Last 2 Chapters: A stranded youth comes to the Pole Posistion Club looking for work.
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Chapter 3: The Interview
I approach and walk towards the back. In the back there are eight doors. I knock on the one that has a huge, silver monogram of a "V" on it.
"Yeah!" shouts the man through the heavy door.
"I'm the new girl?" I timidly reply.
"Come in, come in." I enter the spacious office. Inside is a wide desk, a tall lamp with a dull light bulb, and a basic chair. Next to either side of the door are two gentlemen that very much look like that Mitch guy at the entrance. They are both holding Colt 45s.
"Have a seat. Now I have a question."
I look at him, waiting for the next question. I stare into his brown eyes. They are deep, yet lacking any real expression as if they've gone numb from seeing too much woe and despair in his time. He has a square, chiseled face which has stubble on it as if he hadn't shaved in a few days. He has thick, dark brown eyebrows and sideburns matching his hair. He looks quite handsome in fact. Lost into his appearance, my thoughts are interrupted.
"Not bad for a 36 year-old, huh?" he asks. "Okay, are you here to kill me?"
"No." I quickly answer. He stares hard into my black eyes like he's looking for something. After a good 30 seconds of his intense stare, he motions his doormen to wait outside.
"So, whaddaya want kid?" He asks, loudly.
"I want...I want to work." I hang my head down.
"Look up when you talk to your elders, kid! The hell's the matter with you..."
"I want to work!" I shout and immediately clasp my hands over my mouth.
"Heh-heh. Ya gotta be shittin' me." he chuckles. Then chuckles some more. He stops and stares at me again with his elbows on the desk, his hands folded with his head resting on them. I look around his office and see the golf club he carried in here. It's in the corner and the club part has some...blood on it, looks like.
"Is that blood on that golf club Mr. Vercetti?" I point to break this awkward tension.
"So I like a little 'extremity' in my sports, kid. Sue me. Now why should I even consider to think about hiring you? Don't you know who I am?" He asks.
"Well, I'm eager, I'm a fast learner, I'm trustworthy---"
"Hold it RIGHT there, kid!" he interrupts. He stands up from his chair and starts pacing around the room.
"If there's anything I've learned in this...God-foresaken illusion called 'life', it's that noone and I mean NOONE is trustworthy." he says
"Excuse me?" I ask, puzzled.
"Wake up and smell the Folgers kid. The last time I trusted someone, my whole life almost went to shit. I took 15 years, 15-fuckin years for some bastardly prick!" he screamed.
"However...I can't say it was ALL bad. I managed to take over this city, I have my own drug factory, strip club, a huge mansion, and an infinite number of goons at my beck and call...y'know all that good stuff. And just because I haven't trusted anyone since. Ya understand, kid?"
"I guess so." I answered. He calmy took his seat again.
"But seriously...Why? Why me? Why Vice City? Where the hell did you emerge from, kid?"
"I was just in the hospital. I survived a plane crash that happened over here. My family's dead, and I have nowhere else to go. I wanna survive and make some money."
"Hmmm...I did see that on the news the other day. You were in the crash, eh? Forgive me for seeming like I don't care but I do feel a little sorry for ya. So what's your name, kid?"
"Charmaine." I answer again with my head down.
"What'd I say about havin' your head down, kid!" he shouted again.
"My name is Charmaine, dammit!" I go ballistic on my potential empolyer.
"Heh heh..." he chuckles again. "I like you kid. Ya got moxy. You wear your ovaries on the outside."
I sigh in relief.
"But, I don't know what kind of work you could do kid. I mean, you're what...fifteen? Practially the youngest person to have come through this town, eh? I mean, you should be working a cafe or in a pizza shop or somethin yet you're in the office of my strip club. What gives, kid? Do you have a plan? Why do you wanna roll with Vercetti?"
He had me there. I mean, what made me wanna just run down here anyway? I didn't have a plan. What was I SUPPOSED to do?
I slowly reach for my back pocket and take out the pink card the nurse from the hospital had given me. I handed it to Mr. Vercetti.
"Whoa..." he exhales "Were you by chance given this card by some midget, ginger tart?"
I nod. Even though I had no idea what he meant by "ginger tart".
"She must really care about ya kid. She had called me earlier today, saying you went AWOL at the hospital. She told me to expect a lanky brown-skinned kid but I thought she was just jerking my chain. You really ain't got nowhere else to go, huh?" he twiddled the card in his fingers. "But like I said...I don't know what kind of work I could have you do! I mean, you can't drive..."
"Can too!" I interject in protest.
"Oh yeah? Tell me then Charmin...Would you happen to be the dunderhead who misplaced a crappy-ass scooter right outside the door to my club?" He asked with an eyebrow arched. "I ended up putting a ding in a perfectly good golf cart, kid!"
I blush and look away.
"I thought so. Like I said, you can't drive, you're too finicky to be a theif, it'd be indecent to have you be a hooker or an extra in one of my films, all of my hotels are overstaffed, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you drive a Mr. Whoopee truck around this city sellin' rock." He looks away and scratches his chin. "Well, kid? Any ideas?"
"Well...How about if...I...dance? Here?" I cringed as these words left my mouth.
He gave me a long, hard stare. "I don't think so." he finally said.
"But why not?" I asked.
"It ain't decent, kid! You're a fucking minor! What does Vercetti look like having dancers in my club who still smell like placenta juice?"
"Listen, SIR, I have NOWHERE to go...I don't know ANYTHING about being a waitress, or delivering pizzas or any of that. This seems easy and I'm sure it pays a lot. Enough for me to just...live." I said. Mr. Vercetti stands up and walks towards the door.
"C'mere..." he motions me to look outside the door. "You see them? THESE are bitches who have no ambition, no integrity, no goals, hell...no fucking SOULS! Is THAT where you wanna be, kid?"
He was right. Those girls didn't look too happy. They looked like, marrionettes on stage with an audience just gawking at them. I didn't say anything. We poked our heads back in and shut the door.
"Now it's late kid. Go get some sleep, I'll figure out what I'm gonna do wit ya some other time." he waves his hand as if to say "dismissed" or something.
I give him a blank stare.
"Oh that's right. You're homeless. Tell you what kid, tell Andy to take you to Ocean Heights Hotel...I have a room there you can stay in, relax and...maybe take a shower. You smell like sickness and death, kid." he reaches into his desk drawer and tosses me a pair of keys. "Try not to get yourself killed out here. This is a dangerous city. I'll see you in a couple a' days kid."
I sniff and clench the keys in my hand. I rise from my chair and start towards the door. I turn around. "Thanks Mr. Vercetti." He nods.
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End chap.3
Okay, I got some hits but I see some of you haven't reviewed yet! Is it good? Did it suck? I need to know! And BTW, I noticed the overuse of the phrase "kid".
(PS, I'm thinking of changing the title)