Drop Everything Now

by Thomas, Alessandra

  Gladys ambled down an aisle between two rolling racks and made it about a third of the way down it before turning over her shoulder. “Well, come on, Bigfoot!”

  Cara snorted. “I think she likes you.”

  “You’re kidding me,” I said, my stomach churning.

  Cara pressed her lips together in a grim smile. “Nuh-uh. You should have seen what happened when they sent her a girl with an attitude. Dragged her ass out the door by the collar when she called Gladys a cunt for sticking her with a pin.”

  “Okay,” I breathed. “Fair warning.”

  After manhandling me with the harshest use of a tape measure I’d ever witnessed, Gladys managed to find a shirt that would fit my chest. “Most of the girls in here have pretty big tits, so you’re actually kind of on the small side,” she said, basically shoving her face into my boobs as she squinted to see the spots where she was sticking pins. “I’ll have to hunt for a skirt to fit that ass though.”

  She ambled away into the back, and Cara laughed. “See? She’s going out of her way for you. Okay, I need to get dressed. Meet me back out by Gladys’ station when she has you all done up, and we’ll go over some of the things you’ll need to know, okay?”

  I nodded, mentally mapping our path into this maze of rolling racks and figuring I’d find my way out somehow.

  Gladys finally emerged from the back, flapping a scrap of shining satin and a pair of tights that looked like sad, flat, shiny noodles. “I’m gonna have to add an extra panel to this one,” she announced to everyone in the whole goddamn room, eliciting giggles from some of the girls, “but we’ll make it work.”

  I tried to hide the involuntary roll of my eyes—I wasn’t a thin girl, but I knew I looked damn good. I also knew the world of Vegas showgirls and waitresses was like an alternate universe in the body department, so I let it slide.

  Once I squeezed my legs into those tights—which I swore employed compression just to keep the blood pumping through my limbs at a manic rate—Gladys pinned and tucked and stuck me once with a pin before she whipped off the skirt and barked, “Wrap a towel around your ass while I sew this up.”

  I found one on a nearby table and tucked it around my waist, according to instructions, and waited. In just a few minutes, I had my very own tight-at-the-waist, ass-cheek-hugging, swingy red satin skirt. Gladys grabbed my upper arm with a surprisingly strong grip and tugged me over a shoe rack. “Find some that have some good, scuffed soles and get the hell out of here.”

  I was surprised when she left me there that my hands were shaking. “Um. Thank you?” I called over my shoulder to her, but she didn’t turn around.

  Finally, I found a pair of shoes that seemed broken in enough with traction on them to wear. The idea of wearing used shoes ooked me out, but I decided not to care for the sake of comfort and saving the cash on buying my own. I would, however, buy some Lysol spray and sterilize the hell out of them before my next shift.

  Cara was amazing and walked me through all the ropes of carrying a tray, starting with cans of soda and teaching me how to balance.

  “It’s not a competition,” she said. “It’s better to get the drinks there safely than to load it up with twenty things and spill half of them.”

  She taught me how to walk with one foot in front of the other and secure the tray between both hands and my shoulder so I could pivot quickly and avoid lunging, drunk jerks without losing the drinks.

  “The day shift is the worst for that,” she said, “because it’s all the loser idiots who are too uncool to stay out all night and too cheap to actually pay for their own drinks. They’re usually old dudes who are obsessed with us because of the length of our skirts. It doesn’t help that we usually have to flirt a little to get the more generous tip. The more times you bring a drink to someone, usually the more generously he’ll tip and the drunker he’ll get. It’s almost always a win-win.”

  I tried to memorize the information like I’d memorize a patient’s stats and try to incorporate them into her care on rounds. This was no different, I told myself. This was making money. This was what I had to do, so that I could be here for Mom, even though my feet were already throbbing against the hard bottoms of these heels.

  Cara showed me the ropes for a little longer, teaching me how to turn and bob and weave through people crowded around tables—they always crowded around tables, she said—without getting into any confrontations with anyone. She said to watch out because, even though people got drinks for free, some of them would try to grab your drink without ordering it, which was not okay because they were supposed to tip you for each drink, and also, they could knock your tray off balance.

  Fun times.

  By now I’d gotten used to the cigarette-smoke air well enough, but walking into a room full of it being blown in my face was another story altogether. I held back cough after cough as my throat started rasping against the air while I followed Cara around.

  “I’m sticking with you for 30, okay?” she said. “That’s when my shift officially starts. Then you’ll be on your own. But it’s okay—we’ll be right next to each other, so if you run into any serious trouble, come get me and I’ll introduce you to Jeff, the pit manager. He throws assholes who really mess with us girls straight out of the casino.”

  I blew out another big breath. “Anything else?” I asked, flexing on the already-aching balls of my feet.

  “Yeah,” Cara said as we stopped at the edge of the carpet that marked the gambling floor. “Every asshole here thinks we turn tricks at night. Look alive and watch your ass.”

  Chapter 10

  Well, I hadn’t expected that. I brushed my palm an inch out from my butt and felt just how short the skirt was again. “Okay,” I nodded, trying to take a deep breath as inconspicuously as possible.

  I followed Cara as she wove between tables and slot machines, bending down next to the gamblers just like an airline attendant might do, asking for their drink order. She wrote it all down with abbreviations on a little pad. “You can write them out longhand until you come up with something that you understand,” she said. “I know I said it’s not a competition, but the faster you are, the more drinks people will order, and the more tips they’ll give you.”

  I nodded again. With any luck, I wouldn’t be here long enough to develop my own shorthand for Vegas drinks. Cara also showed me how to use a strong, authoritative voice to get the crowds of people to move, and then smile and even wink if the guys didn’t look to threatening to show them it was all part of the act.

  “The guys will touch your butt and pretend they don’t know what’s going on. Again, if it turns into harassment, you tell me first thing. Okay? We want that scum off our floor.”

  “Got it. Thank you,” I said.

  Cara reached around and smacked my butt. “You look hot, and you’ll be fine. See you in eight hours!”

  Eight hours. That should be just enough time for me to finish up with my shift, change quickly, and hop a cab to the hospital to check on Mom.

  My shift was exhausting and slow, but more or less uneventful. I started out only carrying drinks for one table at a time, but as the night went on and I memorized more tables’ orders, I got a little faster and got up to carrying five drinks at once. I had the section made up of slot machines, so it was mostly old ladies like Mina and her friends, decked out in gaudy costume jewelry and pockets full of one dollar bills. Toward the end of the night, a few guys checked me out. The one who tried to hook his finger into my skirt got a swift “accidental” heel to the ankle, and after that, he gave me a nice tip and a mouthful of manners for his next drink.

  Yeah, I’d been slow, but at the end of the eight hours, I was looking at a $120 in tips, plus the hourly wage. If I could get four or five shifts a week this way, I should be just fine. Relief swept over me, and I smiled. Control-freak Andi wasn’t doing too badly for herself.

 
When Cara and I finally walked off the floor and into the employee dressing room, I slid down to the floor, my back to the wall, and immediately took off those damn shoes, rotating my ankles and massaging my heels.

  She looked at me, her mouth twisted. “Yeah, the first day on those is rough. I think I have some extra inserts I got on clearance, and they’ll break in, too. How’d you do?”

  “I did okay,” I said, rolling my neck and listening to it pop. “I handled a couple nasty guys just fine, and I made just over $100.”

  “Not bad for your first day,” she said, nodding approvingly.

  That was when a guy in an impeccable suit with a glistening tie and a head shaved bald walked up to us. “Miss Garrett,” he said to Cara.

  She skittered away from him ever-so-slightly before she stammered, “Good evening, Mr. Starr. Have you been out on the floor?”

  “I haven’t. I just got in to check things out, and I heard from Gladys that we have a new cocktail waitress. Is she any good?”

  Oh, shit. The owner of the hotel. I managed to stand with feet so sore that even putting my weight on them was a special kind of torture. “That’s me,” I smiled. “I did okay. I really appreciate the work.”

  His eyes swept down over my body, with all its shiny trimmings and exposed skin, lingering on my breasts and thighs. Okay, I could see why Cara had a minorly repulsed reaction to him. “And I appreciate beautiful young women working here and drawing in more high rollers,” he said. “But only if they complete their paperwork. It’s illegal for you to be working on my floor without it.”

  “Mr. Starr, I’m so sorry, I should have—” I stuttered.

  He held up his hand. “Just get it done,” he said. “Before you leave. And maybe…” He took a step closer and peered at my face. “More eye makeup next time, hmm?” He stretched out an index finger and touched under my chin, then gave me half a smile, turned, and walked away.

  “Shit,” Cara breathed. “He almost never comes back here. I wonder what the hell is going on tonight.”

  “You’re just too busy sucking face with Rob to ever notice,” a girl with swinging auburn curls and blushed cheeks said as she walked up. “How was your night, Cara?”

  “Shut up,” Cara muttered with a smile. “Oh, hey! Maisy! You walking out now? This is Andi. She’s the new girl and she needs to do her paperwork, but I promised Rob I’d meet him here in five. Can you walk her over?”

  Maisy nodded. “Sure, no problem. I just have to use the ladies’ first.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I said.

  I glanced at my cell phone. Six fifteen already, and the cab ride to the hospital took ten minutes. I quickly changed back into jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, sighing with relief when I stepped into normal shoes again. Maisy motioned for me to follow her and I did, calling a “thank you” over my shoulder to Cara.

  By the time Maisy got out of the bathroom, it was 6:25, and after she led me down two wrong hallways to get to the personnel office, it was 6:40. The personnel director took five minutes to even find the right forms, and by then, I knew I was never going to make it for visiting hours. I filled them out as fast as I could, thanked Maisy, and walked back to the employee changing room, willing tears not to drip out of my eyes. It was one day. It was just one day. But how much had gone on with Mom today? Had she changed? Had she needed me?

  I couldn’t let anyone in here see me cry, not on my first day. Especially not Gladys or Mr. Starr.

  I quickly pulled up the number for Mom’s room on my phone, fidgeting with each ring. When Carol answered, I blew a sigh of relief, swiping at a few errant tears that had fallen.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I squeaked into the phone.

  “Andrea, baby? What’s the matter? I thought for sure we’d see you at visiting hours today.”

  “I know,” I said, trying to keep the whine and tears out of my voice. “I know, but I got this new job and my shift just ended, and then I had to fill out paperwork.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, like it was no big deal. “Dr. Ernest was in just to check up on her, and you know she was in therapy yesterday and today for the morning.”

  Those things sounded good, but something about her voice was hesitant. Wary of telling me something. I knew Carol well enough to know when something was wrong.

  “So what’s up? You don’t sound so happy.”

  “It’s not a big deal, really,” she said.

  “She’s my mom, Carol,” I said. “I want to know.”

  “She’s still not doing so well with Mike. But…well, promise me you won’t get upset?”

  I tried to hold back a laugh. I was already upset, and there was nothing she could say that would change that. “Tell me, Carol.”

  “It’s just that she still doesn’t remember much, you know? She knows she lives in the United States and that we’re in Las Vegas. She knows her name, and she knows she’s lost memory. But…”

  “But what, Carol?”

  “But she keeps asking for you. She was just a little agitated today, hon. She really wanted to see you.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” I said, running the palm of my hand across my forehead. “Was she crying?” I hated it when Mom cried.

  “Yes, some. And there were…outbursts.”

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. How had I ignored Mom all day today? Even though the responsible voice in my head told me I needed this job, the guilt of leaving Mom, scared and confused in the hospital, going to therapy for an accident she didn’t remember for a condition she didn’t understand. I should have known better. This was my career, after all. I should have known how to handle this. I always told my patients’ parents that they needed stability, that when they were dealing with illness they needed to be able to count on something happening for sure and certain.

  Why hadn’t I given that same kindness to my own mother on only her second day post-trauma?

  “I’m so sorry, Carol.”

  “Don’t you apologize, sweetheart. You were doing exactly what you needed to do.”

  “I know,” I choked into the phone. “Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow for sure.”

  “Okay, sweetie. Listen, don’t lose sleep over this. You need to take care of yourself.” And then she hung up.

  My stomach felt tight, and I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. I felt like I had been slowly building a brick wall around myself for the past few days, and now it was nearly complete. The tears dripped out of my eyes, and I tried to swipe them away with the back of my hand so no one would notice. Even though I knew everyone would.

  “Hey,” a familiar voice crooned. I looked up and, of course, there was Ryder. Topless, bow-tied, shiny, and looking heartbroken on my behalf. “What is it? Did you have a shit first day?”

  “No, it was actually fine,” I sniffled. “I made $120.” I swiped the snot from under my nose. Great. Very attractive. “But I missed visiting hours because I was doing the paperwork here, and I called and found out my mom had a really bad day in the hospital and that …and that …” The next words hiccupped their way out. “And that she was asking for me.”

  Before I knew it, Ryder’s bare arms were around me, the hard muscles of his chest yielding to my tears, making a perfect spot for my face.

  “Oh, no,” he said, propping his chin on top of my head. I felt his shoulder muscles flex when he did, and despite my despair, I was all too aware of the feel of him against me. “Shhh. You were doing what you had to do. This is a good job, and it’s the best way to spend as much time as you can with her. “

  I pulled my face away from his chest—hadn’t even realized my arms had circled his waist. My God, every inch of him was hard and strong. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You’ll get good at it really fast, and then you’ll be able to snag the overnight shifts. You can cuddle up in bed with her and nap all day and make a ton of money at night.”
r />   “You think so?”

  “I know so. $120 on the first day? Just in tips? That’s amazing!”

  “Really?” I asked, my voice rising with a hopeful note at the end.

  He shrugged and gave me that lopsided smile I was already completely freaking addicted to. “I think so. Cara and I don’t really talk about it, and I was never close enough to any of the other girls to know details.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said, stepping out of the awkward non-kissing-but-hugging-in-public embrace to grab my duffel bag and also to avoid Ryder’s gaze. “All these girls want you.”

  “And, I told you,” he said, catching my eye again. “I don’t want any of them. They’re all living it up. As far as I know anyway.”

  The realization that I was not, in fact, here in Vegas to “live it up” made me laugh with both delight and embarrassment. Delight because it meant maybe Ryder would go out with me, and embarrassment because I was twenty-two, single, and a ball of stress. Why wasn’t I living it up?

  “I don’t know,” I said, pulling my hair into a long ponytail that swung against the back of my hoodie. “What if I can’t get any of the night shifts? What if I suck at this and drop drinks on a high roller and get fired? What if some asshole really thinks I’m turning tricks and follows me somewhere?”

  “Whew,” Ryder said, nudging shoulders with me. “You really are a supreme worrier. I don’t think hearing this news about your mom has helped, am I right?” I swallowed and shook my head. “Okay,” he continued. “I know exactly what we have to do.”

  “What?” I asked, my tears having slowed. Now nervous anticipation rolled through my belly. There was no denying the pull Ryder had on me, even if my mind was mostly on Mom.

  “We’re going out,” he announced. “On the Strip.”

  Chapter 11

  “Oh, I don’t really go out.” It was true. I just didn’t do anything. I hadn’t had a strong fruity drink since rush season freshman year. Come to think of it, I hadn’t worn a short dress since then either.