Page 56 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
It’san adjustment to my identity, working as a cocktail waitress, and after a month of sending out resumes and clips I’ve only had one audition/interview. But what really discourages me now that I’m out of the job with BeanTown Sports is that I’m losing all contact with Ryan. Other than looking out my window to watch the O’Rourkes’ house for a sighting, my chances of seeing him dwindle. Preseason practice is in full swing and games are a few weeks away so I know he’s super busy, making chances of him even dropping by to see Gramps—when I happen to be home—smaller than the space between goalie Finnegan Reed’s pads on a breakaway. I quit my shitty job over the man and I hear not one word. Not that he knows that. More depressing is that I slept with him—though there was no actual sleeping involved—and I don’t hear a word. But I don’t dare share my pathetic despair with my dearest friend and soul sister. Not even with Ally Pink, whose like a vault with secrets.
As I walk to my car to go to work for the six to one a.m. shift, a loud wolf whistle makes me jump. Looking next door, I see Gramps O’Rourke sitting on his bench, grinning at me. There’s time, so I go over to the low fence and lean on it. It’s the same fence I used to vault over as a kid to join in the stick practice with the O’Rourke boys in their hard-top backyard built for shooting practice with four nets and one basketball hoop for a break in the puck action.
“Don’t you look like a million bucks. What are you all dressed up for? A hot date? Don’t let Ryan find out about—”
“No, Gramps. This is my work uniform.”
He raises his eyebrows up and down and in his usual fashion doesn’t judge.
“I’m working over at the Encore Casino as a waitress.”
“Bet you rake in the tips,” he says. “Watch out for those geezers over there. You tell us if anyone gives you shit. The O’Rourke boys’ll take care of you. Especially Ryan.”
Gramps seems to be under the illusion that there’s something between me and Ryan and I’m afraid to burst his bubble, so I don’t.
“Has Ryan been to see you lately?”
“Naw. He calls. Makes promises. Means well, but he’s busting his hump to make this his best season ever. Wants the Stanley Cup bad since they came so close last season.” He shakes his head. “I expect him on Sunday for dinner. Come on over. Bring your mom.”
“Thanks for the invite. We’ll see. I might have to work.” Damn it all. IknowI have to work, unless I can switch shifts with someone. If he hadn’t invited my mom, I wouldn’t even have considered it, but she could use the company.
“It’s David’s birthday. We’re having cake.”
That bursts my hope of dinner with the O’Rourkes. No way am I intruding on a family birthday. Not unless Mrs. O’Rourke invites us. I tell him see you later and make a mental note to make good on that promise, make sure I go over and keep him company, or better yet, join him for a beer at Mike’s bar where he hangs out too often. Him and my mom.
Shaking off the negative thoughts, I get in my car and take off. Tonight should be fun. Maggs and Ally Pink are coming to the casino to visit. As soon as I get in I sign up to get off shift early and my manager tells me I can count on ten p.m. He’s a decent human being. A real upgrade from my last boss.
* * *
Maggsand Allie arrive before I can get off the floor and as I’m serving a cocktails to a blackjack table, they descend on me, causing a stir. It’s an all-male high-stakes table, but the players take the intrusion well as I hand over their drinks. I get some of tips, three out of four, and with a smile of relief in place, I grab Maggs by the arm with my free hand, tray of empty glasses balancing on the other. In my high heels I’m towering over everyone until the guy on the end stands, throwing his cards down and scooping up his chips.
“Not so fast,” he says, making a clumsy grab for me. He bumps into the tray and the glasses crash to the floor—which is carpeted, so they bounce harmlessly.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” He smiles, but it turns into a leer as he adds. “Guess you’ll have to bend down and pick them up.
“Maybe you should—” Maggs starts, but I squeeze her arm and smile big at the man.
“Of course.” But I squat rather than bend and he’s all disappointed. Disappointed enough to smack my ass. When I get out of his reach and give him a glare he laughs. The dealer asks me if I’m okay and I nod. Taking my tray, I hustle Maggs and Allie away before Maggs does something we’ll all regret.
After I change out of my embarrassing outfit in the employee locker room, I join Maggs and Allie at the Center Bar for a drink in my street clothes—black skinny jeans and a white satin off-the-shoulder bandeau top. It’s one of my sexiest outfits, but it’s dowdy compared to my cocktail waitress uniform. It feels good to have something covering my legs. It occurs to me that I have a glimmer of what Ryan must have been feeling during theSIshoot and the pang of loss slams my gut because I haven’t seen him since.
“You look great,” Allie says. “I bet you really make bank here.”
“How do you put up with that shit from drunk men?” Maggs says.
Shrugging it off, I say, “It pays the bills.”
“Seriously?” Maggs won’t let it go.
“After a month of getting propositioned,” I say, “It’s getting old. But the money is spectacular and my right hook has improved greatly.” I laugh. Allie laughs. Maggs deepens her scowl.
“It’s really not so bad. Most of the guys are harmless drunks and security is excellent.” It’s not enough to placate the look of outrage on my behalf on Maggie’s face and Allie Pink’s look of concern. Although Pink looks satisfied when I mention my right hook. But I was joking. Mostly I use my elbow.
“Listen, it’s okay. Security really is great. Management is respectful. More than I can say for BTSB.”
“BTSB?” Pink says.
“BeanTown Sports Broadcasting. Her last lousy job,” Maggs supplies. I make a face.
