"May I speak to your manager?" Paul asked. The girl, who was also wearing green masquerade brought up her eyebrows in question. He shot her a smile. "I just want to tell him or her what great of a job you are doing."

"Oh," the girl let out a sigh. "I thought perhaps there was something wrong with your drink."

"No! It's all fine. You are lovely!" He said.

"Alright, give me a sec. I'll bring him along," the girl said. He took a look at her name tag, her name was Clara. Clara with a cute little Spanish accent and skin darker than his. He wished he could see the rest of her face but the masquerade was doing a good job at masquerading her, ha!

Paul looked down at his phone as it vibrated in his pocket.

Apple Core:

Ringo:
Nice
-peace and love 😎✌️💖🌟🎶☮️☮️

Stop staring at me, Ringo
Go play some poker

Ringo:
I'm not too great at poker
- peace and love 😎✌️💖🌟🎶☮️☮️

John:
Go play at some slot machines like a child

George:
Everyone leave my good ol pal alone

The text messages ended then. Paul put his phone away and wondered how Clara looked or where she was from originally. There were a lot of different places in the casino. Paul liked that, how cultures seemed to gather in one place to do one single thing: gamble. Ah, what a wonderful thing.

Clara returned a few minutes later, handing someone next to Paul a drink. She made herself over to Paul. "I'll walk you to his office now, if you are ready."

"Ah, sure, alright," Paul got up. He walked behind Clara and tried not to look at her tan legs as she walked. Clara has a brother and a sister and a mother and father, who wouldn't like it if they saw you looking at her like that, Paul reminded himself. They went down a long corridor, until Clara stopped.

She knocked on the door twice and walked in a small dim light office. "Mr. Patel, this is--"

Quick.

Quick!

"Carney," Paul said. "I'm James Carney."

"Mr. Carney, please come in," Mr. Patel said. He was a short stocky bald man. Clara walked away, closing the door. "Please take a seat."

James Carney did as told.

"Is there a problem with Clara?" He asked. Paul took off the masquerade, letting out a sigh. It was beginning to itch for some reason.

"No, she's sweetheart! Is there a way only she could serve me drinks for the rest of the night?" Paul asked.

The man stared at him, his hand on his chin. "That can be arranged, yes," the man licked his lips. "Of course, Clara would have to agree."

What?

Well, Paul supposed it made sense. She would be the only seeing him for the rest of the night. He resisted the urge of playing the Beatle card. If it didn't work, he began to debate, should he bring the others here too? But no, no, this was supposed to be a holiday. Paul was supposed to be having fun.

"Alright--" Paul nodded. "Are you sure you can't just give her the order? I'll give her great tips."

"No, sorry. Our cocktail waitresses are supposed to serve all clients. I'm doing you a favor as a fellow man to let her decide," Mr. Patel said.

Paul stood up. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Patel."

They shook hands and Paul wandered out of the room, getting lost on his way back.