I mean…I’ve never really envied Rachel that way. I have no desire to go to la-di-da parties with the Jones’ while making social media reels about pyramid scheme products, all while having the perfect hair to tequila tolerance ratio. I guess I’m looking for something more exciting. Less cookie cutter.
Not that I have that luxury.
I’m a single mom working two part-time desk jobs and a waitressing job just to fill in the gaps. I haven’t gotten laid in over five years, haven’t had a boyfriend in over five years and don’t expect my life to change at all in the next five years.
I make my way to the kitchen and consider pouring myself a glass of wine. I’m feeling so low, I’m not even in the mood to drink. Which is why when Rachel texted me about an after party, I respectfully declined, using Luca’s bedtime as an excuse. I don’t even feel like celebrating her engagement. It’s just another reminder that my life didn’t turn out the way I planned.
And so I do what I always do. I sit on the couch, turn on Riverdale reruns, and doomscroll through job listings.
“Hospitality. Las Vegas, Nevada.”
Cue the dump of cocktail waitressing jobs and street corner solicitors.
“Okay,” I say as I erase the search bar and start over. “Hotel jobs.”
I filter through the cleaning positions, the front desk positions, but by that time, there is almost nothing left. I’m about to give up. Everyone knows that the good places hire from within. Kind of a you-gotta-know-a-guy-with-his-foot-in-the-door-to-get-a-foot-in-the-door sort of thing.
I almost click my phone off when I think of something. A Hail Mary if you will. I used to work a pretty high up position job for the Heights, an off the strip hotel that I literally climbed the ladder one grueling rung at a time until I hit a salary job whereI had my own office and a say in the event organizing for the hotel. That’s a big deal in the Vegas hotel world. The Heights is also where I met my ex, Dylan. It was also the last hotel I worked at before I got pregnant, moved out of his apartment, found my own place, and started working three smaller, less prestigious jobs. Because as it turns out, when you break-up with someone you work with who has more sway in the company than you do simply because the corporate world is largely biased against women, you kind of have to start at the bottom again, no matter how qualified you are. And right now, the bottom is getting a hold of an ex-coworker of mine who shared a cubicle with me back in the day.
Ellie- Hey…
Joel- Omg girl, hey!
He responds almost immediately. I’m surprised at his promptness. It’s a Saturday, and Joel and his husband have always been party animals.
Ellie- I have a wild card question for you.
Joel- Hell yeah you do! Shoot! I’m at a bachelorette party, and we are about to do shots, so I have about thirty-seven seconds left before I respectfully black the fuck out for the rest of the evening.
I smile at that.
Ellie- I’m trying to find a job.
Joel- Cocktail waitress. You have a great ass. The tips will be astronomical.
Ellie- Serious suggestions only.
Joel- Okay, okay. I heard the Redwood is hiring an assistant to the manager or some shit.
My interest peaks a little, but I don’t hold my breath.
Ellie- You mean like a secretary. Come on Joel…
Joel- No, for real. It’s a higher position. You’d be the big dog’s right-hand girl, and that hotel is hotshit. If nothing else, it’s a foot in the door. My hubby was telling me about it. Apparently, Damien Graves’ assistant position is all-inclusive.
“All inclusive?” I blurt out loud. I’ve never heard of such a thing.
Ellie- What does that mean?
Joel- Parties, benefits, lifestyle. I don’t know. But he literally said the money is insane. Hard job to get, but we’ll put in a good word for you. Gotta go! Irish Car Bombs are here.
Yuck. Okay, so I don’t envy everyone.
I google the Redwood. It’s one of the top-rated casino free hotels in the city. Swanky as fuck. There are no job listings for an all-inclusive assistant on the website, but that doesn’t surprise me. That’s not exactly something people advertise. Whatever it is.
I bite my lip, looking around my apartment. While it’s not terrible, this is not the life I thought I’d be able to give Luca. And it’s not the life I wanted for myself. I open my laptop and pull up my email, linking my resume complete with a recent photo of myself to the message. I doubt it will do any good, but I might as well try. I can’t not try.
Chapter 5
