Page 108 of Ewan

I push the door open, fighting the cold, and the first impression is not that bad.

I look into a small waiting area with a sleek desk, fresh flowers, and a hostess dressed like me when I go to work. She wears a tailored dress that falls below the knee, her naturally curly hair framing her face.

She wears a smile, and I wish I could be her for a moment andhave her job this evening instead of mine.

“Yes?” she says as I run my eyes around the homey decor.

It’s nothing like I imagined––a loud, noisy place, alive but stinking of smoke and hard liquor.

“Hi. I’ll be working here tonight. Samantha sent me.”

Her face lights up.

“Oh. Sammy. Sure. You need to see Deacon first.”

“Yes. Deacon. I’ve heard about him. Should I wait here? Go in the back?”

She flashes a smile.

“Follow me, please.”

She starts talking as soon as she pivots and leads me inside. Not much registers with me as I politely nod at her words but mostly focus on the place.

The waiting area opens into a spacious room with twelve large tables, as well as several booths and private nooks.

Hopefully, I won’t dance in one of those.

It’s not my favorite part of this job.

Money is good––don’t get me wrong––but not all customers can suppress their urge to touch the dancers.

Some dancers let them do that for a fee. Not me, though. That’s where I draw the line.

I know these men pay handsomely to have their favorite dancers shake their hips for them and even more.

I know they have the expectation of privacy, and sometimes, they get their happy endings without a problem.

I will stay away from those nooks.

That much I can tell.

The bar is clean and tidy, and a couple of women wearing skimpy costumes sips colorful drinks.

“They work here,” the woman says.

As I look around, I notice a few male customers having drinks around the tables.

There’s nothing unusual about the establishment.

The servers wear dresses similar to the one the hostess is wearing, which appears to be some type of uniform.

Some of my apprehension wears off as she pulls a curtain to the side and invites me into a corridor that snakes around backstage and goes to the main office.

A door is slightly open, and light tumbles out when we stop in front of it.

The woman knocks before a male voice answers monotonously.

“Yeah.”

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