off." I let out a huge sigh.

I really couldn't handle the idea of being fired while still in training. I'd look like the biggest idiot crawling back to the states and explaining this to my family. Tom was really laid-back—he had a warmth about him that really put me at ease within the first minute of having met him. If I couldn't hack it with him as my supervisor, I was in for a lot of trouble.

"I mean, I kinda am. You really threw me for a minute there. But, you crack me up, Auden." He grabbed his backpack, placed his Ray Bans on the bridge of his nose, and made his way off the bus. I watched as his lean, muscular legs flexed while he walked down the steps. I had to stop myself from having dirty thoughts about my trainer. My tan skinned, muscular trainer with a slight gap between his two front teeth. After all, that wouldn't look good to Michelle. She'd probably be pissed and then we'd never be paired up to work with one another in the future. And I wanted to keep my options open.

After checking in to the hotel, we met our tour group at the famous Hofbräuhaus. I visited this place only once before, when I was really young. I had completely forgotten about the beer steins and how people competed to see how many they could hold in their hand at one time. But as soon as we sat down in our long wooden booth and I took in the smells, the people, and the decor of this famous brewery, I remembered my brother, trying so hard to impress our dad when we were kids.

Jason predicted that he could handle three steins. My dad wasn't so sure. Our waitress obliged and brought three of the large, clunky glasses to the table. Jason swallowed hard and took a couple deep breaths, looking at the foamy liquid in each of the large glass steins. He wrapped his hands through the handle of one, and then the other, and finally the third. His face turned red as he attempted to lift those glasses off the table. But nothing happened. Not. A. Thing. Those glasses were glued to our table.

"Try two, son," my dad encouraged him.

Jason nodded, pushing his glasses higher on his nose, and released his hand from one of the steins. His teeth dug into his lip as he lifted the glasses once again. This time, he was able to get them about an inch off the table. And even though we all knew the point of this exercise was to actually be able to carry the steins around the brewery, we erupted in applause just the same. Jason's always been a smart guy, even as a boy, so he knew we were celebrating a mediocre achievement. But he was polite and thanked the waitress as she patted his head and took the steins into her right hand as if they weighed next to nothing. He watched her in awe as she walked away.

No one else at the table tried to lift the steins. Not my dad, not Maya, not my mom. That was Jason's moment and no one wanted to embarrass him. My normal bratty self would've tried it, but for some reason, I knew it was time to back down. He was embarrassed...which didn't happen often, so I clapped along with everyone else, secretly wishing I could've tried lifting those huge glasses more than an inch off the rough wooden table.

Jason is one of those guys who lives life how he wants to--you can take him or leave him. I'm kinda the same way, most of the time. Unfortunately, the difference is that Jason is someone who everyone adores and understands. Me, not so much. People don't always get me right away...and some never do. When I find people who understand me, I stick with them. I'm fiercely loyal. And so far, there haven't been many who have fit into that category. There's my best friend Hadley...and, well, that's about it. She's the only one who really gets me, really knows me, and stands by me one hundred percent. She's like a sister, almost more than my actual sister Maya at times. Isn't that depressing?

Tom nudged my arm as our waitress smiled down at me, ready to take my drink order. I ordered a beer, just like everyone else at the table. She thanked us and walked away with her notepad. I glanced down the long wooden table at our huge party of sixteen. How on earth would she deliver all that beer?

My question was answered just a few minutes later as a small troop of waitresses arrived, each fisting four steins of beer. They placed them in front of each person at the table, and Tom led everyone in the proper toast.

"Prost!" we all said loudly as our glasses clinked at the center of the table. We each took a sip of the cold, amber liquid.

"Damn, that's good," I said. Normally I hated beer. I suffered through drinking keg beer in college because, let's face it, you weren't going to find a French Martini at a frat party on campus. So, I drank the swill, knowing when I grew past my college days, I'd indulge in whatever alcoholic beverage I liked. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

And when in Munich, you drink beer. Lots of beer. And thank the lord, this beer was delightful. Smooth, way too smooth. Thank God we're allowed to drink with the members of our tour or I'd be in a lot of trouble with this job. A hell of a lot of trouble.

After ordering our dinners, most of us were ready for another round of beer. And the guys were ready to see how many steins they could fist.

"Oi," Pete, a dark haired Australian man yelled from the other side of the table. "I reckon Miss Auden here must drink every time someone says the word fist."

His wife Rhiannon covered her mouth in laughter as she and Pete clinked their glasses as if they were sharing a joke. They were one of those couples—always on the same wavelength, sharing inside jokes and finishing each other’s sentences. I opened my mouth to object, but Tom beat me to the punch. He stood, shaking his head from side to side and I breathed a sigh of relief. With this group, I would be in big trouble. They were already having a lot of fun at my expense. If I had to drink every time one of them said that word, they'd have to carry me out of the restaurant.

"Pete, Pete, Pete," Tom said, holding his fresh stein of beer with one hand as he waved the other from side to side. The table grew silent and almost tense as we prepared for Tom to put Pete in his place. He raised his stein in the air and said, "You're a bloody genius, mate. That's the best idea I've heard all day!"