After touring the strip, the two went to the Linq Promenade to check the shops and get some refreshments. Given the weather, they stopped at the Starbucks for some warm lattes.
“Aren’t you cold?” Cat asked Theresa, who was dressed for a tropical vacation, not the midwest winter.
“My normal body temperature is a degree above the average,” Theresa shrugged. “The doctors don’t know why. I guess it’s because I’m naturally hot,” She grinned and rolled her eyes. Sure, if it gets colder, then I’ll need a coat like anyone else, but this? I’m fine with what I’m wearing. If you miss the cold, there’s an ice bar...”
“I’m fine here.”
“So am I. And I don’t think Mr. Mouser would like the cold.”
“He likes to play in the snow,” Cat replied. Lying on her lap, the Wirehair purred in agreement.
A security guard approached their table, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your animal...”
“Yes, he’s a service animal and is trained for medical emergencies,” Cat gave him the boilerplate reply.
“We do not allow pets in here, ma’am,” the guard replied.
Cat straightened her back to protest when Theresa grabbed her hand. “Dude, chill. Look, the feline is a service animal. You’re literally violating her constitutional rights and exposing your employer to a lawsuit. Get management on the radio and check before shoving your foot deeper in your mouth. Health codes don’t apply either.”
That drew some attention from the other patrons. Cat hugged Mr. Mouser and appeared vulnerable. After a brief exchange on the radio that made the guard flinch probably because he was yelled at, he straightened his back.
“Ma’am, the Linq Promenade wishes you a wonderful stay. I’m sorry for the inconvenience but we had...”
“Man! My latte is getting cold,” Theresa whined out loud.
The Starbucks manager appeared from nowhere and glowered at the security guard. “Ladies, may I change your beverages for fresher ones? We’d like to offer you complimentary blueberry muffins too.”
The guard took his cue and made himself scarce. A barista came with the signature muffins and new drinks, the same the girls had ordered.
“At first I thought only dogs could be service animals,” Theresa confessed. “But I guess you get it a lot, don’t you? People harassing you because yours is a cat. That’s so… speciesist!”
“The original 2010 law stated only dogs, then a special provision was made for miniature ponies. Cats were only allowed now, in 2020. Mr. Mouser is the twelfth feline to be certified as a service animal in the whole country,” Cat explained.
“He’s as smart as he’s adorable,” Theresa cooed. They sipped their smoking drinks and took a nibble of the muffins, talking about trivialities before Theresa broached a delicate subject. “So, why did you ask me for help?”
Cat sighed, “I believe that’s the only job that’s open to me. Not in the priority sense but I literally can’t get a job anywhere else.”
“That’s BS,” Theresa replied. “I bet a girl like you could work with anything.”
Feeling down, Cat lowered her head. “I used to trade stocks, made quite a buck during the summer. But after what happened in Brooklyn and the massive trust fund lockdown, I lost my credentials to trade. I tried getting a job everywhere in New York, I got nothing.”
“There’s a lot more to this story, right? You can take your time and unpack when you are ready. I’m not throwing you out,” Theresa smiled empathetically. “But do you wanna make a bet? There’s a McDonalds next to the Casino Royale down the block, they’re always hiring. Go and apply for a job there. Last week they were paying people fifty bucks just to show up for an interview, go figure. Fifty bucks you get hired as soon as you say you want a job.”
Knowing she was cursed by the demon, Cat nodded but hesitated on the amount. “Fifty is… fine. Let’s finish the drinks and we’ll go there.”
Cat thought Theresa would make a wonderful insurance or car dealership salesperson. She had a way to convince people that was borderline magical.
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“I’m sorry, Miss Wallenstein, but is this some sort of hidden camera show?” The skeptical manager at the Mcdonald's asked. “The heiress from New Jersey wants a job at my fast food joint? I hope you understand my disbelief.”
“No offense taken but no, sir. This is not a prank or a hidden camera show,” Cat replied adamantly. “I really want a job here at McDonald's. Nine to five, or whatever shift you’d have me. I may be an heiress as you said, but honest work is honest work.”
“Well, Miss, having a celebrity here would surely boost sales. Say, do you feel comfortable working as a cashier? How about we do a trial tomorrow in the afternoon shift? No compromises, we both see if we are a good fit.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Her eyes went wide, “So, am I hired?”
The now excited manager imagining lines of people willing to buy a Big Mac just to see the celebrity attending customers extended his hand and she instinctively shook it. “You need to fill an employment job form online to satisfy corporate demands, but yes! Welcome aboard, Miss Wallenstein. We are proud to have you on board. Look, we were even paying new hires a fifty-dollar bonus to interview, once you fill in the form, the money is yours.”
Dazed by sheer disbelief it was actually working and doubting the whole cursed-by-a-demon thing, she went on autopilot, “I have my laptop in my bag, I’ll… thank you for the opportunity, sir.” When she came to her senses, she was outside with Theresa hugging her.
“I told you it was easy! Guess you are no longer a statistic, congratulations, you have a job! Minimum wage with medical insurance!” The camgirl chortled.
She could only stare and stutter. “But… the curse… I applied to dozens of jobs in New York, even Rothman & Sullivan wouldn’t take me as an intern.”
Inside the pet carrier in Theresa’s hand, Mr. Mouser voiced his agreement.
“Do you want to share your story, girl?”
“Yes, but not here,” Cat replied, trying to refocus her mind. “Just a second.” She took her phone and found an online job application form to work as an office secretary in Arizona. She filled the form and submitted it. A minute later she got an email telling her that the application was rejected. She did the same thing in Delaware, Texas, Wyoming, and her job applications were rejected within minutes.
Catherine chirped triumphantly.
“But how can a Mcdonald's cashier work be considered sinful?” She mumbled.
“Hello? Earth to Catherine?” Theresa waved a hand in front of her.
“No. Wait. I only talked to the manager. I hadn’t applied yet. The online form!” Cat deduced. She took her phone and found the form the manager referred her to, and filled in her details. Holding her breath, she submitted it. The denial email returned less than a minute later.
Frowning, she showed the email to her friend. “It was denied, Theresa.”
“No way! Why? Go back inside and talk to the manager. I’ll wait here with Mr. Cuddles.”
Cat found her way back to the manager’s office. After explaining what happened, she got a dismayed reply, “Miss Wallenstein, if corporate rejected you, I’m afraid my hands are tied. I hope you understand and I’m sorry it happened. I was really looking forward to having you on the team.”
She sighed and shook her head, “No, it’s fine. Thank you for your time, sir.”
The manager inagined banknotes with wings, flying away from his fast food restaurant, “Have a good day, miss. Again, I’m sorry.”
Dejected, she rejoined Theresa. “No good. I’m back to being an inflation-generating statistic.”
----------------------------------------
They went to Theresa’s apartment, a one-bedroom rental that was very cramped for one person. Cat was still down because of what happened at the McDonalds. “Have a shower, get a clear head. Then we can sit and talk.”
She did as instructed and washed away the sweat from the flight. Freshened up, she sat with Theresa decided to put all cards on the table. They each sank into a beanbag chair while Mr. Mouser kept exploring every corner of the apartment.
“Who starts?” Theresa asked.
“You, I guess. What do you want to know?”
“A lot. Let me see, you mentioned a curse? Like a real curse?”
Cat nodded. “Yeah. A curse. It made me destitute in a flash, and also keeps me from earning any kind of money. You’ve seen how fast and how many job applications got rejected.”
“Why camming?”
“I made a Deal with the entity that cursed me. I can earn money if it is from a sinful source. Now, what kind of things are sinful that are not illegal? Because with the FBI hot on my heels, the moment I do something slightly illegal they’ll bring me in.”
"At least we'll be safe with the FBI watching our apartment," Theresa remarked.
"Don't count on it. The feds won't move and ruin their stakeout to stop a petty crime, I think. We'd be lucky if they call 911."
Theresa went to the window, searched for any suspicious black vans, then whispered, "FBI, please call 911 if we're in trouble! Thank you!" She blew a kiss and returned to her beanbag pouf. “Who cursed you, girl? Was that the demon? The one with the bat wings and a disgusting giant barbed cock?”
“Yes, but not the Brooklyn one. His boss.”
“Satan?” She asked with wide eyes.
“A bit lower on the hierarchy, I believe. Middle management, the root of all evils.” Cat rolled her eyes.
“So, you needed a job that is sinful but not illegal. Yeah, camming fits the bill. But are you ready to expose yourself? You’ve watched me work, it is tough for some girls. Exposing yourself and stuff. You need to fake a lot of orgasms too. And I bet you don't know how to fake-squirt either.”
Cat deadpanned, “Terry, I sent you a picture of my pussy on our first encounter.”
“That you did. And what a gorgeous pussy it is,” she wiggled her eyebrows. “Guys will go wild when they see it. And to think you were afraid it was ugly. Damn. My girl has grown so fast!”
Shut up,” Cat said. They giggled.
“Your turn now," Theresa snapped her fingers. "C'mon, ask me something.”
“Why did you invite me to Vegas? I could be a stalker or dunno, something worse.”
“Like Satan?” Theresa joked.
“Nah. I have in good authority that Satan can’t come to Earth. Which is a good thing, if an intermediate demon can cause so much trouble. LIke Guantanamo and Doswell.”
Theresa’s jaw dropped, “Fuck.”
Cat nodded, “Fuck, indeed. Now, why did you invite me to Vegas?”
“I suspected you were a girl at our first private show. I knew you were one when you came to me with your fingering problem. I mean, the only way a guy like the one you were impersonating would ask a camgirl to help another girl with her hoo-ha problems without making an advance on her was if he was gay, and you never sounded like a gay guy. Or a guy at all. You never, ever, sent a single chat message as the real guys did.
Theresa continued, “Then you come to me all weak and vulnerable asking for help and I’m like, ‘damn, this girl is so sweet and she helped me so much already, I’m going to go out on a limb and help her’. You know?”
“I do. Thanks, Theresa. I really appreciate your help,” Cat gushed.
Theresa shook her head, “Nah, I’m not helping you just because i'm nice. Which I am, mind you," She grinned. "When I stopped to think, ‘This is Catherine Wallenstein, the real deal, and she wants me to introduce her to the world of camming. Damn, I’m going to make a profit out of that girl’. But it’s not pimping or anything. The sites and agencies have a referral bonus program. If you let me introduce you to them, then you make big bucks showing that lean and gorgeous teenage body of yours, I get a big bonus. Depending on how well you do in your first month, I can earn thousands. Plus I can help a sister that’s down on her luck at the same time. Win-win, right?”
“I’m totally fine with that!” She grinned.
“And then when you get your heiress' millions of dollars back, you can come back to my shows and tip me.”
Cat leaned forward and tried to make a velvety voice, “Baby, I’m going to be your sugar momma if I get my money back.”
“Kya!” Theresa mockingly squealed. “Oh, boy, this is going to be so much fun. Look, I have to go to the studio to stream today’s show. Do you want to come with me? Meet the bitches, smell some pussy, see how things work behind the camera, get a feeling if it’s the right thing for you.”
“Sounds like a plan.”