Chapter 6

Daria

I can no longer keep count of the number of restaurants I've entered and asked for a job. My luck is poor, and it seems no one wants to hire a girl wearing oversized clothes from the 70ies.

All the restaurant owners glanced me over, regarding me as non-worthy because I'm not following the trend. Skinny, pretty girls with false lashes, push-up bras, and fillers in their lips are running the cashier registers everywhere.

Sighing, I peer up at the last restaurant where I'm going to ask for a job. It's a tall impressive building for snobs. The customers walking in and out seem rich, and I hesitate by the door, wondering if the staff will throw me out before I even utter a sentence.

I lick my lips and spin around when I hear a light chuckle behind me.

"Nervous?"

A woman holding a cigarette is smiling while lighting it. She does it between her fingers and blows out some smoke, making her dark curls fall over her amused eyes.

She is beautiful, with warm, almost sun-kissed skin and dark eyes with a million lashes framing them. Her hair is dark and curly, unruled but in a beautiful way that adds character. She is wearing waitress clothes, red, white, and black, but she reeks of authority.

"Yes," I reply with genuine honesty. "I've been turned down at every restaurant, and I hardly think these people will hire me either. I'm not fancy-looking enough."

She nods. "You have experience?"

"No."

"Are you a fan of anyone famous?"

"I watch little television, and I don't follow the news. I'm not a fan of anyone, but-..." Remembering Wilder's sexy face on the billboard makes my heart jump, and a smile spreads over my lips. "The famous people on the billboard are pretty."

"But you're not some hyper fan of anyone?"

I stand straighter. "No, ma'am."

"Excellent." The woman reaches out a hand. Her lips hold her cigarette, and her smile is mischievous. I take her hand, and her lips stretch further for her ears. "My name is Brooklyn Johnson, and I'm the head waitress. We are currently hiring people, but seeing that you don't carry any resume with you, I thought of letting you work. It will be a test run—see if you can learn quickly."

"Oh... I don't know what to say!" Shock seeps into my pores, and I blush brilliantly at this new turn of events. Aside from the tumor, I'm having some insane luck lately. "I would love that so much!"

Brooklyn snorts. "I've seen no one get so happy over being given a chance. I haven't hired you yet."

"I'm aware of that, but a chance is good enough for me. You're very kind. With this opportunity, I get to learn what the job is all about, and if I fail today, I carry the wisdom of what I did wrong to the next place. The experience is everything."

Brooklyn eye me thoroughly, her lips parted. "Okay, color me impressed—you're hired. I don't care what the others will say. They hire family members all the time, and I decide to hire you."

Laughter comes up her throat when she notices that I'm half-paralyzed. She pulls out a keycard, dragging me to the door with her. Brooklyn delivers me one shocking news after the other—my brain has shut down, and now I'm worrying that I'm hallucinating this.

"At night, when our guests arrive, we have guards by the doors," Brooklyn explains as we cross a red carpet that looks insanely glorious. "No one gets in without a keycard during the daytime. At night you are expected to show your badge to the guard to be let through. There is another door for staff during the later hours."

I nod, ignoring my nerves and trying to focus on moving my tense body forward. Chandeliers are glimmering in the ceiling, polished glasses are glowing in the dim light, expensive vases with exotic flowers decorate the corners, and I swallow hard, wondering what I will break first.

A staircase with decorated railings and glass spin up for the stars, and a man behind a wooden desk smiles at us. He is a highly handsome barista serving coffee to a few bubbly customers. It seems the restaurant is on another floor, and down here is only breakfast and coffee, possibly early drinks for those not in a hurry to their job.

"We are open during the day, but we are renovating and won't reopen until tomorrow—you arrived in perfect time. Right now, the customers are only here to buy coffee."

Brooklyn stops walking and eye my face, giggling when she sees what must be a terrifying expression.

"Are the nerves kicking in?"

"Yes."

"Great! That means you're taking this seriously!" Brooklyn lights up like a candle, smiling widely with pearly teeth. "There are some strict rules that need to be followed, or else you will be fired."

"I'm listening," I assure her.

Brooklyn lists the rules. "You are only to serve the customers, but never make eye contact or talk with them. Most people eating here are rich or famous, and this is a sanctuary for them. We don't allow pictures or the paparazzi inside, and neither does our staff talk with our guests unless given permission."

"Noted."

"And there is a VIP floor for the most exquisite guests. Most staff have never been up to the VIP floor. The guests sometimes arrive in a helicopter that they land on the rooftop, and the owners are the only ones with keycards in the VIP section. If you are chosen to serve on the VIP floor, they will give you a card that works for one day. You will need to ride the elevator and wear special clothes."

The VIP floors sound scary and not a place where I would want to work. Imagine spilling wine on a billionaire. Not only would I lose my job, but the person could be powerful enough to make sure I work nowhere else again.

I force a smile, already sweating through my clothes. "I think I keep to the normal section of the restaurant, as normal as it gets with famous and rich people eating here."

Brooklyn taps my shoulder, laughing. "Don't worry! I have a feeling that you will be fine. You possess this hard-working and determined aura about you—what is your name, anyway?"

I snort-laugh—it comes out strangled. "You hired me without knowing my name?"

Brooklyn gives me a sheepish smile. "What can I say? I like you already."

"My name is Daria Withers. I've been a nun for most of my life, but I'm changing my lifestyle." A smile graces my face. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." Brooklyn is all smiles and friendliness. I like her a lot already. "Still a follower of the faith?"

My heart falters. "Yes, I would still like to believe someone is watching over us, even if living in the convent isn't what I want anymore."

"Any reason that you quit?"

"You can't tell anyone what I'm about to reveal." I hesitate but then sigh. The wise thing would be to tell Brooklyn the truth since I will work for her. She deserves to know. "A certain few staff members are fine, but I don't want people to take pity on me."

"I promise."

Without thinking, I speak. It's easier than procrastinating. "There is a tumor in my spine. It's terrible and painful, but I can't afford treatment. My time is limited unless I can pay for surgery. Therefore, I don't want to keep up with my old lifestyle."

Brooklyn stares at me like I've grown two heads. Her eyes widen with worry, but then she takes a deep breath. "What kind of tumor is it?"

"Malignant. I believe the doctors said mine is in the group of malignant peripheral nerve sheath tumors."

She nods. "And is chemotherapy the best treatment?"

I shake my head, smiling weakly. "It's not scientifically proven, but my oncologist wanted to attempt shrinking the tumor before trying to remove it the surgical way."

"Okay, and how long can you survive without treatment?"

I shrug. "It's not that large yet, which is why I kinda questioned the chemotherapy plan. My pain is unbearable sometimes, though. I get exhausted easily, and I sweat a lot, but I don't consider myself dying yet, but what do I know?"

"But you can handle this job?"

"Yes!" I laugh and joke with her. "I will do anything to save my ass!"

Brooklyn sighs but still smiles at me. "Understandable. Damn, I like you, though. It sucks to hear about your cancer. I hope working here will help you pay for that surgery. How are you holding up mentally?"

I laugh. "I live in denial mostly, and when the pain crashes over me, I get angry instead of sad," I'm not sure how much I want to share, but Brooklyn doesn't seem to judge me. "When I first found out about the tumor, my friends at the convent were supportive, but then their lives went on, and I felt left out. It was like I was looking at them through a fence and unable to join them."

"To be honest, I'm not sure how to handle the tumor information either or how to act around you."

"I get that, but you're a stranger, and I would prefer if we don't focus on my tumor until it becomes a real problem."

Brooklyn looks reluctant, but eventually, she nods. "Okay, but once you have worked here for a while, we are holding an anonymous fundraiser event." She winks at me. "There might be some billionaire out there willing to pay for a sick girl to get well. We don't need to share your name and identity, but we are doing it."

I laugh at the silly face she is making. "Let's focus on the job first! What clothes am I supposed to wear?"