Page 3 of Forever is the Sweetest Con
The man laughs, revealing two rows of very straight, very white teeth. Teeth that look like money. “That’ll do.”
I offer a generous pour, in hopes of scoring a generous tip. “So, what brings you to this illustrious establishment this evening?” The old fellas always like it when I’m cheeky.
The Silver Fox takes a sniff of the cheap whisky and shudders, steeling himself for it. “I’m in town on business.” He takes a sip and winces. “My assistant, she’s new. I told her to book me at the Venetian, but she booked me at—”
“The Tahitian Motel and Efficiency Units, across the street?”
“How’d you know?” His dark eyes twinkle.
“Believe it or not, it’s happened before.”
He chuckles. “I believe it.” He swirls his glass, the ice cubes tinkling as they collide. “So, how about yourself ?”
“I’m glad you asked,” I say, leaning on my elbows, taking aconspiratorial tone. “I do this thing called work, where I bring drinks to people and get paid for it.” I flutter my eyelashes and smile so he knows I’m not being snarky. He rewards me with a hearty laugh.
“What I mean,” he says, pushing his glass toward me for a refill, “is that I assume that a bright, beautiful, young woman like yourself aspires to more than—” he pauses, waving his hand to indicate the nearly empty bar “—all ofthis.”
My turn to laugh. “Yes, well.”
“Well?”
“Well, it’s just a temporary measure until—” I stop.Until I pay back the landlord for four months of missed rent on a place I don’t even live, until I pay off the Visa that Dylan put into overdraft, until I can get my head around finding something better. “Until I figure out my next move. And they let me steal as much toilet paper as I like, so that’s a perk.”
“I see,” he says, one eyebrow cocked, like he doesn’t quite believe me.
“I’m actually an actress,” I say, suddenly feeling the need to compensate for having said the words ‘toilet paper’ to this classy stranger. “Or, at least, I was one in a past life.”
His barstool creaks as he leans back. “And now?”
I groan. “Well, this isn’t exactly Hollywood.”
“Ah, Hollywood.” He smiles in a way that makes me wonder if he’s making fun of me. “A girl with dreams.”
“I guess.” I definitely used to be a girl with dreams. And then I became a girl who has to check her bank balance before buying tampons.
“So, why don’t you go, then? To Hollywood. Follow your dreams.”
“That was the plan,” I say, with a shrug.
“And then?”
“And then…life.” I don’t feel like getting into it.
“Ah. Life can be tricky.”
“Yup.” I drum my fingers on the bar, desperate to redirect the conversation. “How’s that whisky going down?”
“Smooth,” he says, grimacing. “But I’ll have one more, all the same.”
I pour him another drink, then one of the Frat Bros stumbles up tothe bar. His face is flushed, and his tie is loose. He slurs his order— another round for the boys. This is probably the last time I can serve him in good conscience, so I make the most of it, telling him a total that is more than twice what he actually owes. He furrows his brow as he fumbles around in his wallet, examining each bill like it’s a foreign currency, but he doesn’t ask any questions.
I deliver the tray of bottles to the Frat Bros, and then the Silver Fox clears his throat. He nods, beckoning me over.
“I was thinking,” he says, stroking his beard. “I might have something for you. A job, of sorts.”
Of sorts, which is code for stripping. “I can’t dance, and—”
He chuckles. “Not like that. An acting job.”
