Jewel steps around me, clearly dismissing me, and announces to the rest of the room, “Hey everyone, this is Arianna. She’ll be replacing Mimi. Martina, show Arianna to her station, okay? And help her with that fake spray tan because Arianna, you’re looking a little pale.”
For a minute I’m frozen. This can’t be happening. Was I really just fired in front of all my co-workers, and my replacement trotted out for everyone to see? But then I feel the tears, and I know I’m not going to be able to hold them back, so I grab my bag and rush out of the room. As soon as I step outside the Wilshire, my resistance disintegrates, and tears start rolling down my face as I make my way through the parking lot. But my days as a showgirl aren’t over, I vow. I’ll show them that Mimi Richardson’s made of stronger stuff.
The drive home with tears blinding me wasn’t ideal, but I’m just glad to be home. Okay, my tiny studio apartment in Atlantic City doesn’t look like much, but it’s private and I’m grateful.
I let myself inside and toss my bag and keys on the small table that sits between my kitchen and bed area. Then I fall face down on the mattress, not even bothering to remove my make-up before crying my eyes out onto my pillows. I’ll have to wash the case after this because my mascara is probably turning it soot black, but right now I couldn’t care less.
I cry until my eyes feel puffy, but the tears continue to come. Finally, they abate a little and I sit up, my shoulders slumped. Exhaustion weighs on me like a heavy fog, and I almost fall back down on the mattress again. But then I decide I need to do something about this.
I force myself out of bed to get my phone from my bag outside, and then crawl back in bed. This time I huddle under the blankets, and pull them up to my chin, practically cocooning myself, before pressing dial.
Jemima has been my friend for the past couple years, ever since I started at the Wilshire. She works as a receptionist and I work as a showgirl, but most of the employees know each other in passing, and we always got along really well. But Jemima’s not working at the moment because she’s on maternity leave. In a crazy turn of events, she fell in love with the hotel’s Senior VP, Bruce Wilshire himself, and now they’re married with a baby.
“Hey girl,” Jemima answers easily. “What’s up?” She’s got her son over one shoulder and she smiles beatifically as he lets out a big burp.
“Hey. Are you busy with Oliver?”
“No. He’s fed and happy, but I just can’t bring myself to put him down. He’s so cute, and I swear I want to hold him and just watch him all the time.”
A loud sniffle rips free from my face before I can stop it. I don’t want to worry Jemima while she’s got her baby in her arms, but it’s too late now. She’s already heard my sorrow.
“What’s wrong, Mims?” she asks with a concerned expression.
“Just a rough day,” I manage to stammer out. “Nothing much.” I can tell her more when she’s not holding Oliver. But my friend won’t let it go.
“Uh uh. Don’t even try it. I know you better than that, girlfriend. Besides, you’d never let me pull that if our roles were reversed.”
She’s right, and I know I can’t lie to her. I did call her because I wanted to vent, and Jems always been there for me. “I just don’t want to disturb you while you’re taking care of Oliver.”
“No, no, it’s fine! The baby won’t know what we’re saying and he’s as happy as a clam right now. Now spill.”
I blow out a long breath. “I got fired today.”
My friend’s forehead scrunches. “What do you mean? Fired from the Wilshire? That’s got to be a mistake. You’re great at what you do, and the audience always loves you.”
“Yeah, well, apparently being a good showgirl doesn’t matter if you’re fat.”
Jem looks outraged now.
“You are not fat! Who the hell told you that?”
I sigh.
“My manager Jewel. She made some rude remarks about my weight in front of all the girls, and when I offered to slim down, she said not to bother. Jem, she already had my replacement waiting in the wings. Some chick named Arianna who’s ten years younger and twenty pounds lighter. Jewel snapped her fingers, and this girl appears out of nowhere, already in costume, looking thin enough to be blown off stage the first time someone in the audience sneezes.”
Jemima frowns angrily while patting her baby. “You want me to talk to Bruce about it? My husband doesn’t usually get involved in HR, but this sounds bad, and I know he can fix it.”