Servicing the rich, p.1
Servicing the Rich, page 1
Servicing the Rich
T. L. Dickerson
It's a full and bright moon tonight. A moon like this always spells trouble for anyone working in the casino or customer service industry. Working grave shifts adds to the crazy so you learn to expect the unexpected. But it's a Tuesday night and there's absolutely no one in the casino. It's so slow that I've done nothing but walk in circles for two hours waiting for a customer to come through valet. The Porte Cochere looks so big when there are so few cars in it. Even though it is incredibly slow there's a weird vibe in the air. I pay no mind to it as it's probably just my gut, feeling that mystical full moon hanging behind me.
My job is to greet guests and give them a ticket for parking. I'm also the grave shift supervisor. I've been in the customer service industry for twelve years now. Working for tips has its advantages. Servicing the rich, ha! This phrase enters my mind and reminds me of the time I first heard it.
Nick, a coworker and friend, always liked talking politics with me for whatever reason. I know. I know. Never talk politics or religion with people, right? However, Nick is a pretty cool guy. In his early sixties, he has close cropped, iron gray hair and a full beard. The tree-hugger type, if you will. And he loves to talk. His views on the customer service industry are always philosophical and interesting. He's a doorman so, like me, he encounters some amusing types of people.
One time he said to me, “Yeah, T, the middle class is dying. And here, what we do is service the rich. It's becoming just that. The rich and those that service the rich. And kid, we ain't rich.” He laughed and maybe I didn't get it entirely, but I laughed too. Servicing the rich pays off at times though. Some of them are really nice and generous. Some of them are downright cheap and rude. Although on a night like tonight it would be nice just to have someone to talk to. Even the taxi drivers are asleep in their cabs.
By 2am the porte has become a complete ghost town. Only a bum, dressed haggardly and looking like he could use a shower, rummages through the ashtrays, searching for any small butt to smoke. I'm bored and time is standing still. A security guard passes through from across the way at the marina. He walks the docks all night, checking on the boats and keeping the riff-raff out. He approaches the homeless man and proceeds to tell him to keep it moving. “You just tossed out the only company I had tonight,” I say to the guard. He snickers but continues walking toward the front door. In seconds, he's inside and on his way up the escalator. To take his 10th break, I'm sure.
I look around at this sorry state of affairs and head for the doorman's room for a bottle of water. I've got the door half way open when this gorgeous black, sleek Mercedes Benz S600 rolls through the porte. Four doors with 20” custom rims. A sweet ass ride, no question. The car doesn't come up to the front doors but instead parks and tucks itself in the back near the water fountains. It doesn't appear that whoever this person may be is parking in valet and it's my job to find out how I can help them. I approach the vehicle cautiously, as it is the middle of the night and the windows are tinted. I can't see the driver, so I wait patiently until finally, the driver's side window buzzes down, only to reveal a woman fumbling through her pocketbook and looking very distraught. I give her a second before I interrupt this hullabaloo and say, “Hi. Excuse me, but are you parking in valet?” She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she continues fumbling through her purse. Finally, she makes brief eye contact with me and says, “I need a minute.” And proceeds to buzz her window up, indicating to me that this was the end of our conversation. Here we go again...another rude, rich bitch. And I walk away.
I'm about ten feet from her car when I hear the window buzz down again. I turn back around and she asks, “Do they have a poker room here?” I reply, “Yes.” She turns from me and begins playing with her cell phone. Well, I guess we're done here. I walk away again. Only this time she left the window down and I can't help but take not one, but numerous glances back at this woman. She looks so familiar. She has a long, thick, black mane of hair that cascades down and around her neck. She has these captivating deep, forest green eyes that look right through you. She has full, voluptuous lips and a raspy, deep voice that is indeed sexy to say the least. So familiar. Wait? No, it couldn't be. Or could it? The more I look at her, the more convinced I become that she actually is Madison Ridgewood, the actress who starred in several different TV shows. I can't believe it, but it really is her, sitting in my Porte Cochere. I rub my eyes and open them again, thinking she wouldn't be there when I did. But sure enough, there she is, still dickin' around in her car.
After a few minutes, she opened the door and got out of the vehicle. She already had her hand out, never really stopping and says discourteously, “I'm going to park.” I'm a little more than annoyed with her attitude. I mean, I try to be nice to everyone. After all, it's my job to be nice to everyone, even the snotty, rich ones. I hand her a parking ticket. She takes it and walks away and I'm glad to be rid of her. However, instead of going into the casino, she sits on a bench off to the side, still looking sad or at the very least distant, far away from here. She seems to be texting, her fingers moving as fast as they can, trying to keep up with her own thoughts.
I can't help but look at her. It's not often that a celebrity rolls through a casino valet in the middle of the night, by themselves. She must feel me staring. Every time she looks at me I avert my eyes and attention elsewhere. Even though she has an attitude I must admit she's smoking hot. She's dressed in painted on jeans, a tight fitting black t-shirt and cute matching sneakers. So dressed down it made me question whether she really is who I think she is. But it is her. I know it is.
Her phone rings. She answers it and before long her voice rises, clearly arguing with whomever is on the other end. “I just want to be left alone for one night. Can you do that? Can you leave me be for a few simple hours of peace?” She pauses, listening to the person on the other side. And then, BOOM she blasts whoever it is. “I'm not telling you where I am. That's part of the peace! I am well aware of my calendar. Please stop micromanaging.” This mystery person doesn't know when to quit and the argument escalates. She abruptly got up from the bench and paced back and forth. She didn't care how loud she got. Finally, in a huff, she hung up. Clearly shaken, she reached for a cigarette. I seized my opportunity. “Need a light?” I pulled a lighter from my pocket. The cigarette is already between her lips as she nods yes. I light it for her and add, “Rough night, huh?” She sighs deeply and replies, “Yeah. Have you ever just wanted to be left alone for a while, but no one will let you?” I answer her, “Sure. People suck sometimes. But, why not ignore the calls and texts if they're pissing you off so badly?”
“Well, it's not quite that easy. And if I did choose to ignore them they just keep calling until I answer. All I wanted was some time to myself tonight. Just a little time away from my busy life.”
“So, you came to Atlantic City tonight to sit on this bench? No gambling? A cocktail, maybe?” I ask, attempting to make small talk.
“I had every intention of going in and playing poker, my way of blowing off steam. But at the moment, I feel content to sit on this bench for a while. I don't think I've ever enjoyed being by myself as much as I do right now. The ocean air smells good and feels good. It's a nice night. Kinda slow though, huh?”
“Yeah. It's really boring tonight. Time drags when it's slow like this.”
For a moment, we both gaze across the street to the marina. The moon was so bright you could see clear across the city. The breeze carries the scent of the sea through the porte and the stars are out in full force. It's truly a clear, splendid night.
Our silence is broken when she asks me, “What's your name, anyway?”
“I'm T. What's your name?” The moment of truth. Is this really Madison Ridgewood? Or is it someone who happens to look a lot like her?
“Madison,” she replies.
My thoughts run wild for a split second. Oh my God, this really is Madison Ridgewood. It's all I can muster to stay calm. I think she was waiting for me to be star struck, but I kept that excitement to myself. The look on her face is curious, almost as if she is trying to figure out if I know who she is and expects the star struck behavior so many people display when they meet a celebrity. She clearly is waiting for me to either ask for an autograph or a selfie. When neither of those things happen, her face relaxes and we begin talking again.
“So, where are you from, Madison?”
“I spend part of my time in New York City and part of my time in Los Angeles. How 'bout you?”
“I live about twenty minutes west of here in Galloway. Who are you trying to escape tonight? The boyfriend?”
“Nah, no boyfriend. Just an assistant that takes care of my business,” she answered as she wrapped the word business in air quotes with her fingers. I realized she wasn't ready to reveal who she really was and I preferred it that way. She continued, “Things have been chaotic lately. I've been crazy busy and it's starting to get to me. I can't even take a shit without my assistant up my ass! I mean, every other second...” She was interrupted when her phone rang again.
With a heavy sigh, she answered her phone. Her voice escalated in anger right away. The assistant was at it again. She sounded like a real hard ass. “Stop asking me where I am. I'm not telling you. Listen, you don't have a choice and from now until I get home I'm not answering my phone anymore. As a matter of fact, when I hang up I'm shutting my phone off.” I can actually hear her assistant on the other end because she was screaming like a maniac. “You know
“That's it! I've had it! I'm done!” she said, furiously.
“Wow! She sounds crazy, dude! Guess it's time for some poker now, huh?” I asked, so sure she was finished with me as well. “I don't feel like it. I'd rather sit here and chat with you, if that's okay?” she asked.
“It's not like I'm doin' anything else. I'm here 'til 8am, regardless.”
At that moment, a car pulled in and a customer emerged. I excused myself and walked over to the guest. As I said my spiel I couldn't help but feel Madison's eyes on me. In the midst of my speaking I looked over at her. Our eyes connected for a brief second and my stomach dropped. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I still couldn't believe I was having a conversation with a celebrity? Maybe it's because I thought she was a douche the minute I met her and realize now that she's anything but a douche? I can't quite put my finger on it.
After the guest went inside I sort of stayed to myself. I didn't want to be a pest. I mean, she made it pretty clear that she wanted to be left alone. But, less than a minute passed before she said, “Are you gonna come back and talk to me? Or are you gonna stay all the way over there?” She smiled at me and once again, my stomach dropped. Once again, I'm not quite sure why.
We talked for a while longer. She told me she was born and raised in Central Jersey and I told her I was born and raised in a predominantly Italian town in South Jersey. She explained a little about her life without revealing who she really was or what she did for a living. I didn't pry. I enjoyed her thinking that I didn't know who she was. She seemed more interested in me and my life, anyway. Maybe she was attempting to escape her own life by asking me about mine. I don't mind. The conversation was comfortable and easy. An hour passed like nothing. We laughed and kidded with each other like old friends. She went from being completely uptight to mellow and laid back and I was delighted with our talk. I lit her second cigarette for her and watched as she inhaled and then slowly blew the smoke out. A couple of young guys exited the casino and walked passed us. They kept glancing back at her and whispered to each other as they walked out of sight. I'm sure they were trying to figure out if she is “THE” Madison Ridgewood. Little did they know.
We continued chatting when I noticed her face scrunch up and she threw her nose up in the air. She inhaled short, small breaths. “You smell that?” she asked. Soon my face scrunched up, too. I took a few short sniffs of the air. Wafting through the mid-summer air was the sweet, pungent aroma of pot. I blurt out, “Someone is smoking a doobie!” We look at each other and laugh.
“Ugh! I could go for a doobie right about now,” she shrugged and took another drag of her cigarette. I ponder for a moment and even though I thought it was probably a bad idea, I exclaimed, “Well, this is your lucky day!”
Her face lit up and like an impish teenager, she asked, “What? Are you serious?” I nod yes. She was practically on her feet before I could even say, “I have to tell my valet I'm stepping away. I'll be right back.”
I rushed into the valet room where I found the one valet parker I have for the night. “Steve,” I nudged him on the shoulder. His ear phones were on and he was watching a movie on his cell phone. He looked up and asked, “What's up, T?” I handed him a radio, the tickets and the key to the office. I informed him, “Hold the fort down for a while. I gotta take care of something.”
He took the tickets and replied, “No problem, T. Take your time.” He put his ear phones back on and continued watching his movie. That was easy. I grabbed the joint from my work bag. Every morning I take a walk to the end of the dead end street, smoke a joint and watch the sunrise. No one is ever around at that time of morning and it's one of the few joys I delight in on this shift.
I passed by an eagerly awaiting Madison and say, “C'mon! I have the perfect spot.” We walked to the end of the street to a dirt pit, filled with big potholes. A lot of employees like to park down here when they're running late for work. It's easier than going to the employee parking lot which is a distance from the building. My car is parked there tonight. It's the only car parked there at this time. “Hop in,” I said as I unlocked the doors. I started the car and turned it around, as it bounced over the holes and unevenness of the dirt lot. The lot is surrounded by wild bushes, shrubs and reeds. A small opening peeked through the greenery that exposed a small path to the water. Across the way is the Brigantine cove. The sun will rise right above it. I parked my car facing that way and lowered the windows some.
I lit the joint, took a hit and passed it to Madison. I watched as she drew in deeply, held it in briefly and let it out. “You are a savior, T. This is just what I needed. Thank you so much.” That low, raspy voice of hers. I could listen to it all night. I said, “If this is the only thing I can do to make your night better, then I'm glad I could help.” We passed the magical stick back and forth, again and again and soon we were higher than kites. Laughing became contagious. What we were laughing at, neither of us knew, but it felt great.
“Let's play a game,” she said. “You know any games?” She's still smiling and giggling and I was super glad to see she let her problems go, at least for the time being. I answered, “Sure. I got a game for you. Italian numbers.”
“Italian numbers? What the hell is that?”
“Okay. So, do you know how to say the numbers one through ten in Italian?”
She laughed and said, “I think so.”
She was stoned as hell, but so was I. I continued, “This is how it works. With one hand you're gonna throw out none to all five fingers and call out a number from one to ten...in Italian. At the same time, I'm going to do the same. Whoever calls out the number that was thrown by both of us wins a point. Best out of three wins.” She looked a little confused so I gave her an example. “Okay. So, say you throw three fingers out,” I explained and grabbed her hand to put three fingers out. With her hand in mine I looked up at her, but she was already locked into my eyes. She held my attention for several seconds before I looked away. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach. I proceeded, “So, when you throw your three fingers out, let's say you say 'sei', which is six and let's say I throw out three fingers, too, but say 'sette' or seven. Your three fingers and my three fingers equals six, so you would win the point. You understand?”
She looked intently at me and said, “That's a lot of fingers.” But it's the way she said it. Is this woman flirting with me? She asserted, “I think I get it. Let's play.”
She starts the game off by throwing out two fingers and says, “Dos.” I throw out one and yell loudly, “Tre!” She was taken aback by the loudness of my voice and laughed, “What the hell was that?”
“What?”
“That yelling thing. Why are you yelling out your number?”
“That's part of the game. You gotta yell your number. When I was a kid and watched the old Italian men play, their veins would pop from their foreheads from the yelling. It was fucking great!”
“But why?”
“Because that's how the Italians do it.”
“But I'm not Italian.”
“Well then you whisper your numbers and I'll yell mine. How's that? Oh, and by the way, dos is Spanish.” Both of us burst into uncontrollable laughter, one of those side splitting laughs that kept going and going until it hurt. We played a few more rounds and each time I yelled my number. Each time she laughed. We had so much fun together that I didn't realize an hour and a half had already passed. Another hour or so and it would be daybreak.
We played one more round before she picked up her phone and turned it on. “Are you sure you want to do that? You just let some of that go. We're having fun. Don't ruin it.” My face was sullen as I spoke and she noticed. “You know what? You're right.” She fumbled her phone and it dropped in the middle console. We both went to pick it up and our hands touched. Only, they didn't untouch. I looked at our hands, still touching, and slowly gazed up to her awaiting eyes that were already affixed on me. Our eyes held each other’s gaze and we were silent for what seemed like forever, still touching hands. I admit, it was intense. It was very easy to get lost in those deep green eyes and before I knew it or even realized what was really going on, she leaned in and kissed me. Her lips were electric as they touched mine slowly at first, with short, small kisses. But soon, I felt her tongue move into my mouth, gently but purposefully, exploring my tongue.
