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Having likely assessed JD as someone she shouldn’t waste her breath on, she turns to me. “Is that how you make your hiring decisions, too?”
“You trying to pin me as sexist or misogynist?” I return.
“If the shoe fits.”
This chick has some nerve. A lesson on social skills and a little time under my flogger might chill her out.
Damn. Why do I have a vision of her naked ass in my head? I don’t even know what her ass looks like.
“I’m guessing you think all men are sexist,” I say.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re insinuating I’m sexist even though you have no evidence of how I make my hiring decisions.”
“Most of the staff at your club are good-looking. Except the bouncers. They look scary, which is an asset in their job.”
“So you paid attention to how my employees looked.”
“I noticed, but that doesn’t mean I care about how they look.”
“You don’t have to be defensive about it. It’s biology. We can’t help notice.”
“I’m not being defensive.”
“Do you think the patrons of The Lotus prefer to see attractive people or unattractive people serving them? I’d be a poor businessman—person—if I didn’t take that into account.”
“What about skills or abilities?”
“It doesn’t take a lot of brains to walk around bringing drinks to people. Besides, you said looks can be assets.”
“I said what?”
“When you talked about my security guys. Their appearance was an asset to their jobs.”
She furrowed her brow. “Oh, right. I did.”
“So appearances do matter.”
“They shouldn’t matter all the time.”
Of course, I knew reality was more nuanced than what my statement indicated, but I was messing with her to see what her response would be. I actually agree with her assessment of Eric Drumm more than JD’s and was surprised she was willing to call the guy out to someone she barely knew. That either made her opinionated or someone who speaks her mind. Or both.
I wonder what kind of submissive Bridget would make.
JD’s driver pulls off the freeway, and Bridget starts giving him directions to her apartment. Eventually we pull up to a three-storied building south of campus. Mostly concrete with a brick facade, a staircase visible on the side of the structure, possibly built in the ’50s, it wouldn’t win any awards for attractiveness. People’s Park, usually half filled with homeless tents, was two blocks away. Though I’m sure the neighborhood is hardly deemed undesirable due to its proximity to campus, compared to what I’m used to, it’s ghetto.
My cell rings just as I get out of the car. It’s Ronald, so I take the call.
“Dude, where are you?” Ronald asks, sounding panicked.
“Berkeley. Why?”
“What the hell are you doing there? Why aren’t you at your club?”
I watch as JD and Bridget help Amy from the car. “What’s the matter?”
Bridget approaches me and holds out my jacket. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”
