Impressive office for a small nightclub. At least it’s not a dive.
Until she got a job she’d be living in the extended stay motel where she’d taken a room five days earlier when she got off the bus. Cheap hotels in Atlantic City were plentiful, especially in this part of town, far away from the Boardwalk casino hotels.
“Well, Danny. That’s what you said your name is, right?” he yelled over the din coming from the main room as he closed the door on the pounding beat.
“Yes. D-A-N-I. It’s short for Danielle,” she explained, giving him a warm smile.
He sat on the edge of the desk and eyed her. “Have you ever worked as a cocktail waitress before?”
Dani had anticipated the question. She uncrossed and then re-crossed her legs well aware that he was studying her small, curvy body. “No. I worked some restaurant jobs in college. After all it’s not rocket science. I’m outgoing, have a good personality and can balance a tray without destroying your glassware. Isn’t that all I need?”
He laughed out loud. “Not exactly. You need to be able to handle drunk, obnoxious and sometimes horny customers. We have a lot of them.”
“I may be little, but I’m not fragile; and I’ve had my share of experience dealing with disgruntled men. Believe me.” She tried to maintain an air of confidence and ran her fingers though the short, wavy blonde hair that complemented her soft honey colored skin tone.
He rubbed his chin for a few seconds. “Don’t get me wrong. We have a bouncer, but he doesn’t have time to baby-sit anyone. This place can get insane at times. I need somebody who can hustle.”
“Mr. Girardi, I really need a job. This is my first week in town. I took a room in one of those pay-by-the-week motels, and they want their rent every Friday. Could you just give me a chance for a week and see how I do?”
“You do understand the base salary is two dollars an hour? You’d have to make your money on tips.” He sounded as if he’d already come to a decision.
“Of course. That’s how you can be guaranteed I’ll hustle.” She grinned. “So what do you say?”
“Okay. I’ll give you a week to show me what you can do. The uniforms are on me. It’s just khaki pants or shorts with a black T-shirt.” He walked around to the other side of his desk, opened the center drawer and handed her a business card. “This place carries what you need. Do you have a car?”
“Not yet.”
“The store’s not too far from here. You can take a Jitney over there.”
“What’s that?”
“The cross-town mini-bus. They stop on just about every corner.”
"Just one more question. Does it have to be a T-shirt? Can I wear a turtleneck?
He gave her a curious look. "Why?"
“I have a skin condition, and I’m not comfortable exposing my neck and arms.”
He hesitated for moment as if he wasn’t certain how to answer. “Uh -- sure. I guess that’s okay. Black sneakers or clogs are fine. You have to buy those yourself, though.”
“No problem. When can I start?”
“If you can get your uniform, how’s Thursday night?”
“Perfect,” she said with a relieved sigh. “Thank you so much, Mr. Girardi. I promise not to disappoint you..”
“Everybody around here calls me Rick. Fill these out and bring them back on Thursday.” “Let me introduce you to the staff.” He handed her a large manila envelope, and walked her back out into the clamor of the crowded club.
One of a few nightclubs unique and trendy enough to attract the unending stream of tourists away from the Boardwalk, Frenzy was housed in a former thirty-thousand-square foot warehouse. A huge bar and spacious dance floor encompassed the downstairs, and a luxurious lounge took up most of the second floor.
Rick took her to the bar and introduced her to Greg, the lead bartender and the two waitresses. Sonja, a slender brown-skinned woman who appeared to be about Dani’s age, was the senior waitress. They made a connection right away when Sonja volunteered to teach her the ropes. Dani got a totally different vibe from Tikira, a tall, voluptuous beauty who reminded her of Beyonce Knowles. The moment Rick announced Dani was the new staff member; it seemed like a cold breeze swept through the room. She got the distinct feeling that Tiki, as everyone called her, saw her as a threat. Baffled by her reaction, Dani wondered how well the three of them would be able to work together.
He led her upstairs to the sound booth and introduced her to Chris Johnson, the youngest of the staff, better known as C.J. A disturbance on the far side of the room interrupted his welcome. The crowd parted to make room for two men in the middle of a brawl.
“Looks like you’ll get to see Taylor in action tonight,” Rick said. “He’s our bouncer, and he provides security for the staff and guests.”
Dani’s stomach clenched into an all-too-familiar knot when she saw two men slugging it out below.
“He wears the headset so the bartenders and I can let him know what’s going on. Let’s go back downstairs. By the time we get down there, he’ll have the problem under control.”
Rick’s confidence in his security man impressed her. “Who is he, Superman?” She giggled at the thought.
“Damn near.” He guided her down the steps and back into the crowd. Just as he’d predicted, when they reached the spot where the fight had been, the bouncer was escorting the disorderly offender to the door. When he turned around to face them, Dani’s heart stopped at the sight. The most physically stunning man she’d ever seen stood before her – tall and muscular with a five o’clock shadow that gave him a thuggish edge.
Her eyes took in his powerful presence, but froze on his full lips. He had a beautiful mouth. Handsome in a moody, brooding sort of way, his piercing dark eyes and warm complexion made it impossible to tell if he was black, Latino, Middle Eastern or just a white man with a deep tan. He was so masculine words like good-looking or fine seemed weak. Her pulse galloped, and she tried not to stare at the drops of moisture clinging to his forehead or on the well-defined valley between his pecs as his chest rose and fell while he tried to catch his breath from the conflict. Dani struggled to keep her composure. Her purely physical reaction to him angered her. She’d never been influenced by looks, yet the man whose aura seemed to take up the entire room enthralled her.
Rick introduced them. “Dani, this is Taylor Villanova.”
His last name only reinforced his racial ambiguity.
“Part of his job is to protect you from out of control customers and escort you to your transportation at the end of the evening. This is Dani Reynolds, our new waitress.”
She swallowed hard and recovered her voice. “Pleased to meet you.”
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts. “What’s up?” He made no effort at pleasantry, yanked off his headset and wiped the blood from the corner of his sensual lips.
His looks are irrelevant. She mentally willed her flipping stomach to calm down. He seems like an anthropoid, an inarticulate muscle head. Definitely not her type.
“Okay, Rick,” she said, anxious to get out of Taylor’s presence. “I’ll be here Thursday night at seven. I’d better get going now.”
“Hold up, Dani. Taylor will walk you to the bus stop.”
The thought of being alone with such overpowering maleness upset her more than the possibility of getting mugged. “Oh no. It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
Taylor gave her an emotionless stare. “Get used to it. It’s my job. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Dani’s eyes followed him over to the bar, pull the seltzer gun, wet a napkin and wipe the blood from the cut in the corner of his tantalizing mouth. His movements were slow and fluid, almost like a cat -- a big cat. When he came back to where she stood, he simply said, “Let’s go.”
A shiver ran down her spine when he put his large hand in the small of her back and showed her out the front entrance. She was at a loss for anything to say to him. The three-block walk to the bus stop seemed like three miles.
He spoke first as they walked down the dark, eerily empty street. “So what brings a woman like you to work at Frenzy?”
“You don’t know what kind of woman I am,” she snapped. Who does he think he is? He doesn’t know me. “I’m new to Atlantic City, and I need a job.”
“Where are you from?”
“Montana.”
“Hmph,” he snorted. “I didn’t know there were any black people in Montana.”
“I bet there’s a lot you don’t know, Mr. Villanova.”
“It’s Taylor. And I’m sure you’re right,” he said through even white teeth that were a pleasant contrast to his tanned skin successfully disarming her with his smile.
“I’m sorry. That was rude,” she said, after they’d walked in silence for a few moments.
“Do I look like the sensitive type?”
“No.“ She gave him a sideways glance. “You don’t.”
“So, forget about it.”
A Jitney pulled up just as they turned the corner. He took her hand, helped her step up onto the bus and didn’t look back as it pulled away.
Dani changed into a nightgown and mentally mapped out her schedule for the next day. She needed to find the uniform store, buy shoes for work and start looking for an apartment. She didn’t want to get too content in the motel, as if that was even possible. The move from California had been a big step, and finding a place near the ocean had been her main consideration when she’d made up her mind to relocate. She loved the weather and the scenery there, and living by the water was second nature. Only it had become impossible for her to continue living there.
***
In the morning Dani rose early and set out to find the uniform store. On her way to the bus stop she picked up a copy of The Press to check the classifieds for a one-bedroom apartment, which she assumed wouldn’t be hard to find. The bus took her across town to the nicer sections of the city as she scanned the ads for possibilities. It figured. There were loads of upscale condos and townhomes and plenty of Section Eight housing, but she didn’t qualify for either. Being in a strange city alone was unnerving. As a southern California realtor, she could practically travel the area blindfolded. Here, even with her map, every street was unknown. And riding public transportation was an experience she hadn’t had since her college days.
This sure is a far cry from the Atlantic City I remember when I was little.
For a short time during her elementary school years, her family had lived in New Jersey.. Even though they were an average middle class black family without much discretionary income, her parents always managed to come up with creative outings for their four children. She remembered many Sunday afternoons piling into the car after church thinking they were on their way back home. The second her father drove past their street, she and her sister and brothers knew they were in for a treat. The car would be filled with cheers and a barrage of questions as they headed for the Garden State Parkway.
“Where are we going, Daddy?”
His answer would always be, “It’s a surprise.”
“How long does it take to get there?”
He answered with his customary reply, “Long enough for you guys to take a nap.”
She recalled how they’d awaken to find themselves on the outskirts of Atlantic City, Wildwood or some other place that seemed like a wonderland to children back then. Marcia remembered her parents taking them to Johnson’s, a homey little black-owned restaurant on Kentucky Avenue in Atlantic City where they served fried shrimp as big as her seven-year-old fist. Her mother adored the place, and it became their special Sunday dinner location every time they visited. A stroll on the Boardwalk, playing concession games and walking barefoot in the sand in their “church clothes” followed dinner. Those day trips down the shore had birthed her love of the ocean.
Those days are gone forever.
She stubbornly brushed the tear trickling down her cheek and straightened her shoulders as the bus neared her stop.
Atlantic City was a far cry from Santa Barbara. But wasn’t that what she’d wanted? Her choice of an east coast inner city was necessary to her survival. She needed to fade into nothingness in a place where Reggie wouldn’t conceive of her living. The coastal tourist spot had undergone a dramatic change. Twenty percent of the population lived in poverty right in the shadow of the glittering casinos that had invaded like a cancer in the late seventies. While the rest of the Jersey Shore prospered, Atlantic City with all its luster and promotion started to sink. Yet another reinvention of the East Coast gambling capitol was underway. The older casinos had undergone splashy renovations. A new bus station had been built along with Boardwalk Hall, the brand new home for the Miss America Pageant. Then the Borgata came to town. The twenty-two-hundred-room faux European resort hotel and casino boasted more than three thousand coin-free slot machines, and ushered in predictions of renewed prosperity.
When the bus driver called out the street name of her stop, Dani rose and made her way toward the front with trepidation vibrating on the inside.
Let’s see what “the Las Vegas of the East” has to offer a cocktail waitress surviving on tips.
