Authors: Portia Moore
“A break? More like a vacation,” I chuckle taking the tray full of drinks from her. My customer ‘Extra Ice’ is the only one sitting at the table now. Her expression looks less than jovial. I smile hoping to lift her spirits a bit.
“Here are your drinks,” I say sitting them down.
“Thank you,” she replies, taking the glass of ice. She pours her beer over it, glancing up at me. “I’m probably the first person you’ve seen do this,” she laughs then sighs.
“It seems all my friends have abandoned me for the dance floor,” she explains, probably afraid of offending me.
“What a great birthday this turned out to be,” she mumbles before taking a sip of her beer.
“Happy birthday!” I say probably a little bit too enthusiastic.
“This one’s on the house.” I offer.
“Thank you.” She lifts her glass and goes back to getting acquainted with her drink.
I know the feeling of being in a place you’d rather not be. Anyway, it’s sometimes better not to think about it. I head back over to the bar. My watch informs me I have two hours left, which might as well be an eternity. It’s strange how I can be so bored in such an exciting atmosphere. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m always in this atmosphere. Out the corner of my eye I see Michael flirting with a petite redhead. He’s always flirting with a petite something. I was the petite brunette. I can’t believe I still care who he’s flirting with; maybe care is the wrong word, irritated. I’m irritated with the fact he’s flirting with other women.
“Hey L,” Angela pinches my side, and slides another drink slip to Steven who passes it to Michael since he’s standing there being worthless.
“Don’t take a second look,” she whispers in my ear before disappearing into the crowd. I realize I must have been staring.
“Hey, Mikey, why don’t you stop chatting and actually do some work since you’re here?” Angela leans across me and waves a drink slip at him. He shoots her a sarcastic smile and saunters over to us.
“Nice to see you, too,” he replies, looking over her slip but passes it back to Steven.
“Hey, Lauren, look what I have for you!” Trish, another waitress shouts, holding up a Long Island Iced Tea and showcasing it to me.
“What’s that?” I ask curiously.
“Compliments of a gentleman from VIP,” she smiles, handing the glass to me. I set it down. I make it a habit not to accept drinks from guys while working.
“Ooh, VIP. Now you have to take it,” Steven teases me with a wink.
“Isn’t it a bad policy to accept drinks from customers?” Michael butts in. We all stare at him in disbelief; he’s been known to accept a lot more than drinks from customers.
“Well, you know, Ryan expects us to be extra nice to VIP customers. Plus it is your favorite, Lauren,” urges Angela.
“The guy is a cutie, too,” Trish adds.
Michael’s glare is hard in my direction but totally having the opposite affect on me than he probably wants. Staring straight back at him, I moisten my lips, put them on the straw and suck up a good, long sip.
I turn back to Trish. “Tell him thank you, and that it’s my favorite.” The disappointment in Michael’s face makes me giddy.
“Oh, he knows. I told him. It’s his birthday too,” she adds before disappearing into the crowd.
“L, you should go tell him happy birthday,” Angela urges me with a nudge.
“I’m not doing that,” I say indignantly.
“Oh come on. Why not? A little flirting can do you some good?” she laughs.
“It’s desperate and unprofessional. I sent him my thanks for the drink. That’s all I’m doing,” I declare making my way from the bar.
I would rather work than hear her urging me to talk to some guy like she does every night.
I glance at my watch. It’s 1:30. My bed is calling. I hope my roommate Hillary isn’t home because when she is this time of night, she usually has a companion, and they make way too much noise. I’ve invested so much money in earplugs, it’s crazy. I put my on coat to leave, seeing my manager-Ryan heading my way —it’s too late to go in the other direction—well without being completely obvious.
“Lauren, I’m so glad I caught you,” he's beaming and his tone seems—dare I say?—nice. He’s hardly ever nice and I place a bet with myself he’s going to ask me to stay another hour.
“Hi, Ryan,” I reply warily, beginning to change into my flat shoes.
“Oh, you’re leaving,” he says with a pout resembling that of a two year old only not as cute.
“Yes, I’m off now,” I remind him praying he won’t ask me to stay, or worse, tell me to stay.
“Would you mind doing me a tiny favor?” he asks, walking over to me. I knew it was coming, I still haven’t learned to leave faster. What am I supposed to do, tell my boss no? My body screams hell yes! My mind directs me to smile weakly.
“Sure,” I give in with a sigh.
“A very good customer of mine wants to meet you. He’s been eye-humping you all night,” he explains while helping me take my coat off.
“What?” I snap, before even getting a chance to censor my tongue. He is my boss, and, as always, a little A-hole-ish, but who the hell does he think he is?
“Just say ‘hello’ and nothing else. He’s a reporter for
The Tribune
. He can bring a lot of exposure to the club,” he says urgently.
“I don’t know,” I do know. I don’t want to do it!
“It’s just a quick drink. It is his birthday after all, and the VIP room is filled with people. Just a drink.”
“If you’re too tired, maybe I’ll switch your shift. Maybe you’d rather have Monday night instead of this
tiring
Saturday shift,” he suggests slyly. That’s low. Monday is the absolute worst night to have in the club. It’s slow, fewer tips, and I have a class Tuesday mornings.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” I say, finally giving in. I hang my coat back up and start to follow him out, but he stops me at the door before I can even cross the threshold.
“How about I give you time to put on your other shoes and let your hair back down?” he winks. I bite my lip in frustration.
Fuck you, Ryan
. I go back to my locker to get my heels.
“I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes,” he smiles and before leaving and pops his head back in the doorway. “A little lip gloss wouldn't hurt either,” he quips before disappearing.
Jerk-off.
I slip out of my gym shoes and let my ponytail back down. I purposefully don't put on any lip gloss. Just a quick drink then bed, I tell myself and try not feel like such a pushover.
***
The VIP room is buzzing with people but empty compared to the other floors. With a three bottle purchase for a table it makes sense though. Dan the VIP security guy is standing at the entrance. He’s pretty intimidating for anyone wanting to start any issues. At almost 6’4 at least 290 pounds and a headlock that have brought many to their knees he's a good guy to have on your side. He’s flirting with two girls who are trying to talk their way in for free but he gives me a quick nod of acknowledgment. I take a deep breath and remind myself I need my job. Having a drink with a guy for my boss isn’t that bad. Wait, that even sounds wrong. Being pimped out was not apart of my job description. I hope this guy isn’t a complete asshole drunk or sober. Even if he isn’t I hate the dating scene. I’ve had two serious boyfriends: Daniel, my high school sweetheart, and Michael, who as it turned out wasn’t that serious with me after all.
I’ve been on a handful of dates with guys since I moved here from Michigan. Many of which turned out to be complete disasters. I’ve grown to hate the whole situation; the obligatory awkward conversations and my date’s disappointment when I don’t put out after the first date. The guys I run into are nothing like the princes in the stories my aunt read to me when I was a little girl. My adult theory –The Prince Charming myth is the other curse God created to punish Eve and every other woman for biting that stupid apple. Looking around the room I spot Ryan sitting in the corner talking to a short, blonde woman accompanied by a man in blue dress shirt and black slacks.
Ryan sees and waves me over. As I get closer to the guy, I have to agree that Trish was right—he’s cute, in an
Abercrombie and Fitch
sort of way, dirty blonde hair and green eyes, even a coy smile, but that still does doesn’t mean I like being coerced into talking to him. When I reach the table Mr.
Abercrombie
and Ryan stand up while the woman just smiles in my direction.
“Lauren, I would like you to meet Jason Daniels. He’s doing a story for The Tribune’s entertainment column. And this is his partner, Marie.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jason shakes my hand, a huge grin on his face.
“Very nice to meet you,” he repeats again, almost nervously. After a few awkward seconds we all sit down.
“How about I have Diana make you one of my favorite drinks, Marie?” Ryan asks gesturing towards the VIP area of the bar. I keep myself from rolling my eyes, I guess he wants Jason and I to have alone time because Ryan can easily have Diana at our table in less than a minute with just a gesture.
“I would love that,” she links her arm between his and leaves me and Jason alone. He seems to be tongue-tied at the moment; awkward conversation avoided maybe?
“Would you like to sit down?” he finally says. Crap, no such luck, he’s not mute. I smile graciously as I sit in the plush leather booth.
“Did you like the drink I sent you?” he smiles.
“Yes, it’s my favorite.” I look down, trying to avoid the awkward silence filling the air. “Even though I’m the one that should be buying you the drink, I hear it’s your birthday.” I say with forced friendliness.
“Yeah. The big 2-4,” he laughs.
“How does it feel?”
“Not too different from 23.” He laughs and sips his drink. “Oh, would you like something, another Long Island—?” he starts, but something has caught his attention across the room, maybe it’s his girlfriend. This is probably just wishful thinking on my part but with my luck who knows.
“Would you excuse me for a minute?” he says leaving me to sit alone. I wonder if this fulfills the requirement of a drink, as far as Ryan’s concerned. I wonder who he was looking for —I guess the blonde who was with him, maybe more than just friends? Drumming my finger on the table I wait for my new friend to come back.
Ryan arrives a few minutes later and I’m still at the table alone I see he’s the same.
“Where did Jason go?” I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to be babysitting him.
“Umm, I don’t know. He told me he’d be right back in a minute. Look Ryan, I have an exam I have to study for this weekend and I really need to get some sleep,” I explain, getting up to leave.
“Wait! Please, just five more minutes, I’ll go find him,” he begs holding my arm.
“Fine,” I relent.
“I’ll be out on the terrace while you look for him,” I compromise.
“Okay. Back in five minutes,” he promises before hurrying off and I sneak away to the terrace of the club. It’s my favorite place in Chicago. It makes me feel free when the wind blows just the right way and the lights of the city sparkle in the night. It reminds me why I'm not in my old comfort zone in Michigan. This may be my lucky day since there are only two couples making out in the corner, it’s usually more. I stroll to the other side so they can have their privacy. You can see all of Chicago from right here. I could stand here for hours just looking out over the city.
I glance at my watch and notice that it has been around five minutes. I decide to head back to VIP before Ryan has a panic attack. Right as I’m making my way back into the club, Michael heads towards me.
“This must be my lucky day,” I mumble sarcastically to myself, but loud enough that he can hear me.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks as I walk past him.
“Actually, I’m meeting someone.” I smirk at him before continuing on my way.
“What? Who? I mean you just got off,” he stumbles over his words. I guess I surprised him. I just smile adding a shrug but he calls after me, “Well, when you’re not busy, I need to talk to you.” I don’t even look back.
What Michael doesn't understand is I don’t care what he needs. He lost that privilege when I caught him banging some girl in the storage room of the club. He didn’t even have the decency to screw her in his car like a respectful douche bag would do.
I’m seeing red as I make my way down to the VIP room. I’m in total disbelief at Michael’s audacity and sudden resurgence of trying to weasel his way back into my life that I don’t even notice the person in front of me that I crash into. A second later I feel cool liquid spread down my blouse, best day ever!
“I’m soooo sorry,” I say embarrassed. This is completely my fault and I’m even more furious that it’s Michael that caused me to do it.
“It’s okay,” a deep voice replies and it sends a shiver up my spine.
“I’m sure your shirt costs a lot more than this drink,” it says again, and I’m afraid to look up, only hearing my heart beat in my ears. When I work up the courage to finally see whose voice is causing my heart to try to escape my chest I find a tall, ebony-haired stranger looking down at me.
And God he has the most beautiful pair of gray eyes and a amazing smile that’s housed by the most perfect lips in the history of man kind. I mentally remind myself not to swallow my tongue and breath. Is he real? Or have I been knocked unconscious and being fanned with a cover of GQ magazine. This encounter will probably turn out to just to be a figment of my imagination.
The more I look, no stare. I'm actually staring now, he has to be an illusion. I search for a flaw taking in every inch of him, from his chiseled features, to his chocolate brown hair falling right over his eyebrows, strong broad shoulders are hidden beneath a dark gray blazer and black fitted shirt. No flaw found. He's unsettling beautiful.
“I-I’m sorry. I can be so clumsy at times,” I choke out internally cheering my mind for taking control again.
“Let me get you something for that,” he responds, disappearing into the crowd. I panic, what if he doesn’t come back? What if he
does
come back. That scares me even more but a minute later he's here again with a cloth in hand and I’m still not prepared to think like a civilized person instead of a cave woman.