Free 24/7 by Yolanda Wallace Page A

today, the roster might fill up before she had a chance to add her name to the list.
    On her way through the main bar, she noticed a long line in front of the How to Make the Perfect Margarita station. Aurora waved her over.
    “Are the drinks really that good?” Finn asked. “It’s standing room only in here.”
    “They are the bomb, but they’re also the only game in town. The bartenders, towel girls, servers, maids, security guards, and groundskeepers are on strike. They walked off the job half an hour ago. Brilliant strategy, really. The hotel’s completely full. If the manager wants to keep the guests happy, he has no choice but to cave to the employees’ demands. This disruption had better not last long. Otherwise, we’ll have to fend for ourselves.”
    “We’re lesbians,” Finn said. “We’re used to that. The police officers in attendance can handle security; the doctors, nurses, and paramedics can run the infirmary. I haven’t run into a bartender yet, but I’m sure we could find plenty of volunteers to fill the position.”
    “What can you do?”
    As she mentally ran through the list of jobs that would need to be done in the workers’ absence, Finn realized she wasn’t qualified to fill most of them. Her skills were creative, not practical.
    “I’m only good for providing comic relief.” Often at her own expense. “Or maybe I could be the staff photographer.”
    “Every lesbian with a digital camera wants that job,” Aurora said, “me included. Think about it. You spend three months in paradise—or however long these gigs usually last before the resort owners ship you off to your next assignment. You wander around taking pictures of beautiful, half-dressed tourists all day, put the pictures in a keepsake package, and sit back while people pay you through the nose for capturing their vacation memories while they were having too much fun to do it for themselves. Girl, we got this. The workers can strike as long as they want.”
    “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade, right?”
    “I’d prefer a lemon drop martini, but to each her own. And this will do in a pinch.” Aurora took a sip from her salt-rimmed glass. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
    “But hopefully not here,” Finn said. “I need to get to the excursion office before it closes. Or are they on strike, too?”
    “The excursion group has a separate contract with the hotel. You should be fine. Which trip are you thinking about signing up for?”
    Finn had passed by the excursion office so many times as she wandered through the resort over the past three days she had practically memorized the group’s offerings. The jungle adventure that included a climb to the top of the tallest Mayan monument in the Yucatán Peninsula, followed by lunch on the beach in Tulum, and a swim in an underground river. The trip to the ancient city of Ek’ Balam, the capital of the former Talol kingdom. The lobster cruise to Isla Mujeres. The shopping excursion to Playa del Carmen in the heart of the Mayan Riviera. And so on and so on.
    “I want to see the pyramids in Chichén Itzá. They’re considered one of the Seven Wonders of the modern world.”
    She had never seen the pyramids in person and, since the editors of Bon Voyage didn’t like to explore the same area twice, she didn’t know when or if she would have the chance again.
    “It’s now or never,” she said to herself as she pushed the glass door open and walked into the excursion office.
    “How may I help you today?” a woman with curly brown hair and a French accent asked as she rooted through a box of pamphlets advertising the “once-in-a-lifetime” opportunity to swim with dolphins in a nearby aquarium. Her name tag read Veronique.
    “I want to sign up for Thursday’s trip to Chichén Itzá. It’s not full, is it?”
    “Almost, but I think we have room for one more. Let me check the list. We limit these trips to a maximum of forty people in the interest of time