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This is the saddest city in the world. It's glittery, shiny and bright when you're coming in over the desert and see those lights. But once you're here, you realize that nothing is real. Its nothing of what you think it's going to be. No thrills. No instant non-stop party. And once you realize this, that's when the loneliness sets in.
I've been here for a good six months, and all its done is made me sadder.
I say this as I stand by the window of the hotel room, looking out as the night is slowly dying. The lights of Vegas seem duller compared to the indigo mauve haze of the pre-dawn sky. The sky is calm and clear. Calm and clear. And still, I can't sleep.
I tightened my big white robe around me and walked over to the bed. It was going on five a.m. I still had a few more hours until I had to get up and clean the same kind of rooms I was sleeping in. Double shifts here at The Clarendon. There's no point in even going home.
The Clarendon was my uncle's baby, and from now on I'll be using the term "uncle" loosely just because a) he's only an uncle by marriage and b) he's an asshole. Anyway The Clarendon was supposed to be a new, small, luxury "exclusive" hotel. "Uncle" Bernard had a dream that this could be a place where celebrities could come and throw down thousands of dollars a night while they gambled in the casino in high privacy. The general public wouldn't be able to get in. Everything would be V.I.P. Compared to the other places we're pretty small but we've got a spa, a club, a restaurant, casino and bar. Everyone who works here seems to have at least two jobs and zero lives. He lets those who work double shifts (like me) stay overnight in the rooms from time to time if their commute is long. In all actuality, he just wants to keep people from calling out, knowing how hard he works us.
So far he hasn't been able to attract the ritzy clientele he'd wanted, but his personal oath of privacy at all costs has appealed to horny businessmen who want to hide from their wives and porn moviemakers who know that they won't be bothered. And as for the latter, they bring in a lot of business with their mini conventions and film festivals so they pretty much have free run of the place. What goes on at The Clarendon, stays at The Clarendon is my uncle's own personal motto. There's a lot of testosterone in this place and I've witnessed it firsthand as a cocktail server down at the casino.
We all have to wear these showgirl outfits with our asses half hanging out. I hate it but I get decent tips, which is flattering because the good-looking girls get the best tips. Thinking about it, I'd say that I could qualify as one of those although I'm no raving beauty. I'm about five-six, and have a newly bronze tan from the desert sun tinting my smooth caramel complexioned skin. I have long thick brown hair with honey brown highlights that I wear in big loose waves. You know, the style where your hair is basically straight with a lot of body and big voluminous waves towards the ends. (This is all the Hollywood craze right now, think Monica from friends in the last season).
I have big brown eyes with long lashes and full pouty lips. My breasts are full and firm yet supple C cups, a little more than a handful. (I've always been told that I had a nice rack). I have a short torso and a small waist with wide flaring hips and a flat smooth stomach. My curvy ass is now firm and tight since Bernard insists all the cocktail waitresses work out at The Clarendon's fitness center to stay in shape. He told me that my ghetto booty (which jiggled just a little when I walked) was a no no. So now I'm taut and firm, from my shoulders, and arms to my thick tight thighs and curvy strong (and surprisingly long for my height) legs.
So I do the cocktail waitressing in the evening, and right before that I clean and maintain rooms and sometimes perform room service in the afternoon. The tips are admittedly pretty good. I had asked for concierge duties when I'd first gotten here and probably would've gotten them too, but my uncle came back to me saying "You're not ready yet. That's a big thing. Let's see how you do with this. Besides I've got enough desk staff for now." I think his evil assed bitch of a wife had something to do with it. Since she manages the cocktail girls, I think she wanted me under her thumb. She hated me as soon as she met me. For what reason? I don't know.
My uncle wants a haven for the rich and famous and the prices reflect that. The people who do check in can afford pretty nice gratuities. And horny lonely businessmen melt right in the palm of your hand if you flash them a nice smile. The porn guys are surprisingly not as sleazy as you would think, and they are even less vulgar than the CEO's.
However, if my mom knew where I was working now, she'd be rolling over in her grave.
The phone rang just as I lay down in bed, "Hello?"
"Hey kid. What's going on?" my stepfather Phil said, his gruff timbre forcing a chipperness in his voice that I knew wasn't really there. I remember when he really used to be happy. Phil was a big gruff teddy bear, always smiling. But since mom died he's lost an alarming amount of weight. There was a time where I had to practically force-feed him.
"Phil. You don't have to keep calling me this early. It's inconvenient."
"Not for me. I just want to make sure you're alright. I never get to talk to you anymore. At least I know you're up right after your second shift. Besides I haven't spoken to you in a couple of weeks."
"I'm gonna be coming back home to visit really soon Phil. Are they giving you anymore hours at the plant?"
"I'm on my way there now."
"Are you eating right? Do you have enough money for food?"
"Things are looking better Mali. You don't need to worry as much."
"I always worry."
"You're just like your mother." I could hear him smiling on the phone. Meanwhile I was tearing up. I missed her so much.
"You know you can always come back home. And not just to visit. To stay."
I thought of going home. God how I would love that. It was just a goal that seemed so far away right now even though it was so simple. I was planning on going to college right when mom started getting sick a few years ago. But I put that off to take care of her and because I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate with a terminally ill mother. Now I was twenty-four years old and was parading my feather-covered ass around at night for tips, and cleaning up yucky beds covered with god knows what that the human eye can't see during the day. This is what my life has come to.
"Who's gonna help with mom's doctor bills? The mortgage is through the roof. You know I'm not gonna make any real money in Colorado like I'm making here. Where am I gonna work? Taco Bell?"
Things were tight with money back at home with Phil being off of the police force for a good year now. He left after mom passed away. It was too much for him, dealing with the pressure of being an officer while simultaneously dealing with the loss of my mother. At least if she were here, she could keep him centered and grounded. But when she died he suffered an intense depression and there was a period where he couldn't do anything. Now he's just barely recovering eight months after her death. He's not my blood or anything, and he didn't exactly raise me since I was a baby (he and my mom were married for about eight years) but he's been around long enough so that I really care about him. And I know he cares about me and would do anything for me. He just can't right now and I understand. I don't call him dad but he's my father and I need to make sure he's okay.
The force was too high pressured for him so he retired early and cashed in his pension, which dwindled, away rather quickly with all the medical debts incurred from my mothers cancer treatments. I had to postpone going to college again and help him pay the bills so that we could at least keep the house. However, there wasn't really anyway to make money back home so that's where my stepdad's brother came in.
Months ago he made this job sound like heaven, easy money, fun while at the same time making it seem like he's doing his little no money making brother a real favor by hiring his stepdaughter. So far nothing's been heavenly, easy or fun. I have to deal with his bitchy trophy wife who wants to pretend like she has some kind of skills other than laying on her back when she calls herself "managing" the cocktail girls. But hey, this is better money than what I could be making considering my skills and education.
Phil's been so depressed, and he became so sick after mom died. He took part time work, or whatever work he could get in order to help make ends meet. However, he wasn't going back to the force. He didn't want to.
So it was just he and I now that mom was gone, and I wasn't even there. I felt so bad all of the time for that, hoping that one day I wouldn't get a call from Colorado about him hurting himself or...
I don't even want to think about it, yet I was as I spoke to Phil.
"Phil you know I'd come home if I could right?"
"Yeah. I know. And I'm sorry I have to put you through this. I've always told you, I can drown on this ship alone--"
"Don't talk like that!"
He chuckled roughly. He had a deep raspy voice, and he hardly looks like the sensitive type, ready to crumble when his wife is gone, but he is.
"You'll do better when you feel better. Are you taking your medicine?"
He sighed, "Yes."
"Therapy?"
"Once every two weeks."
"Okay then."
"You know Bernard talks about me to the rest of the family. Says black people don't go to therapy. Says I'm crazy."
"Screw Bernard." I said my blood boiling when thinking about my asshole of an uncle. If he weren't my boss I would've already let him have it. He thinks he so much better than everyone else.
"How's he treating you?"
"I hold my own."
"If he's mistreating you..."
"Hey Phil, I think I'm gonna get some sleep okay?"
"Oh, right. Of course. Well I've got to get going anyway. "
"I'll talk to you soon."
"Okay." He paused a minute, "I love you Mali." This was something we rarely said to each other. Our household was never much for emotion. It seemed strange, him saying this.
"Is everything okay Phil?"
"Yeah, I told you it was."
"Don't lie to me."
"I swear," He laughed. "Damn can't even tell my own daughter I love her. You gotta say those things when you can. You never know what will happen. "
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"You're scaring me Dr. Phil." I chuckled nervously, hoping that I was being paranoid.
"Well, it's true. Anyway. Have a good rest okay?"
"Okay Phil." I started to put down the phone when I realized what I had forgot. I put it back up to my ear, "I love you..." It was too late. He'd hung up. "...too."
Now I knew what was making me so sad about this city. It reminded me of Phil. Back home he's putting on the bravest face, smiling and laughing and joking, and before this tragedy that's the way he used to be. But now, inside, he's empty. And people can tell. He used to have so many friends even right before my mother died but his front didn't fool anyone once they got close. They visit him because he seems like a nice place where everyone wants to go, but once they get there, there's nothing but emptiness and bright lights. It's lonelier than they expected. So they leave.
I won't.
* * *
I sat at a vanity table in the common dressing room skillfully applying my makeup. My costume was already on. We had to wear a pale pink yet subtly shimmery body suit, which was strapless and pumped our cleavage up to the max. It had a Brazilian cut bottom instead of the usual bikini style that is typical of Vegas girl costumes. I didn't have to worry about keeping my bikini area shaved but my ass sure hung out. We wore ultra sheer pantyhose and muted silver open toed stilettos or high-heeled shoes. Accenting the costume was also a very subtle headdress, which consisted of a silver headband and moderately sized delicate pink feathers that matched the costume perfectly. These same feathers were also on our ass and we wore a choker which was a simply a band of fabric consisting of the same subtle shimmery material as the bodysuit. One thing my uncle's nasty little bitch of a wife did was pick nice costumes. They were sexy but not outrageous.
Tonight I had my hair parted at the side and pulled back into a chignon knot. I was adding baby pink eye shadow and liner and translucent pink lip-gloss. My silver chandelier earrings with pink stones complimented the outfit.
"Ooh, someone looks hot tonight," Alyssa joked as she sat next to me, nudging me with her elbow. I smiled. It took me a long time to get used to the backstage culture with me being so quiet and serious. I'm saying this like we are actually on a chorus line or something, but this cocktail waitressing gig was pure performance from beginning to end. Fake smiles, perfect struts in suicide heels, flirty laughs and pretending like you didn't want to blow your brains out. Anyway though I didn't quite fit in at first because of my serious morose mood, our hate of Anita brought us together. They like the way I occasionally put her in her place when she goes too far. Although lately, I've had to do it far too often for my taste. Anita burst in the room like a line backer although she looked nothing like one. Anita was from someplace in South America, I didn't exactly know where, but her accent was grating. She sounded like a crazy assed Salma Hayek and I'm not busting on Latin accents I just hate hers and her voice. She was my height only with a slimmer build and bigger boobs. She had to be a full D cup. She had an impossibly tiny waist with wide hips and a surprisingly supple shelf cut ass. The tight red dress showed off every curve and the bountiful cleavage of Ms. Perfect.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" She said tossing her long black hair off of her shoulders. Everyone froze, some rolling their eyes. "You must be in and ready fifteen minutes before your scheduled shift." She walked around the room eyeballing the girls as she practically shouted, "That means dressed and ready!"
I shot her a look that would kill only if life was fair.
Alyssa saw this. She put a hand on my arm and shook her head. I understand because sometimes you had to pick your battles, but my day was only half over, while this hussy probably woke up out of her booze induced stupor a mere few hours ago. I was not having it.
"Can you tell time?" I swirled around in my chair. She froze in the middle of her diatribe to narrow her brown eyes at me. "What did you say?"
"It's a whole half hour before the shift and you're yelling at the wrong girls. Why don't you wait fifteen minutes to yell at the girls who are really late...oh wait. You won't do that. The only girls who do really come late are your own personal 'recruits' right?"
The girls snickered and exchanged knowing smirks. Anita was livid. "Listen you little tramp. Just because you are the boss' niece does not mean you can get away with speaking to me that way. And speaking of which, you are only his niece by marriage."
She used any dagger she could to try to turn the tables, but everyone in there knew that I'd never gotten any type of favoritism especially not like the girls she hired.
"So what's your point?" I shrugged.
"My point is that I am Bernard's wife, and I am also your superior."
"You're not superior to anyone in this room. In fact it's the very opposite--"
Alyssa interrupted, for mine and everyone's own good. "Anita I have a question. Last week I worked some overtime but it never showed up on my check."
Anita looked her up and down like she was the trash that cluttered common gutters. "That is what is wrong with Americans. Especially American women like you Blondie. No work ethic."
"But I worked overtime! What are you talking about?" Even Alyssa was losing her patience.
"You're lucky you got paid at all!" She stomped her high heeled clad foot.
"Oh this bitch is crazy..." I muttered under my breath.
"You do not know what it takes to be a success. In my country I placed very high in the national beauty pageant. And it wasn't just because I am gorgeous."
I could've sworn I heard a groan from somewhere in the room.
"It's because I have the right attitude. I know what it takes. Maybe one day if you try hard enough and pray long enough, you can turn out to be a success like me."
I couldn't hold it in any longer.
"A success like you?" I scoffed, "You placed twelfth in that bootleg assed pageant."
"Who told y--no! You're wrong! I was runner up! How would you know anyway?"
"Your only success has been fucking the boss and tricking him into marrying you. And don't even get me started about what you *think* you do around here..."
"You little bitch!" She started towards me but I was ready on my feet with Alyssa standing in front of me protectively. But what could've happened didn't. There was a knock on the door.
Someone opened it quickly. It was good old Uncle Bernard making an attempt to shade his eyes and pretend he didn't want to get an eyeful of young women dressing. But we were all decent.
"Anita, the Conford Corp. party is here. Stop wasting time so we can meet their CEO." Bernard had to work hard to kiss ass just to keep steady clientele and spread the word about The Clarendon. I had no idea why he needed Anita to help him do that, but I guess making a good impression included him showing off his trophy wife.
"Bernard, your bitch of a niece--"
Bernard sighed and stopped shielding his eyes by now, "I'm tired of this Anita. Stop this childish arguing with the girls and come on." He wouldn't even acknowledge that I was important enough to be called by my name. He always tried to make some big show of acting like it didn't matter that we were related. But he overdid it to the point where I became more anonymous and alienated than anyone else on the entire staff. He never made eye contact or thanked me for a job well done, or even addressed me by my name, if at all. With the other girls he at least pretended not to be an asshole.
"But she--"
"And stop calling them bitches, I cannot afford the negative buzz that a lawsuit would bring."
Shit that's the tamest way we're humiliated on a daily basis. A lawsuit on the other stuff would straight put him out of business.
Anita gave one last look at me over her shoulder. Then she gave a little puff of air and composed herself.
"Okay baby. Let's go meet them." She took his arm and looked back at us spitefully, as if her prince in shining armor had rescued her from a life among peasants.
* * *
Everyone was abuzz about that CEO from Conford Corp. People were walking on eggshells. Seems like he could do a lot for The Clarendon. I just didn't know exactly what. All the other waitresses were warning me that my uncle and Anita were on the patrol. If we were even less than our best for a minute, we'd get chewed out. I was hoping that I'd never have to meet the bastard. Probably a middle aged potbellied white guy with an undercover fetish for S&M. After awhile they were all this way, especially when the porn conventions were in town.
If he was anything like his employees, then I really didn't want any part of him. They were running around the casino and the bar talking loud and cursing in their suits and ties, pinching asses. It was horrible.
I ran into Alyssa, who's fair skin looked flushed.
"Hey Aly, what's wrong?"
"I just had to show that big shot guy to his room."
"Was it that bad?"
"I just didn't know how to deal with him!" She said, her green eyes widening.
Damn, what kind of asshole was this guy anyway?
"Why'd you have to show him his room?"
"I was told that we're short staffed tonight."
"As always."
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