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"You just put your pickle on everybody's plate, college boy, and leave the hard stuff to me."
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Baby doesn't know exactly where her feet are taking her as she walks, but she has never been one to complain about aimlessly wandering around when she's in an unknown place. It allows her to get the lay of the land, taking in her surroundings as she follows the paved pathway through the cabins varying in sizes, past the hotel housing the majority of the guests, and towards a grand looking building that has to be the dining room.
As Baby walks closer to the dining room, she can hear the clinking and clattering of dishes, the waiters and busboys getting ready to serve dinner. Curiosity getting the better of her, Baby walks up the steps to the porch that wraps around the dining hall. The outdoor seating has already been set up, gas lanterns placed in the center of tables to hold the cream-colored tablecloths down, preventing wind from blowing them away.
Approaching the door, she hears more than the sound of spoons and forks knocking against each other. There seems to be a low mumble coming from the center of the room. Baby's intrusive nature begs her to lean further into the dining room and listen in on the private conversation, while her respective upbringing urges her to walk away and continue her meandering.
In the end, the little devil on Baby's shoulder wins over the angel, and she peeks her head around the entrance's door frame to see a group of waiters gathered around Mr. Freeman.
"Now I put you guys on the main floor for a reason. You all are Ivy-league bound, handsome men," Mr. Freeman explains to the men, who are all adorned in matching white coats and undershirts tucked into their black slacks and a black bowtie wrapped gracefully around each of their necks. Probably clip-ons, Baby comments to herself as she eavesdrops.
"you guys are here to do more than take orders and deliver food. It's your guys' job to entertain the young women. Flirt with them, take them to look at the stars, even the ugly ones, okay? Promise them you'll be here next summer, make 'em want to come back," Mr. Freeman smiles slyly. If Baby couldn't already tell that money was his main motivator, she'd be absolutely sure of it now.
Just as Mr. Freeman is finishing his demeaning speech, a group of guys all dressed in the same uniform as Benny had been earlier – a tight "Freeman's" shirt and jeans – walk into the dining room, raising the volume of the conversation from a low murmur to a dull roar.
"You hear that guys? Have your way with them!" the guy leading the pack comments to the ones behind him. He's the only one not wearing a uniform of some sorts, instead sporting a green button-up and black leather pants, a matching leather jacket coolly slung over his shoulder and aviators resting upon the bridge of his nose.
His presence immediately catches Baby's attention, as well as everyone else's in the room. There's something about his demeanor that makes the room seem full, his personality standing in every corner and taking up every chair in the place. His brown locks are slicked back with loose curls begging for attention at his widow's peak, a hairstyle that makes him look like he's not trying at all, despite the fact that it took him 20 minutes to do that morning. His posture is cool, calm, and collected; he has everyone's attention and he absolutely knows it. It's already been made clear that he's charming by the comment made in retaliation to Mr. Freeman's demands. The response that he receives from the men behind him, an array of chuckles and snorts, show that he's likable as well.
