My father had gambling debts. Big ones.
When the hotel king made him an offer, he took it.
But I didn’t realize that I’d be the one paying the price!Books by Author:Cassandra Dee BooksJade Evans Books
It may sound a little weird, but in my eighteen years I"ve never really thought about how my life will turn out. I live in the city of sin, or what"s formally known was Las Vegas. And while most people come to this town for fun and excitement, I don"t even know the meaning of those words.
Because my stepmom left when I was twelve, effectively ending what had been my childhood, and I began helping my dad with the bills straight away. My real mom died when I was only two " my stepmom had been my sole female role model. Working a variety of odd jobs hasn"t been fun, but helping out at home is my responsibility and I take it seriously, even if I"m really young. It"s my job to help my dad, and I don"t want him to feel overburdened, what with two women leaving him in a row.
So after graduating high school, I took a job as a housekeeper at the Pink Flamingo, a motel on the outskirts of town, in the hopes of saving up some cash. The first day was hard work. Customers were jerks, and it was obvious that my boss and coworkers thought little of me. Not Betty, though. Betty helped me so much. The older lady"s been at the Pink Flamingo for ages. She taught me how to work quickly, and how to get rid of handsy customers. I admire her sweet yet no-bullshit attitude " now, she"s become something like a surrogate mother to me
But more than a mother figure, Betty is a friend. Someone who listens to me and who treats me like I exist, which makes me sad, but is also true. Some days, I don"t feel that anyone can see me. I"m just an invisble girl with a rag on my head and a broom and mop in my hands.
Last week, after wiping the sweat from my brow, I ripped the sheets off a double bed and threw them into my laundry bin. Aside from Betty, the best thing about the Pink Flamingo is the mindless work which is a relief sometimes. As I remade the bed, my mind drifted to my father again.
Frank isn"t perfect. He hasn"t exactly been the best father. And while I don"t know the dirty details of his marriage to my stepmom, she must have left because her patience ran out. Dad"s always had a gambling problem. He"s always been selfish and materialistic. But he"s my dad. He"s the only family I have in the world. I could never abandon him, not even after he went bankrupt in a bad deal that smelled to the high heavens. Even I could have told him to stay away from that one, but papa dear never listens, especially to his daughter.
Unfortunately, none of that matters now. I have to think about my future and try to figure my own life. The Pink Flamingo may be a run-down motel, but right now, it"s my best chance at stability and helping out at home.
At the sound of Betty"s soft voice, I looked up to see her standing in the doorway. Unable to hold it in any longer, my cheeks flushed as a hot, frustrated tear dripped down my face. Betty lifted her rough, callused hand to wipe the tears away.
I exhaled sharply and pushed my brown curls out of my face. Looking up at her, I forced a small smile on my face.
"I"m fine, I"m just tired of scrubbing these floors," I mumbled. Technically my lie wasn"t far from the truth. I was tired of scrubbing the floors, and picking up after noisy guests who just wanted a room to trash. I can"t even count the number of times I"ve had to clear out garbage that made my stomach roil. The Pink Flamingo is most definitely a dump, but no one considers what it"s like having to clean it for a living.
Betty sat down beside me with a groan, shifting on her side to take pressure off of her bad hip. She broke it two years ago after falling down the steps. Our manager, Danny, didn"t seem to care though, and threatened to fire her if she didn"t come back to work right after her surgery. Popping a cigarette in her mouth, Betty took a long drag and exhaled. She handed the cigarette over to me, and I reluctantly took it and breathed in deeply.
We sat in silence, wreathed in smoke, before Betty grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze.
"I know you"ve got bigger dreams than this Rosy, dear. We all do. But the only thing that separates you from the rest of us is that you"ve got a whole life ahead of you," Betty"s raspy voice croaked.
"I know, I"ve got dreams." I sighed. "But I doubt they"re any good." When I was little, my stepmom and I used to ride out from our tiny house to see the showgirls. I would admire how glamorous they were and wish that I could be one of them " beautiful and busty and wearing tons of diamonds. Well, I"m eighteen now, and I may have achieved the busty part, but beauty and diamonds are nowhere to be found. If anything, I"m more of a mouse with my wildly curly hair, mud-brown eyes, and stained work clothes. No one anyone would ever mistake for a showgirl, that"s for sure. So much for that dream.