Drop Everything Now (6 page)

“I think you certainly can. Of course, I can only speak for the CDFS school, but video conferencing technology can work wonders. If you have enough free time to finish your assignments and virtually show up to class to present and do remote office ours with your teachers, I think you should be alright. Your absence at your CHOP internship may be another story, but I can help you petition for the extra hours you’ve done in previous semesters to overflow to this one. I’ve only rarely seen it happen, but I think I can pull some favors out of my back pocket.”

Relief surged through me. I stammered my reassurance that I’d be up to the task of completing assignments and scheduling phone calls and made a mental note to contact my gen-ed professors for quiz and exam dates, too, to make arrangements to do them remotely.

Even though it was cool enough to make me shiver, the Vegas sun was already hot on the asphalt of the parking lot. I tried to keep my breaths controlled as I leaned up against Ryder’s truck, trying to figure out a way to stand that wouldn’t look totally doofy.

“Hey,” Ryder’s low, velvet voice broke my thoughts. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Oh,” I said, forcing a little smile. “Totally. Why?”
Please don’t mention how I fell asleep in your bed last night.

“Just look sad. Or worried. I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten to talk to Mom yet today.”

“But you talked to the nurses?” he asked, loping around to open my door for me.

When he got in his seat, I said, “Yeah. They say she’s doing okay, but I want to talk to her myself, you know?”

He nodded, starting up the truck and rumbling out of the parking lot onto the highway. “So do you do this worrying thing professionally or only when something tough comes up?”

I laughed, even though I didn’t know whether he was joking. “Mostly when something tough comes up. I’m not really a worrier, I don’t think.” I looked at him with my eyebrows up. He nodded and focused on the road.

We rode in silence on the short drive to the Shooting Starr. I stopped freaking for a minute and breathed in deeply. Vegas’s hazy blue sky fading up into dull white and the spiky trunks of palm trees really were their own kind of beautiful.

When we pulled up to the parking lot, Ryder threw the car into park and looked over at me.

“Andi,” he said. “Listen. I really did find you a place and a job because I wanted to—because I was trying to be nice. Not because I wanted anything from you, okay?”

“Are you talking about that kiss?” I asked.

Ryder brushed something invisible away from his spotless jeans and shifted in his seat. “Yeah,” he said. “I hope I wasn’t too forward.”

“Well, you were,” I said, and his face fell. I laughed. “For a girl who hadn’t brushed her teeth since she ate spaghetti and meat sauce ten hours before.”

He looked up at me, and the way his eyebrows curved up in a hopeful expression of was too adorable for words. “But maybe,” I said, reaching out and brushing my fingers across his, “for a girl after work, it would be totally awesome.”

Chapter 9

My
eyes skimmed the casino floor as Ryder and I entered. The smoky, stale open room held at least a couple hundred slot machines, and the floor was ringed by tables for blackjack, some game where dice were thrown, and roulette. I’d grown up in Vegas, but I’d left before I was old enough to gamble and had never been interested in it. Gambling was for tourists; the real Vegas, to me, was about warm temperatures, dry desert air, and the best variety of food available anywhere.

Weaving around the tables were about half a dozen cocktail waitresses, balancing anywhere from five to ten drinks on their trays without anything close to a slosh. My eye traveled down their bodies. They wore sleeveless, white, wraparound shirts that dipped low to expose the inside halves of their boobs and tied just above the belly button. Their swingy skirts were deep red satin, barely covering their ass cheeks, and bordered on the bottom with silver sequin trim. The biggest part of the costume was the one that wasn’t really even costume: their mile-high legs, absolutely flawless in shining, nude-colored tights. I breathed a little bit of a sigh of relief at the heels; even though they were three inches tall, the heels were solid, not stilettos, with a t-strap to keep them on.

After two days in and out of the Starr, I mostly knew the layout of winding pathways, and I was proud of myself when Ryder didn’t even have to guide me in the right direction. But when I saw a few cocktail waitresses walking out those doors, skirts swinging around their butts, my whole body felt like rubber and my stomach flipped. Not only did I not know how to do this job, but I didn’t particularly want to do it.

I did, however, desperately want—and need—to make money.

I took a deep breath in and blew it out.

“You okay?” Ryder looked down at me, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just not really used to wearing to clothes like that, you know?”

“Well,” he said, “opefully being on the day shift will help you get used to it. Fewer people to stare at you.”

“Yeah.” I laughed. “I just don’t know if I can pull it off.”

“You’ll look better than half our girls in that same getup if that’s what you’re worried about.” The blush started at the base of my neck again. “Not that that’s the kind of thing that I think looks good,” he said, his hand playing at his collar again. “I just…”

“I get it,” I said. “You’re fine.” After a dozen more steps, I said, “And thanks. You know. For the compliment.”

Ryder flashed me a soft smile as we pushed through the swinging door. Dozens of employees—young ones in skimpy clothing and older ones in full-cover white shirts and black pants—hustled everywhere. There was a long wall of mirrors with lights above them, and the countertop in front of them was flooded with curling irons and makeup boxes.

A sign that looked like it had been there for decades stretched over them, reminding the employees in bold red letters, “Always pay special attention to timeliness and detail.” A bunch of girls were doing just that in the mirrors, bending to adjust eyelashes and straighten shirts. Racks full of uniforms lined the back wall, and drink and snack vending machines lined the other. Ryder paused right inside the door for a moment, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Then he relaxed, cupping his hand to his mouth, and shouted across the floor, “CARA!”

Half the room stopped, and most of it went back to business right away—except half the girls on the floor. They stared and giggled at Ryder. I could practically see them drooling. Worse, when they realized I was with him, some of them shot me especially venomous looks.

A tiny girl—she couldn’t have been bigger than 5’4” and 120 pounds with bleached blonde hair done up in a French Twist—came trotting up to us and hopped up to hug Ryder.

“Hey, babe,” he said, squeezing her tight. “Where’s your man?” A part of my chest I hadn’t even realized had been tight relaxed.

“Rob? Don’t you know? You were supposed to be taking care of him last night.”

Ryder’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes went wide. Cara stared. “He said you were gonna drive him home. I thought…”

Ryder’s hand flew to the back of his neck. “Holy shit, Cara, I seriously didn’t realize.”

Cara punched Ryder’s shoulder and cracked up laughing. “I totally got ya, didn’t I? Didn’t I? I picked him up, you massive doof!” She was practically hopping from foot to foot with her giddiness.

“That’s it,” Ryder growled, catching her in a headlock.

Just as his fist was about to grind a noogie into her crown, she yelled, “Okay! Okay! I surrender! Do not mess up my hair, or I really will make you pay!”

I cleared my throat. “Is this your sister or something?” I asked, trying to hide my impatience with a smile.

“Might as well be,” Ryder said, grinning at Cara as she smoothed her uniform. “She’s been harassing me since the fifth grade. She was a cheerleader every year I played football—even let me take her to prom. But then she had to go and steal my best friend when she started working here.”

She punched him again. “Yeah, we all feel really sorry for you. We know how devastated you are that I’m impeding you and Rob’s bromance.”

“Cara, this is Andi. Andi, Cara.”

She stuck out her hand. “Welcome to the Shooting Starr. What brings you back here to our illustrious communal dressing room?”

“I’m…uh…I’m a temp here, I guess. Ryder got me a job here while I’m off from college taking care of my mom in the hospital.” Tears stung at my eyes, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the “taking care of my mom” part or the “off from college” part.

“Hmmm.
Ryder
did, did he?”

Ryder shot her a look. “Can you just shut up and get her introduced to Gladys? She doesn’t have anything, outfit-wise.”

“Mmhmm. And when are we going to catch up, Ry?”

“Soon. Also, I need to be at SK a little earlier than usual tonight. Would you mind taking Andi back home when you two are done with your shift?”

“If ‘soon’ means ‘in a few days’ and not ‘never,’ the yeah.”

Ryder shook his head. “Okay. Whatever,” he scoffed. Then, with no warning, he wrapped an arm around me and gave me a quick hug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I barely got the chance to nod before he was gone.

Cara stepped back and sized me up. “Yeah, okay. We’re going to have to catch you up fast. When Gladys asks you whether you’ve ever served, say yes, that you’ve done it all through college. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” I said, trying to keep eye contact and not throw up. A week ago I would never have dreamed I’d be a cocktail waitress working in some rundown casino.

“Okay. Tell her you have your sheriff card, your TAM card, and your local address. And that you can carry six martinis or ten bourbon glasses without a problem at top speed. Got it?”

“Martinis and bourbon at top speed,” I said, nodding. “What about shots?”

“Don’t worry about shots yet. We’ll talk about those if you move to nighttime, okay? Stick with me and you’ll do fine.”

Before I could get another word in edgewise, Cara dragged me through the rush of bodies toward a black podium next to a six-foot-long folding table. Behind the podium, on a stool, sat a lady who couldn’t have been younger than sixty. Her silver hair wound into a bun on top of her head, and a beaded chain held her classes against her soft chest, looping around a slightly sagging neck. She wore a floral dress and costume jewelry earrings. She looked sweet actually. Like somebody’s grandmother.

Cara brought me right up to her, about two feet away. Slowly, the woman eased down off her stool and stepped to the front of her station.

“Gladys,” Cara said brightly. “I’ve brought you a new waitress.”

“When she brings me a drink,” Gladys croaked, “she’ll be my waitress. Now she’s just a mess.”

My eyes shot down over my outfit. I knew I wasn’t exactly Vegas-ready, but I didn’t think I was that much of a mess. Gladys’s eyes swept down over my body.

“What are you?” she demanded, putting her hand on her hip and staring at me.

“Um. Latina?”

“Your size,” Cara hissed in my ear.

“Oh!” I jumped. “Size eight, ma’am.”

“Height?”

“About five eight.”

“Shoe size?”

“Nine.”

“Waist? Hips? Chest?”

“I…I have no idea.”

“Have you done this before?” she croaked, loud enough to make everyone in the vicinity stop and stare at the girl who had clearly never done this before. But Cara caught my eye and nodded some calm into my head.

“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “We had to buy our own clothes because they didn’t outfit us, but I have served. For the last year and a half. I can carry…”

Gladys waved her hand at me. “Never mind, never mind. Our girls are typically smaller than you, but I’m sure we can find you something.”

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.