Hustler

by Meghan Quinn

  She is a drastic change from the typical cocktail waitress I see in the room, a breath of fresh air, and I can’t help but wonder what her story is. For the first time ever, I keep the camera aimed solely on one person, on her, studying her every move, her every gesture, her every fake smile until it’s time for the game to start. Even then, I keep turning the camera back on her. She intrigues me. I just need to find out why.

  Chapter Two

  **NELL**

  “Fuck my life,” I mutter to myself as I shift my weight to my left foot, praying that the superglue holding the heel of my right shoe together will hold through the night. I check my cheap, store brand watch for probably the hundredth time in a matter of minutes. Of course a bunch of rich, pompous assholes wouldn’t give a shit about being late to their own damn game. It isn’t like any of us have anything better to do.

  Fuck you very much, Vegas, I think to myself. I question my decision to move here on a daily basis. When I packed up and left my Podunk town in backwater, Tennessee, I planned on doing something special with my life. College was a pipe dream for most of us in my poor coal-mining town, and my family wasn’t any different. My mom still waits tables to this day, and my dad has been out of work for the past four years, thanks to an on-the-job injury that broke his spirit at the same time it broke his back.

  School was always something I struggled with, never being more than a mediocre student, at best, but the one thing I’ve excelled at all my life is gymnastics. And it was that talent, mixed with too much ambition and a head firmly planted in the clouds, which brought me to this God forsaken city.

  At eighteen, I moved away determined to be a star. I was going to be an intricate part of Vegas’ number one show, La Magie du Cirque, performing every night to sold-out crowds. Unfortunately, I’ve been here for three years already and haven’t gotten past the goddamn audition process.

  Instead of entertaining hundreds of thousands of people with my finely tuned skills as a gymnast, I’ve been waiting on rich, entitled dickheads with grabby hands and fat bellies, and no manners, whatsoever.

  My eyes scan the suite again as I tug at my new uniform, trying in vain to cover myself up somehow. I’m used to serving drinks in skirts and heels. I’ve been working the casino floor at Hotel Paragon for over a year now, but the new uniform for the high roller room is freaking ridiculous. If I bend over just a millimeter too far, these bastards are going to know I have a penchant for tiny, lacy panties.

  So sue me. Everyone knows nice lingerie makes a woman feel pretty.

  But the most uncomfortable thing about the uniform I’m wearing is the stupid padded pushup bra I have to wear to make my modest B-cup look more like an overflowing C. My poor boobs are going to hate me in the morning.

  “Will you stop tugging at that damn skirt already?” my friend, Davies chides. “You look hot as shit, babe. Showing all that smooth skin is going to get you crazy tips tonight.”

  I shoot her a fake smile as I check my watch again. “Excuse me for feeling awkward. You didn’t tell me I’d be looking like a glorified whore when I took this job.”

  She grins back at me as she shuffles the deck of cards expertly with one hand. “This is the thanks I get for helping a friend get a job? Besides, you don’t look like a whore… more like an extremely well paid escort. Own it.”

  Despite my chronically shitty mood, I can’t help but laugh at Davies. She’s always been able to cheer me up. If it weren’t for her, and my roommate, Page, I probably would have crawled back to Hicksville with my tail tucked between my legs years ago.

  “All right, all right. I’ll quit bitching and own it. You have any last minute tips for me before these guys get here?”

  “Just the usual,” she shrugs as she counts out the chips. “Be careful of their hands. These assholes are twice as grabby as those guys on the floor. Apparently, when you’ve got hundreds of thousands to blow a night in a poker game it gives you the right to try and shove your hand up any skirt in the vicinity.”

  “Brilliant,” I murmur sarcastically.

  “Play nice with the bartender,” she continues. “Nick’s a pretty decent guy, so you don’t have anything to worry about tonight, but it’s a crap shoot with the others. The players don’t see anything beyond this table, so if a drink tastes like piss, you’re the one that has to deal with their bullshit. Oh, and keep an eye on the plastics they bring in the room with them. If they even think their man is looking at you for too long, their claws come out.”

  “You’re really selling me on this job, Davies,” I deadpan. “It sounds like an absolute nightmare. What the hell have you gotten me into?”

  “Relax,” she laughs. “You’re a tough bitch, you can handle it. Money’s money, right? And trust me, the tips you’ll make here in one night are more than you could make in a month on the casino floor. A few nights serving drinks to the high rollers will make it so you don’t have to work your ass off twenty-four/seven. Maybe now you’ll have more time to audition.”

  I suck in a fortifying breath and give myself an internal pep talk. She’s right; I need the free time this job will hopefully secure. And what’s more, I need the money. Every time Page has to spot me on my half of the rent, I feel lower than dirt. She doesn’t care, and has never held it against me, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t weigh heavily on my chest.

  “One more thing, babe,” Davies calls, pulling me from my reverie. “Watch out for Ramos. Dude’s slimy as hell. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

  My head tips to the side in curious regard. “What’s wrong with him?”

  She shoots me a look that doesn’t mean anything nice. “What’s not wrong with him is the question. The guy’s got more money than he knows what to do with and can’t play poker to save his life. Hell, even you’d take him to the cleaners. He gets obnoxious when he drinks too much, which is pretty much every time he’s in here, and turns into even more of an asshole than he already is when he starts losing, which is—”

  “Pretty much every time he’s in here,” I finish for her.

  “Bingo.”

  “Wait, how the hell am I supposed to know which one’s Ramos?”

  “Trust me, you’ll know. If not, just look for the guy staring at my tits the entire fucking time. Swear to God, it’s like he’s trying to catch his reflection in my nipple. I have to scrub my body with a Brillo pad after dealing with him.”

  My lip begins to curl derisively just as the big, wooden double doors of the suite swing open. Wiping my face clean, I paste on a smile and turn to the men entering the room.

  “Evening, gentlemen,” I offer in a seductive purr that isn’t too over the top. “I’m Nell and I’ll be your server tonight.”

  “Mmm, lucky us,” one man in a ridiculous cowboy hat hums with a lascivious look on his face as he and the rest of the men take their seats around the table. I try my hardest not to cringe at the hungry expression on his pockmarked face and hold my smile, even though I can feel it doesn’t come close to reaching my eyes.

  A few of the men have women hanging off their sides, including the acne scarred cowboy, and just like Davies had warned, every one of them glare daggers at me.

  They can just fuck right the hell off for all I care. I’m there to do a job. And unlike them, my job doesn’t include sucking off some limp-dicked millionaire with a potbelly and shriveled up, old man balls who probably blows more dust than cum down the backs of their throats. If they’re stupid enough to view me as a threat, then they seriously need to reassess their life choices and figure out where the fuck they went wrong.

  I mean, seriously! Half of these guys look like they need Viagra intravenously, and the other half look like they should be holed up in their mother’s basements jerking off to creepy fetish porn.

  Say it with me, ladies. STANDARDS!

  There’s only one exception around the entire table, a handsome enough Hispanic man that looks to be in his mid-thirties, who hones in on Davies’ boobs the mi
nute he takes his seat.

  Ah, so that’s Ramos.

  Ignoring glares from the band of silicone and saline injected Barbie sluts sitting on the plush, cream colored couches, I go about taking drink orders and avoiding sweaty palms trying to slide up the back of my skirt. Just another day in the trenches.

  As I head across the room to the fully stocked bar, the guy behind the counter takes notice of me coming his way. Leaning down and resting his forearms on the bar top, he smiles and offers me a wink as I close the rest of the distance. “Well, hey there, gorgeous.”

  I’ve been in Vegas long enough to get a pretty decent read on men. I can spot the red flags from a mile away. There isn’t anything sinister behind this guy’s grin, he is just a natural born flirt so I offer up a friendly smile in return.

  “Hey. Nick right?” He is really cute. I’d put him around my age, maybe a year or two older. He has that blond hair, tanned skin surfer boy look to him. His body looks like he spends many hours a day honing it to perfection at a gym and makes sure to take selfies of his abs in the mirrors, but if he’s a nice enough guy, I won’t hold that against him.

  “The one and only. And who might you be, new girl?”

  “I’m Nell,” I offer him my hand to shake, which he quickly twists around and brings to his lips, placing a soft kiss on my knuckles.

  “Tonight your first night?” Nick asks as I pull my hand from his grip.

  “Yep,” I answer, taking a peek over my shoulder at the table on the other side of the room. “And I already dislike every one of them.”

  At Nick’s deep chuckle, I spin back around. “You’ll get used to it, gorgeous.” I give him my order and he immediately begins mixing drinks like it’s an art form. “Just keep your head down. Pretty thing like you could get eaten alive in here.”

  Once he places the last tumbler on my tray, I pick it up, prop it on my shoulder and shoot him a wink. “That’s where you’re wrong, gorgeous. If you think I’m capable of being eaten alive, you have a lot to learn. Trust me, I’m not someone you should fuck with.”

  “I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Nell,” he laughs.

  “Don’t turn out to be a douche and I’d agree,” I return over my shoulder as I walk away from the safety of the bar and back into the lion’s den.

  For the next few hours, things go smoothly enough. I’m surprised to see that these guys’ sole focus is on the table in front of them once Davies deals a hand. I walk around refilling drinks when necessary and getting rid of the empties. Despite their scathing looks, I even venture into the den of plastically enhanced pit vipers a time or two to fill drink orders. And bonus, my high heel is holding up like a champ.

  Thank you Gorilla Glue.

  Hopefully I’ll make enough in tips tonight to cover my half of the rent, utilities, and buy myself a new pair of shoes that doesn’t come from Payless. Fingers crossed.

  I’m just starting to think that the night isn’t all that shitty after all when the sudden crash of glass shattering against a nearby wall echoes through the suite, startling a jump out of me.

  “Goddamn it!” A man yells boisterously. I spin around just in time to see Pockmark Cowboy shoot up from his chair, sending it flying backwards. “This is fuckin’ bullshit! You stacked the deck! You just cost me three-hundred grand, you dumb cunt!”

  To my surprise, the furious man is pointing his pudgy finger right at Davies who, shockingly enough, looks like the perfect picture of calm, cool, and collected. “I can assure you, sir. I didn’t do anything to the deck. You just played with a bad hand.”

  “You callin’ me a liar, you stupid bitch? I know how the fuck to play poker. I’ve been playin’ for years! I didn’t have a bad hand!”

  The man’s chest puffs out like he is ready to pounce and I feel my feet moving in his direction before my brain can catch up. No one else has moved a muscle. If the other men sitting around the table aren’t going to intervene, I sure as hell will. No way am I letting that piece of shit talk to my friend like that.

  But before I can even move a foot, a large hand wraps around my upper arm, stopping me in place.

  “Wouldn’t do that if I were you, gorgeous,” Nick whispers in my ear. “Just give it a second.”

  “Fuck that,” I hiss angrily, tugging at my arm to get free. “If none of you are going to stop him, I will.”

  “Relax,” he grinds between clenched teeth. “Nothing’s going to happen to her, I swear. This is all par for the course.”

  “This is bullshit, is what it is,” I seethe in response.

  Davies actually looks like she’s bored as she replies, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat or you’ll be removed from the room.”

  “By who,” the guy laughs hatefully. “You?”

  At that moment, his paid company unwisely decides to enter the fray, wrapping herself around his arm. “Baby, why don’t you just calm down, huh?”

  To my—and everyone else’s in the room—surprise, he rears back and shouts at the woman, “When I want your opinion, I’ll fuckin’ give it to you!”

  My chest compresses in a sharp gasp just as the room to the suite bursts open and two men clad in black suits charge the cowboy. One plants his fist in his gut, causing the prick to crumple over in pain before dragging him out as the other man walks the woman out of the room behind her sugar daddy.

  And just like that, in a matter of seconds, they’re gone. “Okay, gentlemen. Next game is starting, ante up,” Davies speaks as if nothing’s happened, and the men all start tossing their chips to the center.

  “See, I told you everything would work out,” Nick tells me. The tension is gone from his voice and his light, jovial demeanor has returned, but I’m still shaken by the whole situation. And what’s worse, I’m pissed off that Davies just had to stand there and take the cowboy’s shit.

  My earlier laid back mood is gone. I’m upset for Davies, I’m upset that I have to resort to refilling tumblers as a living, and I’m irritated at the male race for thinking they can take what they want, when they want it.

  That’s why, a half hour later, when Ramos’s hand finds its way up the back of my skirt as I replace his empty Jack and Coke, it takes everything I have not to lose it. Gritting my teeth against the onslaught of curse words that desperately want to escape, I speak past a plastered on grin. “Sir, please remove your hand,” I hiss at him under my breath, knowing full well he can see right through my polite words.

  A smug, chilling smirk spreads across his face. He no longer looks handsome, now he just looks like the slimy bastard Davies warned me about.

  “Feisty,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

  “Please don’t make me ask you again,” I say in the most professional voice I can while still getting my warning across. But for added measure—and because I can’t leave well enough alone—I add, “You won’t like what happens if I have to repeat myself.”

  He does as I demand just as Davies says my name in a quiet warning. When I look her way she offers me a discreet shake of her head. I can read the look on her face clear as day and move away from the table before Ramos can do anything else. I’ve overstepped my boundaries when it comes to these men, and Davies just called me out on it.

  The fake smile I’ve had painted on my face all evening has disappeared, leaving me ornery and less than pleasant to look at. Knowing this isn’t the best first day on the job, I work the last hour of my shift with a don’t fuck with me vibe radiating off my body. Luckily the tips I’d earned from earlier in the night are enough to cover me for a little bit.

  By the time the last hand is won and the men collect their winnings, I’ve had enough. I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this night ever happened. Unfortunately, I must have done something in a past life to really piss Karma off, because as I make my way around the table, collecting the empties, Ramos decides to press his luck.

  I’m leaning over just slightly to pick up a tumbler when I feel his hea
t come up behind me. “You know, that attitude of yours really makes me hard, Mami,” he whispers just seconds before his palm lands on my ass with a hard, stinging crack. At the instant pain, I spin around, throwing common sense into the wind and letting my instinct kick in.

  Before I can think or even stop myself, my knee comes up swiftly, hitting my target with perfect precision. Ramos goes down in a heap on the carpeted floor, clutching his balls as he grunts in agony.

  Davies gasps from behind me. “Are you okay, Nell?”

  “Oh shit,” is all I’m able to say as I stand in shock, eyes wide on the man writhing in pain on the floor at my feet. If my smartass attitude earlier didn’t do me in, this just did.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Nick shouts, running over to us. The moment his eyes land on Ramos he mutters a low, “Ah, fuck.”

  “I didn’t mean to!” I shout. “It was just a reflex!”

  The door to the suite opens and one of the men in black from earlier steps in, his blank eyes trained on me. Without skipping a beat, he says, “Boss wants to see you, ma’am.”

  “But…” I stutter, looking between the suit and Davies, “How…?”

  Davies points to the ceiling. “Cameras all over the room, babe. I forgot to warn you,” she offers with a small, sympathetic smile, thinking the exact same thing I am.

  I’m about to get canned.

  It’s the perfect cherry on the shit sundae that is my life. My shoulders slump in defeat as I step over a prone Ramos and follow after the suit. The silent ride on the elevator does nothing to calm my suddenly frazzled nerves, and when the doors open on the fifth floor, I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin.

  I let my feelings take over tonight, rather than my intelligence. I know better than anyone what my given situation is. Broke girls with glued together shoes, desperately trying to make it big in this city can’t afford to think with their heart, they have to think with their mind and decide what is best for them. Clearly I failed at that tonight, letting my emotions get the best of me.