Norah Pruitt really hated entitled people. And her day had been full of them.

“I’m cursed,” she said to herself. “I should have just stayed home. No one is tipping for shit.”

Norah had been a limousine driver (or chauffeur as her boss insisted she refer to herself) for a year now and she was over it. Some days were fantastic. She’d pick up excited people at the airport from places like Cincinnati, Dallas, Chicago, or Tampa. Everyone was excited to be in Las Vegas, where anything was possible.

They’d smile as she swung their massive suitcases into the trunk of her town car, always chatty, always wanting to know the secrets to all that Sin City held; as if Norah must know the dirt on everything, as if she was only driving a limousine because she had nothing better to do. On her off time she must always be counting her constant winnings.

As if.

“What casino do you live in?” a middle aged man from Akron would ask, completely serious.

“I don’t live in a casino,” Norah would say, politely. “There are some beautiful neighborhoods in Las Vegas.”

Not that I live in any of them, she thought.

“Do you gamble a lot?” a woman from Raleigh would ask.

Norah would shake her head. “No, not much of a gambler.”

“Do you know any hookers?” A doughy-faced twenty-something jackass from Los Angeles would ask. “That’s legal here, right? Are all the girls here prostitutes?”

Norah would shift uncomfortably in her seat. “Actually, that’s a common misconception. Prostitution isn’t legal here in Clark County.”

But the guy and his friends weren’t listening. They were too busy consuming vodka and Red Bulls in the back of the stretch she sometimes had to drive, high-fiving one another while chanting.

“Vegassssss! We’re gonna get so fucked up in Vegassssss!”

They’d always be on their way to the Palms. Or Caesars. Maybe the Hard Rock. Trying to live out their own version of The Hangover. It was pathetic.

Norah knew it was part of the gig. She was a cog in the well-oiled machine of this town, a bit part in everyone’s Vegas fantasy. And for the most part, she played that role very well. She was beautiful, knowledgeable, and always smiling. She didn’t judge the people she drove. They were here to be versions of themselves that they were too chicken-shit to be back in their hometowns. She understood that.

And as long as they tipped her, she didn’t care. She’d play along.

But today they weren’t tipping, and it was pissing her off.

Her first ride of the day had been doctors, in Vegas for a conference of some sort, staying way out at Red Rock. They were heading to the airport and had requested she pick them up in the stretch. Not a problem.

Like most doctors, they hadn’t been big on conversation. That was fine too. They’d had minimal luggage, which was a plus. The airport was about a thirty-minute ride with the traffic on the 215. She’d taken them straight to departures, hoisted their bags out of the trunk, and wished them safe travels.

They’d all avoided eye contact once they were out of the car, a move she knew all too well. People felt guilty when they knew they weren’t going to tip.

One of them handed her some crumped bills. She didn’t look at them until she was back in the car.

Two dollars. On a sixty-dollar fare. From anesthesiologists that made a few hundred thousand dollars a year.

She sighed. Oh well. Off to the next one.

She staged at the Venetian, hoping for a ride, but all she got was Felix, the creepiest doorman in town.

Since things were quiet, he took advantage of the downtime to rap on Norah’s window and lean inside when she rolled it down, gnawing on his ever-present toothpick and practically drooling over her, as he did all the female cab and limo drivers. He was a sweaty pig, one who’d had several complaints for his aggressive behavior toward women, but in Vegas knowing the right people could keep you out of just about any jam you managed to get yourself in. Felix’s sister was married to a Venetian executive, so his lecherous behavior went unchecked, save for the occasional warning letter.

When she’d had enough of his “compliments” and suggestions as to how a pretty girl like her could supplement her income, she faked having gotten a call and rolled off the property and south on Las Vegas Boulevard making a mental note to avoid the Venetian unless she was picking up a charter there.

At the Bellagio she’d taken four sorority girls to the outlet mall at the end of Las Vegas Boulevard. All had Chanel bags, fresh blow outs, and red bottom soles on their stilettos. They’d split the cost among themselves, handing her over cash that covered only the fare.

No tip.

As they teetered away, she wanted to scream at them to get a taxicab next time, but no. That’s not how it was done.

Hopefully other rides would make up for them.

But it had been one of those days where she’d continued to get people who wanted the limo experience, but weren’t interested in paying the limo price. A married couple from Jersey actually tried to get a discount when she dropped them off.

“This limo smells like cigarettes,” the bloated husband had said. He was sweating on the curb as his wife looked away, unable to deal with what Norah could only assume was his typical cheapskate behavior. “I don’t think we should have to pay full price.”

Norah had driven them for over three hours and neither had mentioned a smell. They’d gone as far as Hoover Dam and back. Besides, she didn’t allow smoking in her car. So she knew it was bullshit.

“We don’t offer discounts,” Norah calmly said. “I’m sorry you weren’t happy with your experience.”

He’d muttered some expletives under his breath and thrown cash at her, walking away, his wife following after him.

Five-dollar tip. Sigh.

At that point, Norah was done. Some days you were hot and other days you were definitely not.

She’d gassed up the limousine and dropped it off at the yard of the company she drove for, Naked City Limo and Cab.

It was time to call it a day.

* * *

Norah lived in an apartment off Tropicana and Jones with her roommate Hadley, who was a cocktail waitress at Mandalay Bay. They’d met when both were underclassmen at UNLV. Neither had finished college, but they’d stayed in touch through the years and when Norah found herself in need of a roommate, Hadley fit the bill perfectly. It was definitely better than a random crazy on Craigslist.

It was around dinner time when Norah walked in the door. Hadley was sitting on her yoga mat in the middle of their tiny living room, stretching.

“Good morning!” Hadley called to her. “You’re home early.”

Hadley’s shift didn’t start until after nine, so this really was morning as far as she was concerned.

“Yeah, well,” Norah sighed, flopping down on the cheap futon that they called a couch. “It was unbearably slow. It actually cost me money to work today. So I bailed.”

“Can’t blame you,” Hadley said as she stood up, balancing on one bronzed leg like a flamingo, her hands together in front of her buxom chest. “How’s my tree pose?”

“Great,” Norah said. “You’re really sticking to this yoga thing.”

“It centers me,” Hadley said, closing her eyes. “I’ll need a lot of fucking Namaste to deal with the drunk losers at work tonight. They’re getting really grabby these days. Really pisses me off.”

“I know,” Norah said. “I think we’re getting too old for these Vegas gigs. It was fun when we were twenty-two. Now that we’re pushing thirty, I’m just kind of done with the whole scene. I need to get an office job or something. That scumbag doorman I was telling you about from the Venetian was practically jacking off in the window of my car today. I should have run over his foot.”

Hadley opened her eyes, but still held her pose. “But remember, cubicles are hell too. Remember all the office jobs you had before this? You hated them all. At least with your job now, every day is different. You never know who’s going to climb into your limo. It could be the man of your dreams!”

Norah laughed. “You always say that. So the man of my dreams is going to fall in love with the limo driver? This isn’t one of your romance novels, Hadley.”

“Don’t hate me for being a romantic,” Hadley said, going from tree pose to warrior stance. “My foolish dreams are what get me through the day.”

Norah smiled. Hadley was a dreamer, and Norah had always liked that about her. Hadley was also drop dead gorgeous and could have her pick of anyone she wanted. She was bright, sweet, and had basically zero emotional baggage. Norah envied that.

“You’re my favorite little optimist,” Norah replied. “Don’t ever change.”

“I’ll try not to,” Hadley said, standing up. She put her hands together and bowed at Norah, making her laugh. “I’m feeling so Zen now. Time for a shower.”

Hadley patted Norah’s head as she walked past her toward her bedroom.

Of all the things that had gone wrong over the last couple of years, at least she had Hadley. Sometimes all a girl needed to get through the tough patch was a great friend.