Page 11 of Find Me

I nod, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Thanks, Greg,” I say as I look to the guy beside him.

“Hey, I’m Toni,” he says, breaking out into a huge smile, “it’s nice to meet you.” He reaches towards me to shake my hand, his palm rough and callused against mine. His skin is darker than the wood door behind him, and his smile is contagious. He’s well-built, though leaner than Greg, and the warmth in his dark brown eyes is undeniable.

“Toni, can you show Evi to her locker? Here’s the key,” Greg says, tossing a key to Toni, who in turn gestures for me to follow him.

Poison Ivy is a different place after the sun sets. The black floor shimmers under the dim lighting, reminding me of the surface of a lake on a calm night, and shadows hide the corners of the room. The place is alive, surging with raw energy and excitement. Music and chatter fills the space. It takes both my eyes and ears a moment to adjust to everything around me.

We make our way past the stage, where a svelte girl with long blonde hair grinds against one of the poles, naked except for a thong. She gives Toni a wink as he walks by. Toni smiles in return as desire briefly flashes across his face.

We walk into the locker room, the bright light blinding compared to that of the club. He shows me towards the lockers and gives me a key.

“Yours is number fourteen,” he says simply. “Make sure you keep your key safe cause I don’t have a spare. I don’t know if Mike mentioned it, but you’re free to keep your phone on you during your shift, just make sure you get your work done and no one is waiting for a drink.” He continues his speech. “You’ll always be bartending with someone, and never on your own. If you’re working a private party, make sure there’s always another staff member with you, at all times.” He continues seriously, “And never, under any circumstances, have sex with the clients. There are too many undercover cops around, not to mention you’ll be fired on the spot if Mike finds out.” He stops mid-sentence to look at me, my face not hiding the shock I feel at his words.

“I would never—” I stammer, but he cuts me off.

“It’s not that I think you’re going have sex with them,” he says mildly, “but sometimes they offer good money, and it can be tempting for you bartenders, especially since you won’t be making nearly as much as the girls on stage.”

“Oh.”

“Put your stuff in the locker and get behind the bar. Alex will give you a rundown of how things work out there. I’ll be out front with Greg if you need anything. Goodluck,” he says, and smiles at me briefly before turning around and walking out the door, back into the noisy club.

I take a moment to breathe, trying to calm my racing pulse. I’m nervous. What if I’m not cut out for this job after all? I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

I can do this.

I put my purse into my locker, tucking the key in my bra for safekeeping, my dress lacking the practicality of pockets. There’s a mirror on the back of the door, and I take one last look at myself before stepping out into the club. The blonde girl is no longer on stage; instead, a woman with fiery red hair has taken her place. The way she moves is mesmerizing, and it takes me a minute to remember I’m supposed to be behind the bar.

I walk away from the stage towards the bar, where a woman with curly blonde hair and a bright smile is rushing around, grabbing glasses, pouring drinks, and talking to guys who are waiting patiently for drinks. She makes it look easy, flawlessly doing everything at once without so much as breaking a sweat. Thanks to Mike’s warning, I’m not shocked when I notice what she’s wearing: A black balconette bra with a large satin bow on the front and frilly underwear to match.

She spots me hovering at the end of the bar and comes over to me, her smile broadening by way of greeting.

“Hi, I’m Alex!” she says happily, holding out a tattooed hand for me to shake. I take it happily, instantly relieved to be working beside someone so friendly.

“We’re going to keep it simple tonight, since it’s your first night here,” she says. “We’ll stay behind the main bar, so you can get an idea of what it’s like out here.” I get a better look at her as she’s talking and notice delicate tattoos scattered in various locations across her body. She’s simply breathtaking, and noticing how the men sitting at the bar stare at her, I can tell they would agree with me.

We move behind the bar, and she shows me how to work the cash register, where the drink list is kept, and the prices for everything, while simultaneously chatting up the customers and filling drink orders.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” she says after she feels I’ve spent enough time watching her. She turns to the men at the bar, giving them a generous view of her chest as she leans towards them, their eyes tracking every move she makes.

“Take it easy on her, guys; it’s her first time.” She winks.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Alex, we’ll take good care of her!” a man shouts back, eliciting a roar of laughter from the men around him.

“I’ll have a beer, babe. Make it a Bud Light,” one says kindly. I get him his order, my movements slow and deliberate as my heart pounds nervously in my chest, and I place the cold bottle on the wooden bar in front of him. He hands me a fifty, and I quickly calculate his change, his eyes never leaving me throughout the whole exchange. I rack my brain quickly, double-checking my math and hoping I didn’t mess up, shifting nervously as I hand him his change.

“Thanks, babe,” he says with a wink, handing me a ten-dollar bill as a tip. I beam with pride, giving him my thanks before taking another order. The last few weeks have been eye-opening for me, and now, down to my last few pennies, a ten-dollar tip seems like a lot of money.

The night flows on smoothly, and each guy is the same. Asking for a drink, usually something simple, and occasionally striking up a conversation or commenting on my appearance. It’s so busy I barely realize there are naked girls on the stage, and to my relief, this really doesn’t feel much different from waitressing.

Sometime around midnight, the redhead dancer I saw earlier comes up to the bar, wearing a sheer robe over her lingerie.

“Hey, girl! Can you get me some water? I’m parched! Oh, and a shot of tequila, you know, to make this night exciting!” she says with a smile. “My stage name is Red, by the way.”

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