Embracing You, Embracing Me (24 page)

Fury boiled up inside of me and I spat out,
“What the hell is this? Some sort of intervention?” I hadn’t spoke to my
grandma so disrespectfully since I was a young teenager and part of me recoiled
when I did, but my anger was too intense and overwhelmed all rational thought.

“I can’t believe this shit!” I said. “Rosie
called you didn’t she? Well fuck her! I am fine. I am working my ass off and
taking care of my child the best that I can. I make sure that she has
everything that she needs and she gets plenty of love and attention. She is
loved and cared for. I am a good parent damn it and I don’t appreciate anyone
saying any different!”

Grandma clenched her jaw- a trait I had
inherited. “No- one has said a word about your mothering. We all know how much
you love that child. No-one is questioning that. What we are questioning, is
how you are treating yourself.”

I calmed slightly with Grandma’s sincere
recognition of the love for my child, but stubbornly held my ground. “I’m fine,”
I clipped.

“No, I don’t think that you are,” Grandma
replied just as quickly. She wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.
“You have been drinking and partying for months now and I’m here to tell you to
knock it off!” she said in a no- nonsense tone.

“I don’t drink that often Grandma,” I said
defensively, knowing she would recognize my lie.

“Yeah, well I guess it’s a matter of
perspective, but I feel that it’s safe to say that it has gone too far. Now you
look me in the eye and tell me that I’m wrong,” she dared.

I looked into her soft blue eyes. There was
nowhere to hide. I hung my head. “You’re not wrong,” I whispered, defeated.
Then something inside me broke and I began to weep. I put my head in my hands.
“Oh Grandma, I just feel so lost. Everyone keeps telling me that the pain will
ease with time, but it doesn’t. I wake up every morning and reality slams into
the forefront of my mind, reminding me of all that was lost, and of all the
ways that I screwed up.

“The one sunlight in my life is Marissa,
and everything else is just shades of gray. The only time I feel free from it
all, is when I’m out drinking and pretending that it’s all okay,” I cried.

Grandma slid closer and put an arm around
my shoulders. “I understand everything that you are saying, Roshell. But I want
you to think about this. Do you think for one moment, that Gabriel would wish
this for you? Do you think that you are honoring his memory by behaving this
way?”

It all hurt so damn much. I cried harder,
realizing the answers to Grandma’s questions and felt heartbroken all over
again, a crescendo of suppressed emotion releasing at once. I simply leaned
against my grandma’s warm, soft body and let it all go.

I started my shift bright-eyed and smiling.
It had been three months since Grandma’s visit and I had spent every one of
those nights sober and either working, or at home with Marissa.

Nights were still tough and I often woke up
feeling that vast, empty hole in my chest. But then I would hear my daughter’s
delightful, babbling voice and the hole would fill again with my love for her.
With a smile, I would roll out of bed and prepare to face another day.

As the weeks passed, I slowly emerged from
the fog that I had been lost in and started to plan outings and adventures for
Marissa and me. I wanted to prove to everyone, including myself, that I was
ready to re-engage in life. I organized picnics, swim excursions at the lake
and trips to the zoo. Rosie and I identified a few small household projects
that needed tended to. We wanted to spiff up our place in case we decided to
have friends over. Even my co-workers noticed and commented that I seemed
happier. I was moving forward.

Though the pain was persistent in haunting
me, following me around like a ghost, it had leveled out to a dull ache. I decided
I would just have to learn to live with it.

When men in the casino, both fellow
employees and customers, approached with a line or wanting a date, I typically
turned them down but accepted a few times for the hell of it and immediately
regretted it when the evening progressed to awkward. They always got way too
touchy-feely for my liking, so I would use the old, lame stand-bye, claiming a
headache and make a hasty retreat, vowing not to do that to myself again. I
wasn’t ready for the emotional roller-coaster of dating. It was a long, painful
dance that I no longer knew the steps to.

One cold day as I walked through the
parking lot before my shift began, my head tucked down, my nose and mouth
protected under my coat from the relentless, frigid wind, I passed a small
group of employees who were braving the weather for a cigarette. I overheard
someone mention Christmas shopping. I continued past them, eager to escape the
icy cold that seeped into my bones, but felt discombobulated as I quickly made
the mental calculations and realized it was the end of November; it had been nearly
an entire year since Gabriel had passed away. This left me disoriented. I tried
to recall the events of the past year, attempting to put together a timeline
that made sense.

I entered the building, walking past
security, and hesitated before the huge bulletin board located just outside of
the human resources office.

I rarely paid attention to anything on it,
but for some reason it pulled at me. I read the newly posted positions. There
was a posting in the slots department for a cashier/patron host. My eyebrows
rose as I played with the idea of applying for the position. I had grown pretty
tired of the restaurant, and had excellent customer service skills: my bubbly
and friendly attitude brought in good tips and earned recognition amongst my
supervisor and manager. My money handling skills were also good. I figured I
would not only be a good fit for the position but was ready for a change. I
rarely ventured out to the gaming floor and was enticed by the idea of working
in a radically different atmosphere. I decided to apply, mix things up a bit.

Two weeks later, I transferred to the slots
department and shadowed one of the other slot cashiers as I trained.

The job was fairly straight forward; I had
a till at a fixed point of sale, but usually we would slap the large money
belts around our waists so we could circulate our section freely. We kept a
diligent eye on the customers, always readily available for cashing out or
further ticket purchases.

The tribal casinos in Washington were a new
development in only the last two or three years and were still heavily
regulated by the State. They had yet to pass a law allowing coin in and coin
out slots, so the slot machines were still more of a fancy way to play pull
tabs rather than true slot machines, so that customers had to purchase a ticket
that they would then insert into the machine, which would read their ticket
line by line as if it were a slot machine.

My section was two rows of machines that
were separated down the middle by an equally long raised platform which allowed
us girls to walk up and down the rows with easy access to the patrons. This
platform was infamously nicknamed the catwalk, as we strutted up and down it,
assisting customers.

I made friends easily with the other girls
in the department and fed off the energy that flowed throughout the casino
floor. Within a week, I was thriving in my new position and had the customers
thoroughly charmed and tipping generously. As the days passed, I found that
smiling naturally came more often. I no longer had to force the plastic grin
that I’d grown accustomed to.

Around one in the morning, during a
particularly slow weeknight, the girls were standing in a semi-circle formation
talking about two of the men who apparently worked in the back offices. Curious,
I asked, “Who are you guys talking about?”

The young blonde interjected, “Oh, my god,
you haven’t met them yet have you?” Her expression showed how eager she was to
tell me all about them. “Okay, so the manager of the technology department and
his assistant are both so HOT! The assistant is a blond with a toned body, and
glasses that give him a smart- babe look.

“The manager looks like he’s in his mid
twenties, he’s dark skinned with these amazing dark, deep set eyes and has a
sexy goatee.’’ She furrowed her brow in thought and tilted her head. “What do
you guys think his ethnicity is? Spanish? He doesn’t look Mexican,” she flipped
her hand, dismissing her own questions, “whatever, it doesn’t matter, because
he’s gorgeous.”

The tall red-head, Stacie, agreed with the
blonde girl, Becca, “You haven’t seen him because he was just away at a
conference in Vegas, but don’t worry, you’ll see him soon enough. The both of
them come out on the floor anytime the machines act up, which I’m sure you have
noticed by now, is often.”

I thought about it, “You know, I think that
I might have seen the assistant just yesterday. He was messing with that
machine on the back wall that kept having paper jams. I guess he was okay
looking.” I shrugged, thinking that he wasn’t really my type.

“Okay, that was Gavin. The manager’s name
is Nico,” Stacie offered enthusiastically.

Our lively conversation continued as we
gossiped about some of the other guys in the casino that we considered
attractive, until our supervisor interrupted, and gave us the good news; we
could close up our section for the night.

Two days later, working alongside Becca
again, the manager made his first appearance since I had started working on the
casino floor.

He was talking to another manager in a
section farther down from mine, when Becca jabbed her elbow in my ribs and pointed
him out.

Even though he was at a distance, I could
tell he had a long, lanky build. I couldn’t deny that he was attractive, but
not in the traditional sense. He had very distinct features, with incredibly
deep-set, dark eyes set under a wide brow. His hair was cut short and was
nearly black. His skin was olive-toned and he had a wide mouth that fit the
other strong angles of his face.

I continued to help customers and snuck
glances in his direction, sizing him up. Finally, I leaned over Becca’s
shoulder, “I say he’s Cuban,” I said.

“Ooh, Cuban. I hadn’t thought of that one.
Hey, wasn’t Ricky Ricardo, of ‘I Love Lucy’ Cuban? Yeah, he was definitely a
hottie! Maybe you’re right.” Becca puckered her lips as she pondered it.

One of my customers hit a small jackpot. I
quickly rushed to his side to congratulate him, making myself available in case
he wanted to cash out immediately or keep on playing. I didn’t see the manager
for the rest of the day and surmised he had probably retired to the administrative
offices.

NICO:
The first day back on site after my trip from Vegas, I scanned the
floor while talking with the Keno supervisor and had to ask about the new girl.
I didn’t get much intel other than her name. Interesting.

Usually everyone around here knows everyone
else’s business. I’m a private person by nature so the constant meddling gossip
drives me nuts, but in this case I was hoping to use it to my advantage.

I tend to stay away from girls from work.
It’s a rule. But I was drawn to her energy. She is constantly smiling and the
patrons seem to favor her.

She is not only aware of how others are
drawn to her, but she knows how to work it to her advantage, by the way she
plays the crowd with her easy banter and flirty behavior. I watched her strut
up and down the cat walk with her thick, dark blonde hair swinging down her
back all day, and haven’t neglected to notice that many of the other male employees
on the floor, also have her in their vision.

So yeah, I’m intrigued. I want to get to
know her but the idea of being another knuckle dragger sniffing around so
obviously repulses me. I’d rather die than get lumped into the same category as
those other numbskulls.

I have her type pegged; girls that receive
that much attention are usually pretty full of themselves, and expect guys to
be throwing themselves at them.

Not me. I refuse to give her ego that kind
of stroke. The best way to get the attention of a girl of that nature, is to
completely ignore her. Works every time.

It was settled. I excused myself and walked
toward her section. Becca was ringing up a customer, so I waited until she was
finished then questioned her about how the new tickets were working out.

I didn’t actually need to ask. With the
daily flash reports, I can take one glance and get a feel for their ratings. I
just needed a point of conversation.

Becca leaned forward, her head tilted in an
obvious invitation for further conversation. She’s been trying to get me to ask
her out for months now. Not happening.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see
that Roshell was finishing up with a customer, making change for the elderly
lady on machine twelve who frequented the casino almost daily. I’m pretty sure
that I piqued her interest though, because as soon as she was done she strolled
in our direction.

I refused to look directly at her as I
continued to talk with Becca, hoping that she would get a clue and introduce us
without me having to ask.