Lacey went to the rack of shoes next to the costumes and found my size. “The heel isn’t too high, so they should be comfortable to work in. Comfortable-ish, anyway.”
“Thanks.” I hid behind the rack of costumes and changed, putting on the stockings and garter belt. Everything seemed to fit, and I stepped out so Lacey could judge me.
“Turn,” she said.
I did.
She fiddled with some of the fabric around my middle, tugging here and there, but she nodded. “Looks good. Let’s do your hair and makeup, and then you can see the final effect. I’ll show you how to do it so you can manage on your own next time.”
An hour later, I had on more makeup than I’d ever worn in my life, and my long hair was sleek and tamed into waves and curls, the hat perched at an angle on my head.
“You’ll do,” Lacey said with a grin.
“I look like a cigar girl.” I marveled at my reflection, turning my head from side to side so I could take it all in. My hazel eyes looked big and more green than brown due to the shade of eyeshadow. I blinked, loving that my lacquered lashes wouldn’t hit glasses—I’d worn contacts. A smiling red, sinful mouth finished the picture.
“Follow me,” Lacey said with a knowing grin of her own. “Let me show you around the club.”
We left the changing room and went out onto the floor. The orchestra pit was directly in front of the stage and looked like it could hold at least a fifteen-piece band.
“The Rex has live music every night,” she explained. “But we keep it small unless there’s a special occasion. A four-piece jazz band is usual, but sometimes we add a piano player to round it out.”
The bare tables were set up around the dance floor, ready and waiting for the evening’s guests. Three C-shaped booths were directly across from the bar and were farther away from the stage.
“The middle booth is Mr. Campbell’s,” she explained. “It remains empty unless he visits the club. He comes in a few nights a week to keep an eye on things. His drink is Balvenie DoubleWood 17 year, neat. If you work his section, and he sits in his booth, you bring him a drink without asking. You call him Mr. Campbell, and you don’t flirt with him.”
“Is that a general rule?” I ventured to ask. “No flirting with the boss?”
The two-inch heels I wore put me at five foot seven, but Lacey was a graceful tower looming over me. All good humor was gone from her face.
“I’m aware of your situation because Mr. Campbell confides in me. I have his trust. You don’t. Not yet. You prove to him that you can play the part of a cocktail waitress, befriend the staff, and find out what’s going on, you’ll have his trust. We all play our parts here, Barrett. Can you play yours?”
I inhaled a shaky breath and nodded.
“Good. I’m about to unload a lot of information on you, so try to keep up.”
“Repeat them back to me,” Jake, the hot bartender said. He was dressed in a red vest, skinny black tie, and a white button-down, and his face had a few days’ worth of stubble. His dark hair was artfully mussed—the whole package worked for him.
Dutifully, I recited the list of wines on the menu, wondering how I was going to do this job. Historical facts stuck in my brain with ease. But this? I was out of my element.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Jake assured me.
“How do you know?”
Jake leaned over the service station where he’d later set the fancy cocktails the club served. “This is the kind of place where a smile and a little flirting go a long way.”
“Are old men going to grope me?” I demanded. “Because I will not work in a place where—”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying, the people that come here, they come here for a good time. A show, live music, to eat and drink. It’s pure entertainment, that’s what we sell.”
“How long have you worked here?” I asked.
“Five years.”
“Long time.”
“It’s a good place. Mr. Campbell’s a good boss. Have you met Mr. Campbell yet?”
I shook my head, feeling a twinge of guilt for lying. “Lacey hired me. What’s Mr. Campbell like?” It was easy to pretend I was curious about him because Iwascurious.
