by Brian Bakos
15. The Early Days
After watching the eviction men haul her furnishings to the curb, Laila spent hours wandering aimlessly. Her car was low on gas, so she got out and walked alone in the city streets. She passed through crowds on the sidewalk totally unnoticed, as if she were a mere ghost. People averted their eyes, sensing that she was an outcast from everything good in the world. Darkness descended upon her meanderings.
All the while, her mind spun and twisted around the disaster her life had become – like a hamster on a wheel, going nowhere. She was broke, she had nobody to help her, and no place to live. Her only possession was an old car that burned oil and made hideous grinding noises every time she applied the brakes. She had no advanced education, job skills, or work experience. Her pretty face had always been enough to see her through, but it couldn’t help her now.
Or maybe it could ...
She could be one of those strip girls who did ‘lap dances’ and other things to pleasure their male customers – pulling occasional tricks on the side to enhance her income. She could swing herself naked around a pole to the cheers of drunken men. How old did you need to be to do that? She’d turn twenty soon, so her age shouldn’t be a problem.
But her flesh crawled at such prospects. It just wasn’t something a self-respecting person did, that’s all. Far be it from her to criticize anyone who was in that game, but she’d have to be, literally, starving before she’d get down to that level herself.
Another possibility arose. Certain restaurants downtown catered to an elite clientele. Rich businessmen who wanted to enjoy being served by beautiful women frequented such places, and the tips could be substantial, she’d heard. One establishment stood out as being the best: Musketeers Restaurant and Lounge.
Laila drove past the main entrance of Musketeers where smart, uniformed valets handled the patrons’ luxury vehicles. She turned down a side street and parked her jalopy amid a pall of exhaust fumes. Trash containers stood at the curb, so her car did not seem out of place.
She got out and headed for the employee entrance. Two busboys taking a cigarette break there watched her approach.
“Hey, you can’t ...” one of them started to say, but a woeful glance from Laila silenced him.
“Man, she looks really down,” Laila heard the other one say as she passed them.
She hurried past the time clock, keeping her eyes fixed to the floor, and moved down a hallway until she reached the lounge. Nobody interfered with her, thank heaven.
Laila stood uncertainly off to the side of the bar area, acutely aware of her shabby clothes and demeanor – a jarring contrast to the attire of the fashionable clientele. Music from a live combo played in the background.
A vulgar, though well dressed and bejeweled, middle-aged woman sat at the corner of the bar – laughing and having a good time with a much younger man. The gigolo glanced briefly at Laila and smiled, as if filing her away for future reference. Then he turned back to the older woman who had noticed his wandering eye and jabbed him with her elbow.
What do I do now? Laila wondered desperately.
She’d never felt more vulnerable and exposed in her entire life. How long would it be before they threw her out? One of the cocktail waitresses approached clad in a pert, low cut uniform. Her name tag read: Sharese
Panic gripped Laila. She wanted to turn tail and run ... but where would she go? Against every instinct, she remained rooted to the spot as the tall, intimidating blond confronted her.
“You don’t look like you belong here, honey,” Sharese said in a voice tinged with a Southern accent.
“I ... well, no I-I don’t ... I ...” Laila stammered.
Sharese’s expression softened.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” she said.
All of her emotional props suddenly gave way; Laila began crying. Sharese drew her off to the side and offered a tissue.
“My, aren’t you like something the cat dragged in?” Sharese said. “What is it ... do you need a job?”
Laila nodded. “My husband left me, and – ”
Sharese held up her hand.
“Say no more. Haven’t we all been down that long, hard road?”
Two more waitresses approached, Nicole and Candy according to their name tags. Like Sharese and the other female wait staff, they were beautiful, young, and sexy.
“What’s the matter, Sharese?” Nichole asked.
“Our friend here ...”
Sharese looked questioningly toward Laila.
“My name’s Laila.”
“Our friend, Laila, needs a job,” Sharese said. “She’s been ditched by her jerk husband.”
Candy put an arm over Laila’s shoulders.
“Ohhh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Laila.”
“I’d say you’ve got what it takes to work here,” Nichole said, “once you get cleaned up a little.”
“Let’s talk to Rick,” Candy said. “He’s been looking to hire a new girl, hasn’t he”
“I’ll bet he’ll take you on, Laila,” Nichole said.
“He’d damn well better,” Sharese said. “Let me handle this.”
Sharese walked off purposefully. A raucous cackle sounded from the woman at the bar. The gigolo must have said something humorous.
In the far regions of the restaurant, Rick was circulating among the diners checking to see if they were enjoying themselves. His charming, if rather overdone, demeanor and late 30’s good looks served him well in this aspect of the manager’s job.
Sharese approached him tactfully.
“Rick,” she said, “can I speak to you for a minute?”
Rick smiled politely at the patrons he’d been small-talking.
“Excuse me a moment, please,” he said.
He drew Sharese away.
“What’s so damned important?” he demanded. “I’ve told you not to interrupt me when I’m working the clientele.”
“I’ve got a friend who needs a job,” Sharese said. “I want you to interview her tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Rick said. “Now please get back to work.”
“Why not?” Sharese said. “She’s very well qualified.”
Rick tried to disengage and return to the diners, but Sharese trailed after him.
“She’s gorgeous, and she’s got a great personality,” Sharese said. “She’ll fit right in.”
Rick turned back toward her with annoyance.
“I’m thinking of somebody else for the position, if you must know,” he said.
Sharese gripped his arm hard enough to hurt, but she kept a smile on her face for the benefit of the customers.
“Let’s put it this way,” she said in a low voice. “There are certain things you don’t want your wife to know about, right?”
Rick became suddenly nervous and pale; his big shot manager persona disappeared. Sharese leaned in close, lowering her voice further.
“I’ll make sure you get screwed for this, Rick,” she said. “Just how is up to you.”
Rick adjusted his tie and assumed his best professional demeanor
“Come to think of it, I might be able to arrange an interview,” he said.
While this negotiation was going on, Laila, Nicole, and Candy remained on the periphery of the bar area.
“We all started here about the same time,” Candy said. “We call ourselves ‘The Three Musketelles.’”
Laila looked confused.
“You know, because of the restaurant name,” Candy said.
“Oh, of course,” Laila said.
“Do you have a place to stay, Laila?” Nichole asked
“No ... I just got evicted.”
“Me and Candy are looking for a roommate,” Nichole said.
“That’s very kind, but – ”
Sharese returned, sporting a triumphant smile.
“It’s all set, Laila,” she said. “You’ve got an interview tomorrow, twelve o’clock sharp.”
A burst of joy shot thro
ugh Laila.
“Great!” she practically shouted. “I don’t know how to thank you, Sharese.”
“Forget it,” Sharese said. “Just look pretty and you’ll be a shoo in.”
She indicated Laila’s scabbed over facial cut.
“See if you can do something about that.”
“We can restyle your hair a little to cover it up,” Nichole said. “You spend the night with us, okay?”
Laila nodded. “Sure ... thanks.”
“I’d better get back to work,” Sharese said, “before Rick has a coronary. Good luck tomorrow, Laila.”
She moved away. Candy and Nichole brought Laila to a table.
“We’ll be getting off in a few hours,” Nichole said. “Have something to eat – on the house.”
“You could probably use a stiff drink, too,” Candy added.
“Thank you ... so much,” Laila said.
She took her place at the elegant little table. She felt like a royal personage rescued from the gutter. Sensations of gratitude and relief nearly overwhelmed her. In all the time since her abandonment, the Musketelles were the only ones to show concern.
Another high pitched guffaw came from the woman at the bar. Laila looked over dubiously.
“We get all kinds in here,” Candy said. “As long as they’ve got the money, we have to put up with them.”
She handed Laila a menu. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Candy and Nichole departed. Laila relaxed into her chair and opened the menu. She’d eaten nothing all day and hadn’t even noticed. But now she was ravenous.
“I’ll never forget you three,” she murmured.