Page 10 of Only Me
The lights are low as I stalk out into the main club again. I keep my eyes glued to the floor, not even allowing the stage and whoever might be there, in whatever state of dress they have progressed to in the performance, to enter my peripheral vision. I have no desire to see anyone but my Casey like that, and I won’t disrespect my woman by even accidentally seeing another woman naked.
Thankfully, the bar isn’t far from the hall back to the offices. I make a beeline over there, only bumping my shins into three chairs on the way. Not risking a glance up, I stare at the shining chrome bar top.
“You’re the new boss right?” A high-pitched voice on the other side of the bar asks.
“I am. Or at least half of the team. Casey is resting, so I’ll be taking her place as a server. Are you dressed?” I probably should have taken in more of the club when I came in, but my sole focus was getting Casey away from the handsy asshole, so I didn’t even notice if the bartender wore clothes or not.
By the sound of her almost hysterical laughter, I’m going to guess she is and she thinks it’s hilarious I would think otherwise. “Boss, no one wants me to take my clothes off, trust me.”
Secure in the knowledge that I can look up slightly; I take in the woman well into her fifties decked out in black trousers and a white button-down shirt.
“I’m Rose, I was friends with your uncle and his husband, they gave me this job when I got laid off a few years back. Good men, both of them.”Sadness creeps into her voice, and it’s at odds with the sexy music and bright lights around us, I almost laugh.
“Thanks, I’m hearing a lot of people say that. Makes me wish I had known my uncle.” I can’t dwell on that now. Not when I can still smell and taste my woman on my lips, and I have a job to do. “Well, put me to work.”
Quickly, Rose gives me a rundown of the floor, drawing a map on a napkin, so I don’t have to look up to find where I’m going. She gives me my first tray of drinks, and I set off for my first night as a waiter. It’s harder work than I expected, and I’m in work boots and jeans. I can’t imagine doing this in a short skirt and heels.
I get lots of comments from the men watching the show as I deliver drinks. Both because I make sure to keep my back to the stage as much as possible and look at their feet the rest of the time. And also, because I’m a dude delivering drinks to other dudes in a strip club. Even with as little experience as I have, I know that isn’t the norm.
From her perch behind the DJ booth, Zsa Zsa Grabmore makes me the butt of all her jokes between the dancers’ sets. “Farmer boy, fetch me a bucket of water, will you?” I don’t know why she keeps calling me that, or why she would need a bucket of water, but after the third time, Rose informs me it’s from a movie called The Princess Bride, and I should respond withas you wish.
At one point I almost bump into one of the robed dancers on her way back to the dressing room, and I blush so hard in embarrassment Zsa Zsa can’t stop laughing for the entire two minutes between sets. “What owner of a strip club refuses to look at the naked employees and blushes when he even has to talk to one of them to say excuse me?”
“The kind that’s respectful, both of the employees and the woman he loves. And one that will be signing your paycheck soon.” That seems to shut her up, and I’m left alone for the most part.
Soon an hour passes, my neck aches from holding it at an awkward position for so long, my arms are sore from carrying drink loaded trays around without stopping. Just as one table of men leaves, more seem to magically appear in their place. It’s like a never-ending parade of men and cash in this place. Immediately I start to see places where we can improve productivity. As I deliver drinks, I make mental notes to bring up with Casey later.
Twice I check on Casey, relieved to see her still fast asleep both times.
I’m shocked to find a table with a man and woman seated close to the stage when I come back. I can’t tell what she looks like since I refuse to look higher than her ankles, but she keeps laying her hand on my wrist as I deliver their drinks, which is annoying. But this is nothing compared with what the girls have to deal with, so I break the contact each time and get on with my duties.
Soon two more women show up and plant themselves at the bar, their backs to the stage.
I had no idea women frequented strip clubs. As a third takes a seat next to where I’m picking up a fresh round of drinks, I lean over the bar and beckon Rose. “Is this the usual crowd for a Thursday night?”
She laughs and shakes her head no. “I’m pretty sure word has gotten out that there is fresh meat here tonight, and I don’t mean on the stage.”
I have no idea what she means but put it out of my mind so I can concentrate on not tripping as I deliver drinks with my eyes glued to the tile floor.
“Hey, darling, can I get aSex on the Beach?” An older woman runs a sharp nail down my bicep as she places her order and I take a giant step back out of her reach.
“Sure.” Refusing to look at the woman, I walk away and place her order. But apparently, she doesn’t get the message, because when I come back, she touches my hand when I try to place her glass on the table. “Please do not touch me, ma’am.”
“Oh, I thought that rule only applied to the dancers.” I can hear the sneer in her voice as she references the hard-working women on stage.
“No. That goes for all employees here at the Pink Pony.” I go to walk away, but she slips a finger through one of my belt loops before I can and tugs me back. Not wanting to hurt her by pulling too hard, I stop but refuse to get any closer.
“According to Instagram, you aren’t an employee; you’re the owner. So, I think we can forget about those silly rules, don’t you?” She takes her finger from my belt loop and tries once more to touch my arm. I step back, still unwilling to meet this woman’s gaze.
“What are you talking about? I’m not even on Instagram.”
“Maybe not, but the official account for the club posted a photo of you forty-five minutes ago. Why do you think all these women are here?”
Without responding, I make my way back to the bar. “Rose, who runs the club’s Instagram page?”
She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes slip over to Zsa Zsa.Of course.
I’m about to give the Pink Pony’s DJ hell when a skinny arm snakes around my shoulder and a sickly-sweet perfume invades my nostrils. The woman from the table has no clue how to take no for an answer.
“Get your hands off my man unless you want to get your eyes scratched out.”
