Chapter One
Sissy
I’ve never really known the meaning of the term culture shock until now.
I’m standing on the floor of The Palace, a casino in Las Vegas, and it’s like I’ve been transported to another planet. Beautiful women sparkle and laugh on their way past me, the décor is bright and cartoonish and enticing. Everything screams luxury. It’s loud—a cacophony of voices and dinging slot machines and energy. It all swells around me, nearly lifting me up off of the polished marble floor.
I’ve come to interview for the position of cocktail waitress and now that I’m here…I’m pretty darn positive that my cheap, coral-colored dress is not going to cut it. Fashion-wise, I’m not glamorous. I don’t have perfect makeup and hair like the girls I’m watching serve drinks to patrons playing blackjack and roulette. I’ve done my best with the meager amount of cash I was able to store away without my father finding out over the last few years.
This is my big chance. I’m finally free. I want to be more excited, but right this very second, all I feel is out of my league. Maybe I’m aiming too high by interviewing at one of the casinos? Maybe I should try for a position at a smaller shop off the Strip?
“You look lost,” someone says to my right. One of the cocktail waitresses. This one has bright red hair and iridescent blue eyeshadow applied nearly to her eyebrow.
Reflexively, I squeeze the set of car keys in my hand until the teeth bite into my palm. They comfort me, these keys. They remind me that I’m free. My keys got me away from the monster. No matter what happens tonight, at least my old green Nissan is waiting for me in the parking garage beneath the casino.
“I am lost. Sort of.” Do the interview. What’s the worst that could happen? “I’m here to meet with Craig about a cocktail waitress position. I’ve been looking for the elevator to bring me to the upstairs offices, but this place is a maze…”
“Yeah, no kidding,” she says above the noise. “They do that on purpose. Wouldn’t want people to find their way out, would we? We need them to stay put and lose their money.”
I laugh.
She doesn’t join me.
“I’m Sissy,” I say, holding out my hand for a shake.
She looks at my hand for long seconds before finally taking it. Her eyes move to my body, traveling down the full length of me and back up, an emotion that appears to be irritation flickering in her expression. “There go my tips,” she mutters.
Confused, I shake my head. “Pardon?”
“Nothing.” Suddenly her smile is extra bright, but there’s something like calculation lurking behind it. No…no, I must be imagining that. “Follow me, I’ll bring you to the elevators and give you some advice on interviewing with Craig along the way.”
“Really?” Relief floods my limbs and I trail behind her gratefully. “That’s so kind of you, thank you. I never caught your name.”
“Faye.”
“Thank you for your help, Faye.”
She jerks a shoulder and keeps on walking. “Listen, they don’t hire delicate flowers around here, so toughen up. You’re going to be dealing with groping hands and innuendos and drunks, so you need to be streetwise and savvy. If Craig doesn’t think you’re woman enough to handle the rowdy clientele, you’ll be back on the elevator lickety-split. Without a job.”
The nerves are back, humming in my fingertips. “I see. I need to be tough.”
Faye punches the elevator button. “Second tip?” She looks around, as if to make sure no one is listening. “Craig is a scumbag. Be ready to take off that dress. It might be your only chance to change his mind if the interview isn’t going well.”
“Take off…my dress?” Surely, I didn’t hear her correctly. “I’m interviewing to be a waitress, not one of the dancers.”
Faye laughs. “Nothing is free in Vegas. You want the job badly enough, you’ll unzip that dime store treasure you’re wearing and show him you’ve got assets.”
Assets. What is she referring to? My body?
I’ve never used my body for anything but farm work. Feeding chickens, mucking the horse stalls, milking cows. The men who came to the farm to conduct business with my father often made me feel embarrassed with the way they looked at me, but we never conversed. My father wouldn’t allow it. I’ve spoken to very few members of the opposite sex throughout my life, since my mother homeschooled me and we only ventured into town on occasion. I’ve definitely never been naked in front of one. Maybe it’s a lot more common for a woman to show a man her body for professional gain than I realize?
“You look like you’re going to be sick, goldilocks.”
At her use of the amusing nickname, I tuck a few strands of blonde hair behind my ear, shifting side to side in the cheap white heels I stole from my mother’s closet. “I’m just nervous, I suppose. This place is so big and wild. It makes a girl feel small. Outnumbered.”