Las Vegas Cinderella

Las Vegas is a place to get lost, get found, get rich, and get broke. That’s about it. You don’t come looking for something particularly meaningful. And maybe that’s what attracted me to Sin City. I was tired of needing to fit the mold of the perfect New England family. A degree in photography gave me free reign as to where I wanted to go after college and on a summer trip; I found a nice little niche in Nevada.

But it got old eventually.

Waking up every day, running, eating, trying to find a job at a studio or even as the photographer at one of the many 24 hour chapels, and then sleeping again wasn’t helping me make bank. And that’s where Ruby Rouge came in.

The Ruby as it’s known as was just opening when I came into town and was looking for pretty faces to serve shots and wiggle their hips. I’d never thought of myself as the type of girl to fit the criteria, but the paycheck was half decent and I’d always heard good things about tips. And so I carved in a 6-day a week, 8 hour work schedule into my slack lifestyle.

It took some serious adjustment to learn the ropes. I had never in my life been a waitress and being one in four inch heels made my first two weeks hell. But I caught on.

The Ruby was a hot spot for VIPs from the beginning so it was no surprise that in late June of 2012, a group of hot shot hockey players made their way in on my shift. My last shift at The Ruby.

I had a real photography job lined up in LA with an up and coming fitness apparel company. I was excited, albeit a little hesitant to leave the people I’d come to love so dearly.

“Val,” I heard Donna’s voice down the hall. “Time to boogie.”

I wasn’t the only girl left in the dressing room, but I was feeling sentimental that night. This was a place I’d come to love and the people involved were family now.

“Come here, gorgeous,” Natalie motioned for me to turn around and she did up the back of strapless top. “Knock ‘em dead.”

I smiled at the girl in the mirror behind me. She was as much a sister as she was a mother. “Thanks, babe. We’ll do drinks tomorrow?”

She squeezed my shoulder and adjusted her blonde hair. “For sure. Now go! Before Donna yells.”

I adjusted my pumps before plastering on a smile and filing out to pick up my tray. It was the start of the last of long nights for a little while.

“VIP lounge,” Donna shouted over the din. “You, Holly, Taryn, and Sierra.” She handed me my fake name tag and I pinned it to my top. Thanks to a crazy stalker of Holly’s just a few months earlier, all the girls were obligated to wear fake names. During work, we were known as different shades of red.

I nodded wordlessly and headed off to the exclusive area of the club. At the time, I had no idea who waited there, nor what the night would entail, but if the noise coming from the secluded corner was any indicator, I was going to make a small fortune in tips.



I sat with Claude, Hank, Erik, and a number of other people that had squeezed into the VIP section of the club with us. The atmosphere was great and the bass was pumping. Waitresses passed by carrying full trays of drinks.

Claude whistled and nudged Erik who in turn nearly let his jaw hit the floor.

It was our waitress. She was tall; all leg, with dark hair and pale skin. She carried herself with confidence and there was a bounce in her step like she was excitedly anticipating something. She oozed sex appeal.

“Hey guys,” her voice matched her appearance perfectly. “I’m Garnet. Enjoying Vegas?”

“That can’t be your name,” Erik folded his arms.

Garnet-whatever her name was-smiled. “What can I get you guys to drink?” She turned a bit and looked at Claude and Erik to take their orders.

Unabashedly, I let my eyes travel up and down her figure. Like all the other waitresses, she wore a tight, high waisted skirt with high heeled shoes in different shades of red. On top, like the others, she wore a strapless, sequined top, accentuating each and every asset she had to offer.

“And what about you, BizNasty?”

I nearly choked on the drool that was practically down my chin.

“What’ll it be?” she repeated, smiling wide.

“Uh, jack and coke,” I rattled off the first alcoholic beverage that came to mind.

“Be right back, guys,” ‘Garnet’ smiled happily.

“Holy shit,” Claude whistled. “I’d tap that. Eh, guys?”

Hank shook his head and laughed good naturedly. He was the only one attached out of our group, but Erik and I grinned, agreeing with Claude.

By the looks on his and Erik’s faces, we had the same ideas. She was coming home with one of us. I’d seen Giroux’s game before and he’d use his accent to his advantage. Karlsson would use his hair and nose to ‘woo’ her. I had the opposite nose of him and the polar opposite career of them both. I’d have to rely on my hard earned skill of smooth talking.

I was a doctor, a lawyer, a senator’s son, Brad Pitt’s brother and a man on the run. Anything I thought would get the job done.

I cleared my throat and stood up. “Well, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”

I heard Hank laugh again and Erik swore while Claude looked at me with a smirk.

“You won’t get to words out.”

“You want to bet?” I smiled, confident.

“Next round’s on whether you can get a full conversation or not,” he said.

“Get your wallet out then, G,” I straightened my collar and set off towards the bar.

There were girls from Argentina and Arkansas. Maine, Alabama, and Panama. All mixed together and having ball.

There were rockets everywhere and they were probably from every corner of the globe. They rocked their hips in the mess of people on the dance floor. Teetered on high heels near a pool of water and held fruity drinks above their heads. But none looked better than the waitresses and our waitress most of all.

I saw her fixing drinks at the bar, talking with a tall guy in a black button down shirt. He was your typical part time model, part time bartender. The smile on her face said a lot and so I pushed my way towards the counter and stole a seat in front of her.

I dropped my hands onto the counter and she jumped, curls bouncing.

“Can I help you, Mr. Bissonnette?” her voice rose over the noise.

“Just thought I’d come see the prettiest thing here,” I flashed her a devious smile.



One thing started leading to another, out last night, hitting on everybody and their mother.

Had he just said that?

“Cute,” I smiled. “But I would have thought you didn’t need lines.”

"You want to tell me your real name, beautiful?" he winked. "Just so I can properly thank your parents for a job well done."

"Again with the lines."

Two could play this game, buddy.

Paul smiled and looked back at his table, yards away. Giroux, Karlsson, and Lundqvist watched intently.

“Alright fine,” he turned back to me and leaned forward, beckoning me. I obliged and he talked into my ear. “Giroux bet me that I couldn’t start a conversation with you before you told me to fuck off. They’re probably all pissing themselves back there. Next round’s on Claude.” He sat back. "That's not a line."

I looked at him, thinking. Part of our job as Rubies was to cater to everything the customers and patrons asked for. This could actually be fun.

I picked up my tray and balanced it on my shoulder and walked around the bar. Natalie winked at me and smiled.

“Let’s give ‘em something to shit about then,” I took his hand and started weaving through the crowd.

Yeah, life was good everywhere. We went out last night.