Page 8 of Find Me

CHAPTER 4

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I count my tips in the back seat of a taxi as it drives towards Ivy Lane, my uniform shoved in my bag and my spare outfit now on. The measly twenty-seven dollars in tips I hold in my hands only confirms that I’m making the right choice going to this interview; I need a better job, or there’s no way that I’m going to be able to afford rent for much longer. My shift was so slow that I was able to take my notebook and pen and scribble down some numbers, calculating my current income and expenses. It didn’t take more than a second for me to decide to call a cab once my shift finished.

The taxi slows as it turns into a gravel parking lot with an old, solitary building in the distance. The building is impressive—clearly an old Victorian manor with ivy covering the brickwork.

That explains the name, I think to myself, noticing the driver glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Bright letters are displayed above the entrance, spelling out Poison Ivy in bold colors as if beckoning people to enter.

My anxiety grows as we approach the building, and I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans.

“Do you want me to wait?” the cab driver asks, a concerned look on his face. I look between him and the meter, the price of my taxi increasing by the second. He meets my gaze with a sympathetic smile. “I can stop the meter for a bit, I was going to take a break anyway.”

“Thanks,” I say meekly, “I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.” And with that, I exit the cab, making my way towards the intimidating building. My heels crunch on the gravel underneath my feet as I pass between two large stone lions guarding the front entrance. I stand outside a heavy oak door and take a deep breath, reaching for the handle. The door yields to the pressure of my touch. The door booms behind me as it clicks shut, and I take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting ahead of me. I’m stunned by the interior as I look around.

“Rhett wasn’t lying about it being an upscale place,” I murmur under my breath. The decor shows no hint of the historic exterior; instead, black leather chairs with brass embellishments, dark marble flooring, and ornate oak tables meet my gaze.

I walk further into the club, deserted except for a guy sitting at a table near the entrance with a bored expression on his face. He’s wearing a black shirt with ‘security’ written in bold white lettering. With his huge build and imposing features, I can’t help but think that he wouldn’t look out of place in a WWE ring. He looks up as I approach him. He’s not unattractive, but something about him is unnerving, and the smile he gives me as I approach doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hi, I’m Evi. I have an interview with Mike at three…” I half ask, half tell the intimidating man, trailing off nervously.

“Oh, right, Mike told me he was expecting someone this afternoon.” He gives me a look up and down, his gaze briefly pausing on my necklace and the hickies beside it, courtesy of Rhett. He stares at me for a few more seconds before getting up and gesturing for me to follow him. I walk quickly, trying to keep up with his large stride, as I follow him further into the club, and I can’t help but feel distrust for this stranger I just met.

The entrance opens to the main area of the club, with a dozen round tables dispersed throughout. More black leather chairs group around the tables, all pointed towards a stage equipped with three poles spaced evenly apart. We pass by the stage and walk towards the far end of the room, stopping in front of an imposing oak bar.

“Have a seat,” the security guard says, motioning to a bar stool, “I’ll go get Mike.”

“Thank you,” I say, but he’s already walking away.

Scanning the room, I pull myself up onto the tall stool and rest against the smooth wooden bar. The alcohol on display is impressive, and each bottle that lines the clear glass shelves is worth hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars. It seems as if no expense has been spared in the design of this place. I shift my attention to the stage behind me. The light reflects off of the brass poles, and I can imagine them dazzling at night when the spotlights shine towards them.

I inhale deeply, breathing in the smell of leather and mahogany from my surroundings. My nerves start to settle as I exhale, and I realize that if I can ignore the poles and the stage, this place isn’t too different from a regular bar.

It’s not long before a portly man comes bustling towards me.

“You must be Evi, I’m Mike, and it’s nice to meet you,” he says pleasantly.

His demeanor catches me off guard, his welcoming smile and the warmth in his eyes vastly different from the security guard who first greeted me. Mike is older, perhaps in his late fifties, with graying hair and wrinkles adorning his face.

He heaves himself onto a bar stool and looks mildly out of breath from this short burst of activity.

“So, Evi,” he starts enthusiastically, “I was quite happy to receive your application. We’ve been down a bartender for weeks now, and the others are getting quite tired of picking up the extra shifts…” He looks at me, and I nod eagerly to show I’m paying attention.

He clears his throat before continuing. “I saw on your application that you have experience waitressing. What was that like?” he asks, fishing a pen and small notepad out of his pocket.

I fill Mike in about my job at the diner, trying to put a positive spin on my work there and how I might use what I’ve learned behind the bar.

“It doesn’t get too complicated here; most guys only want beer or spirits, but it does get busy, and we’re open late. I’ll need you five nights a week from 8p.m. to 3a.m., do you think you can handle that?” he asks, his tone serious. Whether he’s desperate for me to take this job or is worried I won’t be able to handle the hours, I don’t know.

“I’ll be fine; I’m used to working late nights,” I lie easily.

“The pay for bartenders is twenty-five an hour plus tips, paid in cash.” He pauses, and I do a quick calculation in my head, realizing just how much more I could earn here than at the diner.

Mike looks at me before continuing to scrawl something on his notepad, his pen scratching against the paper. “The last girl we hired was worn out after a few weeks, so I need to hire someone who won’t quit on me.”

“I can work whenever you need me.” I jump in quickly. “To be honest, I need the money, and I’ll take whatever shifts you’re willing to give me.”

He smiles at me for a moment before slapping his hands on his knees.

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