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Leaving Lara in Shelly’s hands is a risk. I can only hope she doesn’t scare off another new girl. Shelly may be a pain in my ass, but she’s the most experienced dancer I have, and she knows that if the guests don’t get their cocktails, they don’t tip the dancers very well.
“You’ll be in good hands with Shelly,” I say as I turn and head toward the hallway that leads to the back-of-house.
Stepping into my office, I shut the door and collapse onto the cot in the corner, craving a moment of silence. I didn’t get home until five last night, this morning, rather, and after only three hours of sleep, I’m exhausted. When I’m not stopping dancers from tearing each other to shreds, I’m tormented by thoughts of how my business is collapsing.
I fantasize hourly about walking out these doors and going to stay with my parents, but I’m too deep in this fucked up hole to get out. I’ve invested too much of my money, my time, my everything. It’s unclear where I begin and Eden’s ends, and the question of when my life became interchangeably tangled with this place plagues me daily.
And to think all I ever wanted was to prove to people that I’m more than a wallet and a pretty face. Guess the joke is on me, huh?
My phone vibrates, and I glance at the text.
(Mark)Hey bud. Get together for drinks next week???
I drop my phone on the floor out of reach, knowing my bad mood will make me type a response I’ll regret. I hadn’t imagined that at twenty-six, the people I once considered family would be near-strangers now. Getting a drink with Mark is never just about getting drinks. He’s my oldest friend, but our conversations are stiff and short, our time together spent avoiding the fact that his wife doesn’t know we still hang out. She hates that I—the best man at their wedding—own a “strip joint”.
I know Mark mostly stays in contact because my checkbook is a godsend to him, and while I have no problem giving him money, I still wish we could go back to the days in high school and college, when life seemed so much easier. And a lot more fun. To when the idea of me investing in a gentleman’s club sounded incredible. Like a great way to bring all the boys together.
Sometimes, I want to slap eighteen-year-old me. Hard.
Deciding that I can’t ignore him, I sit up and reach down to pick up the phone. I’m about to type my response when my office door swings open, crashing violently against the wall behind it. I jump to my feet as Angela storms in. She’s my bar manager, and I’m used to seeing her in a mood, but it’s usually at the end of a crazy shift when she’s fed up with getting hit on all night by the drunken barflies.
“Jesus, Angela. You could knock, you know?” I scold, stepping behind my desk.
“Yeah, and you could actually listen to me, and maybe we wouldn’t be here, would we?”
God. What now? “Why are you here so early?” Her chest is heaving, her brown eyes icy cold. “And can you please tell me what’s so urgent that you need to barge into my office?”
“You seriously don’t know?” she growls.
I sit down and lean back in my chair as I run my hands through my hair. “The night hasn't even started, so what are you upset about already?” I sigh, as if she’s going to notice. Or care.
“I’m here because Shelly just texted me the schedule.”
I lean back in my chair and throw up my hands. “And? So? What?”
“I asked for this weekend off a month ago. It’s my fiancé’s birthday.”
I glance at my calendar where I mark the girls’ off days, and sure enough,ANGELA OFFis written in red, right next to my note toVISIT MOM & DAD, which is crossed out. I’m now seriously reconsidering taking the trip.
Angela glares at me. “You agreed! You told me I could have the weekend off. And now this, at the last second? You may constantly push backyourvacations—but I won’t. I can’t.”
“Angie, we’re barely going to get through tonight as it is.”
“Bullshit. Shelly says you just hired a new girl.”
“Yeah, and I’ll be shocked if she lasts the night.”
“Jamie, I swear to God. I’ve worked thirteen shifts in a row to get these days off.Thirteen. I have blisters on my tits from that corset. Blisters, Jamie. On my tits.”
I groan. “Fine. I’ll figure it out.”
“Good,” she says. “See you Monday.” She turns and stomps out of the office.
I roll my eyes at her backside. “Yup. See you on Monday. Can’t wait,” I mumble as she slams the office door behind her.
Now what the fuck am I going to do? I know the answer, but the dancers are going to hate it. Every time we lose a server or bartender, I rely on the girls to give up one of their shifts on the pole to help cover the lounge. I know it’s unfair. Dancers make three times as much as the servers, and when I take one girl off the pole, the others can extend their sets, making them even more money.
They’re not going to like this. I’m lucky if I don’t get a glass thrown at my head tonight.
