Free Vampire in Paradise by Sandra Hill Page A

tropical trees and bushes, but some were luxurious and bigger than others. She would have expected no more than this for employees. And it really was nice and sunny with white wicker furniture made comfy by bright floral cushions and overhead ceiling fans. There was a tiny kitchenette, just enough for a coffeemaker, a small mini fridge, and a counter with two stools. And one bathroom, though spacious, to be shared by four women! If it weren’t for this being serious business to earn money for her daughter, Marisa would have considered it a wonderful vacation spot.
    Tiffany, wearing a pink halter top, white short-shorts, and high white wedgie sandals, fast-walked with mincing steps over to her and Inga, who stood in the bedroom doorway. She gave them both warm hugs, as if they were longtime friends.
    Good heavens! Does she buy Shalimar by the gallon?
    Marisa realized suddenly that despite the bimbo attire, Tiffany resembled no more than a girl trying to appear grown-up. Like one of those kids dolled up in a grotesque fashion in child beauty pageants. Really, Tiffany was to be pitied more than criticized. Marisa vowed to be more tolerant and to try to steer Tiffany on a different path.
    “This is Doris Hunter,” Tiffany said as another woman, who’d been standing out on the small patio admiring the view, came inside. “Doris, these are mah friends, Marisa Lopez and Inga Johanssen. Marisa and Inga will be waitressin’ in the Phoenix Restaurant, Inga will also waitress in Buster's, and Marisa will work as a massage therapist in the health spa, too.” Marisa had to give Tiffany credit for remembering their names and jobs. Maybe she isn’t as dumb as she appears to be.
    Doris, a short, plain, thirtysomething woman in a tan T-shirt and cargo shorts with leather docksiders, stared at them for a long moment, as if taking mental notes, or something. “Hello.”
    “Are you a hairstylist, too?” Marisa asked, without thinking. If she was, Doris, with her short butch haircut, clearly a barbershop creation, was a walking advertisement for why not to use her services.
    “No, I’m going to be a maid. No, not the French maid kind.”
    Marisa and Inga exchanged looks. That was the last thing they’d expect this woman to do. Marisa would wager her best Louis Vuitton knockoff that Doris was gay. Not that lesbians couldn’t be French maids, she self-corrected herself.
    “I’ll be cleaning rooms,” Doris continued. “And that’s all.”
    Okaaay. That’s emphatic enough. Tiffany must have given her the Becky Bliss pitch. Millions to be made just from lying down, legs to Manhattan and L.A., knees to the sun, dollar signs dancing in her head. Mansions, Jacuzzis, blah, blah.
    “Hope you don’t mind my barging in. Tiff said you needed a foursome, and—”
    “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Inga spoke up now. “I might look like a tart at times, but I’m hardly past the twosome stage.”
    Doris laughed, a deep, husky guffaw.
    Tiffany’s brow furrowed for a moment before she giggled. “Oh you!” She playfully jabbed Inga in the upper arm with a fist. “That’s not what Doris meant. Besides, mah boyfriend Tee-Beau would have a fit.”
    “Holy moly! Your boyfriend is Tebow? Tim Tebow?” Inga gasped out.
    “You are such a kidder, Inga.” Tiffany pursed her crimson lips into a fake moue of chiding. “Beau is from Loo-zee-anna. To the Cajuns, Tee-Beau means Little Beau. Not that Beau is little now, but he was when he was a chile.”
    Marisa homed in on something else. “Doesn’t your boyfriend mind you trying to break into adult films?”
    Tiffany shook her head, causing the blonde curls to bob. “Thass jist bizness. Ah wouldn’t be enjoyin’ myself or anythin’. Ah’m good at fakin’ it. All women are at one time or another, right?”
    “Absolutely!” Doris piped in.
    Something about Doris seemed off to Marisa, and it wasn’t her sexual orientation. Marisa wasn’t quite sure what it was. Maybe it was her eyes, behind