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Shelley batted her eyes and grinned. “I’m good, Benjy, how’re you, darlin’?”
As the mating dance proceeded, I moved discreetly to the other end of the bar.
Suddenly Arlene passed by me and barked, “What are you waitin’ for? Go get their orders.”
I frowned in confusion. Arlene had been hustling to take 90% of the orders, and now she was just handing over a gigantic group? It didn’t make sense.
Shelley saw my confusion. “Arlene hates ‘em ‘cause they don’t tip,” she called out from the other end of the bar.
“We tip,” Benjy said defensively.
“You tip, ‘cause you’re a sweetie-pie,” Shelley cooed.
He blushed like Dopey in Snow White and all but melted right there on the spot.
I couldn’t tell whether it was real or if she was playing him, but I decided to leave them to it.
I walked over to the bikers apprehensively, expecting a barrage of passes, but I needn’t have worried. They probably would have leered at me just as much as the other customers, but they had their hands full with the strippers who had come out and were fawning all over them.
“Round ‘a shots,” one of the guys told me. “Jack Daniels, and keep ‘em comin’.”
“Um, we don’t serve alcohol.”
The guy – a rough-looking dirty blond with a thick mustache – looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Since when?! SHELLEY!” he bellowed. “What the fuck’s this shit about not serving booze?!”
“Never mind her, Eddie, she’s new,” Shelley yelled back. “I gotcha.”
Shelley motioned me over vigorously, and I hurried to the bar. Benjy had departed temporarily, and we were alone.
“You pissin’ ‘em off already?” she laughed as she poured shot after shot.
“This place is fully nude,” I said. “California doesn’t let fully nude clubs serve alcohol.”
I’d learned that from a lot of hours spying on B-list celebrities in LA strip clubs, where a bottle of water costs $7 and the hardest thing on the menu was an O’doul’s.
“This ain’t California, honey,” Shelley said. “This is Richards.”
I frowned at her. “Richards, California.”
She slid the platter full of shot glasses over to me. “Honey, the only people who’d ever complain are a hell of lot smarter than to go an’ do something stupid like that. So take this over to Eddie and his pals and don’t go gettin’ dumb on me.”
“Okay,” I said, finally realizing just how far the MC’s reach extended. “Um, what do they owe?”
“Nothin’. Lou’s the Riders’ VP, so it’s all on the house. Well, alcohol, anyway. Dances are still full price.”
I stared at her.
Now it made sense how Jack had gotten me this job.
Shelley mistook my look of shock. “Now you know why Arlene hates servin’ ‘em,” she said cheerily before she went to take another order.
14
Things only got crazier the longer the night wore on. Fifteen minutes after the Midnight Riders came in, the club opened up two more stages and a DJ came on. Now there were naked women gyrating in every direction, and bikini-clad ones walking the floor asking men if they wanted a lap dance. All the while some guy droned over the speakers, “It’s a two-for-one dance special… next two songs only… now welcome Chantal up to the stage gentlemen, and remember to tip…”
Mix that with hard liquor, and things got a little ugly.
