Not bad at all. She grabbed her coat, a scarf, and a hat. It was freezing outside.
In the hallway, her mother was attempting to talk to Griff. Mom cornered her. This time she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “What’s going on with him, Dorothy?”
“Griff’s mad at me because Ben and I had a falling-out and he likes Ben.”
“Oh dear. Do you want me to call up Laura?”
“No, Mom, don’t get involved. It’ll work out.”
“Why is there always so much conflict?”
“I don’t know, but unlike the world’s situation, ours will resolve.” She kissed her mom’s cheek and checked her watch. “I gotta go. Don’t wait up.”
She hurried out the door. Her first stop was a rush to the DMV before it closed. That little bit of bureaucracy took well over an hour, but when she got out, she had now become Gretchen Majors.
According to her new driver’s license, she was four months shy of twenty.
Not the best solution, but a solution.
She couldn’t order a drink.
But she could get a job.
Chapter 11
The Jackson Lodge fell somewhere between a motel and a hotel—definitely not a dive like the motel Ro had stayed in at Berkeley, but modest compared to the hotels on the Plaza. Like almost all of Santa Fe, it was adobe style with vigas and latillas on the ceiling and Saltillo tiles covered with knockoff Navajo rugs on the floor. The front desk was sided in wood with turquoise diamond inserts. Behind the counter, next to the official certificates of hotel ratings, there were several wide-angle photographs of the Sangres along with a rack of flyers advertising what to do in Santa Fe, Taos, and Albuquerque—things that Ro had heard about but never got around to doing. There was the Sandia tram and casino, Camel Rock Casino, Buffalo Thunder, the floating staircase at the Loretto, Taos Pueblo, and rafting on the Rio Grande, which probably wasn’t too big of an activity right now seeing as it was around fifteen degrees outside.
The desk was manned by a brown-uniformed girl who looked just a few years older than Ro. She was dark complexioned with a round face and big brown eyes. Her name was Pearl.
Ro put on her friendliest smile. “Hello.”
“Hi, how can I help you?”
“I’m actually looking for a job.”
She stared at Ro. “Uh . . . did you see an ad or something?”
“No, actually, I’m just doing it the hard way. Pounding the pavement.” Ro smiled again. “I mean, I’m sure you get busy and could use some extra hands.”
Pearl looked around. There wasn’t a person in sight. “Uh, it’s been pretty quiet.”
Ro sighed. “Do you have an application that I could fill out?”
“Uh, maybe I should get the manager.”
“Sure.”
She disappeared behind a wall. A few minutes later she returned with a guy—also in a brown uniform—in tow. He was older, midtwenties, and his name tag said he was Tomas. He had a long face and acne on his cheeks. His brown eyes gave Ro the quick once-over. This was a very good sign.
“Hi,” she told him. “I’m looking for work.”
“Uh . . . I don’t think we have any jobs right now. Sorry.”
“C’mon,” she told him. “I need money.”
“Sorry. Unless you’re interested in housekeeping.”
“You mean a maid?”
“We call it housekeeping. I don’t think we need anyone, but if we do, that’s your best option.”
Ro took the application and looked around. There was an open café with a bar that held around ten empty tables. The place was devoid of patrons as well as staff. “How about a waitress?” She pointed to the café. “I don’t see anyone on the floor.”
“There aren’t any customers.”
“Surely you have an occasional person wanting a cup of coffee . . . or a drink?”
“The bartender handles that.”
“I don’t see a bartender.”
“He’s in the back.”
“You have an answer for everything, Tomas.” She leaned over the desk, showing him cleavage. “Why don’t we do this? It’s a Friday night. It’s bound to get a little busy. Let me waitress for tonight. I’ll just work for tips. See what happens.”
“I can’t hire you. I’m not in a position to do that.”
“You’re not hiring me. You’re giving me a break.” She locked eyes with him. “Please?”
His eyes went to the right place then back to her face. “I suppose if it’s okay with Salvador, it’s okay with me.” He was mystified. “You know we don’t get a lot of bar business, especially at this time of year.”
“You have clients in the hotel?”
“Yeah.”
“Male clients?”
“Yeah, mostly.”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “I can get you bar business.”
Tomas blushed. “Maybe. You have to be nineteen to serve liquor, you know.”
Out popped her brand-new temporary ID card. She grinned and said, “Thank you for giving me a chance.” A pause. “Salvador’s the bartender, not the country, right?”
“That’s El Salvador.”
“Just checking to see if you were listening.” She went over to the café. The man she assumed to be Salvador was puttering behind the counter. She explained the situation to him.
“Less work for you,” she told him.
He stared at her boobs. “Yeah . . .”
“So it’s okay?”
His eyes finally lifted from the spot. “Uh, do you see anyone here?”
“No. But it’s only five o’clock.”
“The point is . . . what’s your name?”
“Ro—Gretchen.” She stuck out her hand. “Gretchen Majors.”
He took her hand. His was sweaty. “I don’t make a lot of money. Tips are like all I get when I get something . . . you sense me?”
“I do. How much do you get in tips per night?”
His mind started whirring. “Like a hundred bucks.”
“Salvador, let’s be reasonable.”
“Fifty.”
“I said reasonable.”
“Fifty bucks.”
“You probably get a third that much, but I’ll assume you get half. Twenty-five, say, even thirty a night. I’ll give you the first thirty dollars I make and anything after that is mine.”
“No way. Those tips are mine.” He was still staring at her. “Unless you pay me in another way.”
“Dream on, handsome. We’ll split it fifty-fifty. That’s the most I’m going to do. Believe me, you’ll be happy you agreed to it. I’m a lot sexier than you are.”
“That’s true.”
“Fifty-fifty.”
“And I get the first thirty dollars up front?”
“Yes. That’s probably more money in tips than you’ve ever made. Deal?”
“Sure.”
“You won’t regret it. I’ll make it worth it . . . monetarily. That means moneywise.”
“I know what ‘monetarily’ means. I’m not dumb.”
“Of course. I’m a little tense. I need this job.”
“Fine. I mean, it’s only one night. Then you’re out.”
“You don’t really mean that, do you?”
“Maybe I’ll give you a couple of nights because you’re cute.”
“Thank you. Do you have a tray I can carry so people can tell I’m a cocktail waitress?”
“No.”