Gael De Luca sighs. He leans back in his chair and stares at my resume on the desk. "Ms. Rose. We value time here. Not only are you late, but you also don't know the difference between whiskey and scotch, which if you want to work as a server, you should know the answer to. I don't know what else to tell you. You can't work here."
"I can learn! Please. If you would just—"
The door opens and someone barges inside. I suck in a breath when I see the same man from earlier. He glances my way as he goes to my interviewer and gives him a thick envelope. What is he doing here?
"What the hell happened to you?" Gael cocks a brow at the man.
"I was at the shop. Lost track of time," says the man as he glances at me again but doesn't say anything. Is he even going to acknowledge me?
Gael looks over at me and explains, "This is Giovanni. It's his club."
I blink and try to school my features, hoping I don't show much shock on my face. What are the odds?
He continues, "She came to apply as a dancer, but I told her we're not hiring more dancers at the moment and her age doesn't pass the requirement."
"I'm eighteen!" I say, barely able to control myself from begging. He doesn't react to my small outburst. A quick glance at the other guy and he narrows his eyes on me.
"We only hire twenty-one-year-old dancers. Then she wants to be a bottle girl but doesn't even know the difference between alcohols."
"I'm a fast learner. I can do it in a day. A few hours!"
"As I said, you're eighteen. You can't even legally drink yet, and sometimes, that comes with the job."
I deflate, my shoulders drooping. Is there really no other way? I must get in The Manor club. Now, what do I do? I'm not above begging. I shift my stare at the man from earlier. Now that I know he owns this club, I can only hope he takes pity on me. I say in a small voice, "I'll turn nineteen very soon."
He shakes his head. "Still not drinking age. I don't know where you're from, kid, but in New York, you have to be twenty-one."
There he is again. Such an ass for calling me a kid. I'm freaking legal! I'm so aggravated! He's such a prick. Both of them!
Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself by breathing in and out. When I open my eyes again, they're both looking at me. Patiently. As if they're waiting for me to say my final words. So that's what I'll do.
"Look… I really need a job. My mom, she's… She's sick. I took a sabbatical in college just so I can work and pay off hospital bills and medicines. And you saw my car. If I don't get this job, I… I don't know what to do anymore."
Silence.
They exchange looks that only the two of them understand. The office is quiet for what seems like forever. It's Gael who breaks the silence.
"How sick is she?" he asks in a voice so gentle, it makes me question if he's the same guy who was interviewing me earlier.
I clear my throat. "She had brain surgery a couple of weeks ago; her second this year. We have debts in the hospital from her surgeries. Plus her medications. I can barely pay rent, bills, and groceries with the part-time jobs I have now. I desperately need something that pays more."
Giovanni turns to Gael and the two speak in Italian, which I should understand had I been staying with my father, but I haven't. So I don't know what they're talking about.
Giovanni studies me for a brief moment and then says, "If you really need a job, we know someone in the catering business. I'll call them and I can guarantee you will have a job by the end of today."
That's not the same though… I need to work in this club and not anywhere else. An uncomfortable pressure squeezes my chest and I bite down the urge to cry. They're already nice enough—despite being pricks—to give me another option.
My stare falls on the polished floor. It's not like I can offer them something they can't refuse just to get me in this club. I would never resort to selling myself to them—not that they would even consider me, what with the way they look at me like they need to get me out of this building fast. These men are allergic to my presence. I can't force my way inside more than this or they'll start suspecting me.
"Okay." I get to my feet, and the fire in me is now a mere cinder. "Thank you for your time."
I head out the door, but before I can exit, I turn around and unfasten the shirt around my waist so I can return it to him.
"Keep it. You can't walk around with a wardrobe malfunction and not attract danger," says Giovanni.
I don't look up to meet his eyes. I can't. His kindness embarrasses me further. So I walk out the door without looking back.
When I leave the club, I stand in the parking lot feeling dejected more than ever. Left with no choice, I call my father and he answers on the first ring without greeting. So I speak first.
"I didn't get in. They won't hire me because I'm only eighteen."
"Why am I not surprised that you can't do anything right?" he snaps.
How the hell is it my fault that they're not hiring my age? I breathe, pursing my lips because there's nothing else I can do to appease him. It's never enough.
I don't have to anyway because he ends the call abruptly, leaving me feeling like a failure in life. I just want to go home and crawl into my bed so I can feel sorry for myself while I lick my wounds.
As I start to walk away to hail a cab, my phone beeps. I pause to check the text.
[ Unknown: Good day, Ms. Rose, this is Tracey of Yummy Foods Catering. We would like to invite you to work for us... ]
The rest of the text tells me when and where to go for the formal acceptance and the date when I can possibly start.
I look behind me at the club's front door. The Manor's luxurious black and gold exterior calls out to me. I look out of place here–even if I have the chance to work here, this is too high-end for me.
I just left the club and like he said, I'll be offered a job somewhere else. They work that fast? It's kind of impressive.
Seeing as my father now thinks I'm worthless, I guess I don't have any other option than to take the job since I doubt my father will give me any more help. I don't want to ask him for more either.
With that, I reply to the text before hailing a cab to take me home.