Ticket to Paradise

The next week passed by without too much of a hitch. There were a couple of times when I embarrassed myself with the Spanish-speaking tourists, but I always managed to recover without enough humiliation to get myself fired. Where faking speaking a language couldn’t get me, being friendly and sweet helped.

And even though I hadn’t done much talking the first day I sat with Paco and Ricky, they continued to call me over to their table the second they laid eyes on me. Soon, I fell into the routine of walking straight over to them after getting my food for lunch, smiling and listening to their conversation while peeping up occasional quips. It was a system that worked incredibly well, and I decided without too much difficulty that I really enjoyed my job.

But when I got told by Paco during my shift that my boss, Paula, was looking for me on my tenth day on the job, I got crazy butterflies in my stomach. The whole way to her office, I tried to figure out what, exactly, I’d done that could have offended her or her company. But I hadn’t stolen any drinks or money, I hadn’t slept with any of the guests on company time (or at all), and I was friendly to everyone, so I couldn’t figure out what it could be.

I knocked on the door a couple of times to let her know I was there, pausing until she yelled, “Come in, Teri!” to admit myself to the room.

What I loved most about Paula is that she spoke English to me because she knew I was from the United States. Everyone else on staff assumed I came from Mexico, as they all had been born and raised there, not that I knew how to correct them. But I was able to speak English freely when closed up in her office, even though I did keep the accent going for consistency’s sake. Thankfully, she didn't seem to remember that I didn't have an accent when she first interviewed me, or maybe she just never pointed it out.

“Um, hi,” I greeted as I walked in, trying to be discreet about wiping my palms on my khaki shorts as I took the seat in front of her.

“Hi, dear. So I’m in a bit of a predicament here, you see.” I stayed quiet, since I wasn’t sure how to answer that. “One of my waiters for the show tonight called in sick, so I’m a server short. Would you mind staying late and filling in? You’ll be paid overtime, of course, and you’d be taking a huge weight off my shoulders.”

I tried to think of any plans I had that night and came up blank, so I nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Oh, Teri, you’re wonderful.” She gave me a huge grin and clapped her hands together excitedly. “All you do is go to the theater around seven thirty, which is when people start arriving for the eight o’clock show, and ask people if they want anything to drink. It’s just like what you do in the lobby.”

“I can handle that,” I assured her.

“Thank you so much, sweetheart. Now, back to your post before we get a herd of angry tourists on our hands.”

“Okay,” I agreed as I got to my feet. As I was leaving, I started to feel incredibly idiotic about being so nervous to see Paula. If I’d done something wrong, wouldn’t she have to give me a warning before she fired me? Unless the offense was really bad, like I’d murdered a guest or something.

I shook my head to get rid of my ridiculous thoughts as I approached the table of a guy who looked to be about twenty-something and very WASP. “Something to drink?”

“Um, I’ll just have a Corona beer, thanks,” he answered in a thick English accent. “Or, um, I mean, gracias.”

I smiled at him politely before moving on to take the next order, since I had to have at least five orders on one tray before I could take them back out. It saved time and effort, so I understood the rule completely, even if it sometimes threw off my balance.



After the dinner break, where I had to sit alone because Paco and Ricky had gone home for the night, I found myself inside the theater. Only a small spattering of people had arrived so far, sitting in the cushioned chairs and talking quietly with the people they’d come with. A couple of people were adventurous, chatting to someone not from their group, but most just kept to themselves.

I stared at the empty stage for a second, wondering what, exactly, the show was. Since I hadn’t been incredibly educated about the resort, I kind of figured that they showed a film every night, but that clearly wasn’t the case, since there wasn’t a movie screen in sight.

Before I got too wrapped up in my head to remember that I was at work, I journeyed toward the closest group to and took their order with an enthusiastic smile on my face.

I continued to run drinks and empty glasses and orders back and forth from the bar to the customers and back. On my first day, it had felt strange giving them all these alcoholic drinks without them needing to pay or leaving a tip. But the resort was all-inclusive, which meant that the massive amount they paid to stay in one of the high-end rooms covered absolutely everything one could possibly get inside the confines of the property, including the drinks that came pre-stocked with the room and got refilled every day. It was an alcoholic’s wet dream, no pun intended.

After that half hour, which seemed much longer because everyone was rushing to get their drinks before the mysterious show began, one of the guys who worked behind the desk came out and said, “Hello, friends! Are you guys ready for the show tonight?” The second the English-speakers finished cheering, he translated into Spanish for the rest of the population of visitors, and then those guests whooped and clapped. It seemed kind of exhausting, having to say something, only to translate it ten seconds later, but it was part of his job, and he seemed to enjoy it enough.

He granted everyone a good show, and just for a minute, I turned around, my empty tray down by my side, and watched what was going on, for curiosity’s sake.

A fast-paced Spanish song started playing, and about twenty seconds later, a gorgeous, lean blonde woman emerged from backstage, dancing a complicated-looking number. Although her eyes looked focused as she went through the moves step-by-step inside of her head, her face radiated beautifully from her smile.

Soon, she was joined by two male workers that I didn’t recognize. One had shoulder-length dark hair that swung like a curtain around his face while he danced, his expression also a mask of perfect happiness. His moves were a little more robotic, like he had to work to remember the moves much more than the blonde woman, but an audience member would only be able to notice that if they stared at him for a long period of time, like I was.

After about a minute and a half, I let my eyes drift over to the third dancer on the stage, and I could feel my cheeks and neck burn bright red with a blush. His dark hair was spiked with product, and unlike the others, he had a look of elated determination on his face, as if there were no place in the world he’d want to be more than that stage. He was almost as tall as the blonde girl next to him in her heels, and his face and muscular arms were the breathtaking kind of beautiful.

What the fuck are you doing? I snapped at myself, taking a step back and shaking my head, as if I could make the thoughts threatening to enter my mind disappear. You’re supposed to be working, idiot.

So I turned my back on the dancers onstage and hurried over to a middle-aged man who looked in desperate need of a refill of tequila.