cassidy_rae (cassidy_rae) wrote in low_tide, @ 2009-12-03 15:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | cassidy demarco |
Out To Pasture
"Cassidy, can you come in the office for a minute? I need to talk to you."
She had taken the last of her makeup off, toweling the sweat off the back of her neck before tugging a sweatshirt on. It was as cold tonight as Nevada got, and the wind coming in off the desert had a definite bite to it. In the mirror, she saw Charlie, the club manager, poking his head into the dressing room. Everyone else had either left or was getting ready to leave. As the headliner, Cassidy usually ended up staying until they closed the doors. She draped the towel over her shoulder, got up from her chair. Her feet were killing her, and she left her shoes behind to put them on later.
"Hell of a crowd tonight, huh?" There was a convention of salesmen in Reno, and the audience that night had been rambunctious. She hadn't counted all of her tips yet, it would have to wait until she got home. She padded barefoot down the narrow hall, Charlie walking more slowly behind her. His office smelled of old cigars, and he turned on a fan to cut through the odor. "Yeah, great crowd," he said absently, sitting down behind the small desk and fiddling with his lighter before flattening his hands on the desktop.
"Look, this is going to be tough for both of us, so I'm just gonna say it. You've worked here for a long time and you've been one of the best employees we've ever had. But..." The sentence trailed off, and Cassidy felt something like impending doom start to hover above her head. She'd turned forty in March, and the club scene was a 'young' business. True, she had a lot of years of goodwill built up, but the way Charlie said 'but' did not bode well.
"Karl started a talent search." Karl was their booking agent, and she knew he had some connections that were kind of shady. "He wants to audition some girls in here in the next few weeks, some of them barely in their twenties. I think...I think its a good idea. Businesswise, I mean. The crowds have been good lately,don't get me wrong. We're making lots of money. But we could always be making more."
It was like when Richie divorced her, and Cassidy's bare toes curled so that they were trying to dig into the linoleum floor. To give her an anchor. "I still have my looks." Not that she hadn't been checking herself out in the mirror these last couple of birthdays, watching things alter and shift as time waged its war on her body. She'd even considered getting some work done, but her insurance policy didn't cover elective procedures. "I know the lighting's pretty unforgiving in here, but c'mon, Charlie, I haven't become a dog overnight."
"It's not about your look, Cassidy," the manager said soothingly. "You know I think you look great." If he says 'for my age' I'm going to brain him with something. There was an ashtray on the desk, a plastic one. Not as good as glass, it wouldn't leave as much of a bruise, but she was willing to give it a shot. The son of a bitch was going to can her! "It's just that we're aiming for a younger market these days, the just-out-of-college crowd, and they want to see broads their age up there. It's just business."
"Business." Cassidy's voice was flat, the slightly nasal twang she'd picked up during her years in New Jersey coming to the fore because of her sudden bad mood. She'd given the majority of her professional career to this place, and now they were going to chuck her out because she was suddenly too old. And it probably meant she wouldn't be able to get work elsewhere on the Strip, not if the word got out. And the word always got out. The dancer rubbed her forehead. She'd quit smoking months ago, but now she really wanted to light up.
"Charlie...what the hell am I supposed to do if you fire me?"
"I'm sorry, honey, I really am. Karl wanted to tell you, but I said I'd do it. But we're willing to buy out the rest of your contract, give you a nice retirement package. Hey, who knows, you're still young enough, you could give classes, teach those kids a thing or two." And the bitch of it was, he did look sympathetic. Cassidy didn't want to feel bad for him, not when she was getting the dirty end of the stick, but she kind of did regardless. Now she wanted a cigarette and a drink.
In something of a daze, she collected her stuff from the dressing room, stuffing it into a duffel bag. There was a bottle of schnapps in the cupboard above the sink. She just might drink all of it. What the fuck was she going to do now?