Crushing Beauty (Harbingers of Sorrow MC): Vegas Titans Series (22 page)

SIX

When he heard about Romy’s enthusiasm, Lefty moved their
Wednesday meeting up two days. At the beginning of her Monday night shift, Lou
pulled Romy into a dark corner and informed her that the boss “would be around
later to talk contracts and uniform.” If
uniform
seemed an odd addition
for a business meeting, Romy didn’t let it show on her face. After Sunday,
she’d decided to show no cards about the promotion: she was merely going to be
the most determined, the most adorable blackjack dealer the VIP room had ever
seen. Her heart didn’t factor; this was all about the Benjamin's.

Everyone had taken notice of her shift in attitude. Paulette,
Kali and Annisette each commented on her manner with the customers. While Romy
was usually known as the subtle cynic of the floor team, on Monday she was
aglow with praise for winners and losers alike. She complimented the Long
Islanders, in their checkered suits and greased back hair. She laughed at the
un-funny jokes of all the bachelor parties, throwing her blonde hair back and
showing all of her teeth. That morning in Special Topics in Probability, even
Professor Hinegart had taken notice of her zeal—she’d caused the poor old man
to blush when she put a hand on his knee mid-tutorial.

“What’s gotten IN to her?” Paulette whispered. For gossiping
purposes, the other dealers had stolen a union break when they saw Romy was
wrapped up in a heated game.

“Love-sick?”

“Nope. I know for a fact that Bryson guy hasn’t popped in
again.” Kali tossed her lovely hair over a shoulder.

“Ooh, child. Body that fine should have a nice—”

“Jesus, Annisette. Listen—I’m worried about her. Seen her
talking to Valentine a lot lately.”

“What’s that mean? We
all
talk to Valentine.”

“Something smells funny is all. Will you keep an eye out?
For anything unusual?” At that moment, the trio of women looked up. Romy was
play-screeching as a customer picked her up and whirled her around the floor.
Everyone knew blatant physical contact with a member of the casino staff was a
big no-no on both ends. It was the sort of thing Romy never used to tolerate.
Yet, her friends watched her giggle the high-pitched whinny of a girl gone wild.
Paulette furrowed her brow.

That night, the trip down to Lefty’s lodge was far less
scary—Romy even found herself remembering some of the twists along the hallway.
She kept pace with Lou, almost excited to see the inside of the mysterious room
again. She wondered how many times she’d get to see the lodge now, with her new
promotion. Were there long evenings of seven and sevens and business chatter in
her future? Maybe they’d grow close. Maybe she’d even get the chance to bend
Lefty’s ear about some of his business practices—Lord knew she’d seen plenty of
mathematical fallibility in the way the house ran its tables.

Yet when they got to the lodge, the room seemed different.
Everything was in its same place, but the space felt colder. Titus, the security
guard, was standing just inside the door. She noticed an earpiece humming
busily against his head. Lefty was pacing along the bearskin rug as he stared
up at the bank of monitors. He didn’t invite either Lou or Romy to sit down, to
get comfortable, to drink something.

“Zaida will be taking care of you from this point, Romy,”
Lefty barked, before they were all quite in speaking distance. “She’s
assembling a packet of material for you. In the meantime, I trust you remember
all the financial details. My personal liaison to Accounts Payable will be
handling your checks; his name is Horace LaMont. I need you polished and ready
to go by four pm. The staff meets in room 607, in the hotel, before every shift
for a debriefing. If you’re ever late to the meeting, you can’t stay for the
shift. Clear?”

Romy was disappointed that staff meetings would be taking
place in the hotel—wasn’t there something a bit unseemly about that? But she
muttered a quick, “Clear,” at the sight of Lefty’s expression. Any jolly warmth
she’d remembered from the other night had drifted out of his voice.

“I need you next Saturday.
Four p.m
. In something
very sexy. I assume that’s alright with you?”

Romy nodded. Lefty shot her a tight little smile before
striding off the rug and past her, back toward the hallway.

“Good. Great. This is going to be swell, darling. Now
Zaida—” he gestured towards the back wall—“will take
excellent
care of
you. You speak to her about everything from now on.”

Lefty motioned to Lou Valentine, indicating that his henchman
should follow. He nodded to Titus at the door, and all three men left the room.
Romy was left in aggressive silence, in a seemingly empty space. Who was this
Zaida? And where was she supposed to be? Romy glanced up at the security camera
footage. In one close up monitor, she could see Paulette giggling something to
Kali by the bar. Romy smiled at the image.

“You no need to speak with those women, anymore,” spoke a
cold voice from behind. Romy rotated. So this was Zaida: the icy, silent blonde
from the meeting the other day. Her accent said Eastern European. Her hair was
scraped back into a severe ballerina’s bun. She was model-thin, lacking all
curve. Zaida wore a pinstriped women’s suit with a plummeting neckline, and
black leather boots laced past her thighs. Delicate silvery earrings spiraled
down her neck, emphasizing its swan-length. She did not smile.

“Those women are my friends.”

“Hmm.”

“...so I’d
like
to speak with them.”

Zaida fixed Romy with a confused look: her drawn-on eyebrows
skyrocketed and rejoined at the top of her forehead. But then abruptly, she
seemed to lose interest. “Whatever. You follow.” The woman turned on her patent
leather heel and strode backwards, past the bearskin rug. There didn’t seem to
be a door where they were headed.

“Where are we—”

“You HUSH.” Zaida pressed a long, envy-green nail against a
negligible spot on the wall. A slice of wall slid silently past, presenting the
two women with a brightly lit dressing room of sorts. There were several
standing mirrors, and various carts full of women’s make-up. Though the room
was empty, it reminded Romy of all the pictures she’d seen in lady magazines of
backstage life at runway shows.

For all the white, it was difficult to tell where the edges
of the room were, or where the floor ended and the wall and ceiling began.
Zaida strode ahead, picking her way along the aisle the mirrors made.

“You will be weighed. Weekly. One hundred and nine pounds is
best.”

“What?”

Zaida glanced over her shoulder at Romy. “For uniform, yes?
Must be very small. Maybe for you—one twenty, one twenty two. But no more.”

“I don’t think you can legally do that,” Romy said. She
regretted this almost instantly, but Zaida had already skated past the remark.

“You will wear make-up,
finally.
A professional, each
day for you.” Then Zaida stopped moving for no discernible reason. The two
women stood—awkwardly, Romy thought—in the center of the dressing space, before
the largest mirror. Zaida began to circle her slowly.

“Your breasts—” Zaida extended her two green-painted claws
and gently cupped Romy’s chest “—must take focus. Beautiful breasts, is true.”
As bewildered by the groping as the fact that Zaida had given her a compliment,
Romy didn’t move. She drew herself up another inch and glanced at her figure in
the mirror.

“Stand just like this,” Zaida said, shuttling away from the
mirror. She ducked behind a dressing table and held up an envy-green fingernail
once more. “Wait! There!” In another moment, she was striding back towards
Romy's side, holding a garment before her like a tray of drinks.

“What
is
that?” Romy asked, taking in a glimpse of
the sheerest material she'd ever seen. It couldn't possibly be clothing. Up
close, the item on the hanger looked like a see-through trash bag, albeit one
speckled with Swarovski crystal.

“Your uniform, yes?”

“I don't—” but Zaida was already draping the “fabric” across
Romy's shoulders. Further investigation proved that the object was of the
leotard family, snug and skintight, made of some stretchy material. But except
for two artful swirls of crystal appliqué which might as well have been
pasties...it was completely invisible from the waist up.

“You like?” her new boss asked. Zaida was staring at Romy
expectantly. Clearly, this was some sort of test. If she admitted to hating her
new lingerie—
uniform
—it would likely get back to Lefty. He'd made it
plain that only the casino's most brazen women were equipped for the VIP room.
I
made my decision when I let Lou squeeze my ass
, Romy told herself. So she
nodded.

“It's perfect.”

“Good. Very good,” Zaida was briefly pleased. Then her eyes
oozed down Romy's body with that same look of cool appraisal that Lefty had
first used. Romy was frightened, but she wouldn't show it here. After all—wasn't
her incredible gumption, her fearlessness, all a piece of the drive that had
gotten her to where she was now? She'd done the unusual before. She led an
unusual life, after all.

As they clambered back towards the lodge, Zaida prattled on
about more job details: “You will have wax, twice a month at
least
. You
will be beautiful, and you will be
silent
—deal cards, smile, look sexy.
This is job. You'll be paid in cash bonus every evening, plus paycheck every
Saturday before shift. You are on time, you are comported, you
keep mouth
shut
. Yes?” She slid the faux-door shut behind them. They were back in the
lodge once more.

Romy gripped her uniform by the hanger. There it was again:
this condition of silence. Why was it so important that her job be secret? She
felt strange, but there was no turning back from here.
An unusual life, an unusual
life...
she murmured this to herself like a mantra. To Zaida, she said:

“Yes, ma'am.”

The woman whirled on her heels, leading them up and out of
the tunnel once more.

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