Chapter Four

Cat

I quickly placed the last beer in the fridge and jumped up to deal with the persistent man before he caused a scene. "What can I get you," I said quickly, giving him my best smile.

"That's what I like to hear," he said, taking a seat at the bar. "How about a dance with this lovely blonde."

"Oh, that'd be nice, but I'm afraid I'm working right now. How about a beer?" I swiped one from the fridge, popping the cap as I handed it over to him.

That seemed to do the job. He took a swig and stepped down from the bar stool, wandering off toward the dance floor he slurred, "Later then."

Continuing to maintain my customer service smile, I turned to another customer. "What are you having?"

Shelle and I made a great team, blitzing through the line of never-ending customers. I was somewhat a pro at this by now, it came easier to me than being a high school student. Still, it was exhausting work. I took a swig of water and blotted the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.

"Doing alright their champ?" asked Shelle, sliding past me to grab an ice-bucket.

I flashed her a smile, following it with a wink. "Always."

She giggled like someone half her age, something that made he seem sweet and innocent. "Maybe you could take ten minutes out back and catch your breath."

"Really?" I checked the group hovering at the bar. None seemed to be in a hurry, chatting casually amongst themselves and bobbing their heads to the music. "You sure you can manage?"

"Sure she can," said a voice coming up behind me.

I turned. The boss. Mi'lady herself, if you were to take the whole bar name seriously. Vickie, if you knew her better.

"But I'm going to need you to clear some glasses out there," said Vickie as she waved a hand toward the centre of the room. "One of my glass collectors didn't turn up tonight so I need you to work the floor. I'll take over behind the bar."

"Yeah okay," I replied, catching Shelle's apologetic look as I stepped out from behind the bar.

"Hey," Vickie called, before swiftly pulling out a circular tray from beneath the bar. "You'll need this."

I grabbed the tray from her and headed out into the crowd. This was one of the other negative sides of the job. I didn't mind so much the bar work, the physical bar felt like a barrier between myself and the customers. But out on the floor, there was no avoiding the unwanted physical contact as sweaty bodies brushed up against each other. The beat of the music and the liquid courage moved them like slick eels writhing in a barrel. I wasn't a people person at the best of times, and this was not the best of times.

I cleared out the abandoned glasses from the nearest, easiest to reach tables, going back to the bar to dump them before tracking a course around the dance floor to the back of the room where the darkened booths were. The isolated section of the Velvet Room was where all sorts of debauchery was later disinfected at the end of the evening. Luckily, that was not my job. However, as I arrived tray in hand, I could quite clearly make out a man and woman getting better acquainted in one of the plush red booths. I covered my eyes with one hand, skilfully stacking my tray with the four empty glasses at their table before quickly moving along.

"Scarred for life," I thought, turning away and giving myself the miracle of sight again. There was nothing worse than watching two people swirl their tongues around the insides of each other's mouths, let alone whatever else they were doing.

"Heyyyy," slurred a man in another booth.

I glanced over and sighed. It was the suited man again.

He hoisted himself up from his seat, waggling his empty beer bottle at me as he approached. "It's my blonde beauty."

"Well that kind of makes me sounds like a horse, I don't think that's a compliment," I replied as he settled the bottle onto my tray.

"Sure it is, you've got your hair and that, you know."

"Right. You got me there."

"Anyways how about that dance," he said, then proceeded to display his skills in front of me which shall we say were unlikely to win any awards.

I slapped back on that customer service smile. "Sorry but I am still working," I said, unwilling to give this guy more of my time. As I turned to leave, I felt an unwelcome hand cupping my butt cheek.

"Where you going?" he asked, his breath hot against the back of my neck.

In one smooth, practiced move I twirled around, my free hand forming a fist and smacking my assailant right in the cheek. I quickly rebalanced my tray, careful to steady the glasses precariously wobbling from my sudden movement.

The man gave me a fierce look, clutching his reddening face in his hands. "You bitch!"

"Hey," I replied, still smiling. "I'd say a cheek for a cheek was pretty fair."

I left him there, speechless, and finished clearing the glasses. It was getting quieter now, I was able to get through the crowds with a lot less effort and soon dropped my final tray load with Shelle. "Kill me now," I exclaimed, letting all of the air escape my lungs in one long sigh. "That was awful."

"Honey, you just cost me a cover fee from a very angry man," said Vickie as she approached me with a scowl. "What the hell were you thinking punching a paying customer?"

"He copped a feel. He was lucky it was only one punch," I grimaced. "Not cool."

Vickie raised a single brow. "I pay you well right?"

"Yes," I replied, uncertain on where this was going.

"And I don't ask any questions about why a young girl like yourself would be wanting a job, even though most businesses out there would."

I nodded. "I'm grateful for that, I am but­–"

"No buts Honey. I have a business to run here and my clientele have certain expectations of how nice my girls are to them. I don't care if a guy wants to dirty dance all up on you, as long as he doesn't try and get inside you, he's welcome here, and you will continue to get paid. No questions asked." Vickie opened the till and pulled out a couple of notes, then handed them over. "Go home and cool off, your shifts over tonight. I expect you to come back on your next shift with an attitude change."

I bit my lip to keep from talking. I was mad, but not enough to lose this job. I needed it, warts and all. 

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