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I didn’t fight my friends on going out tonight because I knew I needed it, and a nice, quiet hole-in-the-wall bar sounded like just the place I wanted to be. Until we got here and I realized it was fucking karaoke night.
The waitress stops by our table and Cindy orders us a second round of wine. When the waitress rushes off to get our drinks, Cindy cocks her head at me from the other side of the table.
“How have you been? Really. No more bullshit. You’ve been saying you’re fine every time I’ve talked to you since Sebastian showed up at the boat the other day, but we all know fine doesn’t really mean fine when it comes to a woman,” she states.
Belle quickly nods her head, sucking down the last few drops of wine from her first glass and then smacking it down on the table.
“According to an article on Elite Daily, women say we’re fine because we expect our questioner to basically read our minds and know exactly what’s going on. We realize how counterproductive this is as we get more and more frustrated when no one is able to figure out what’s really bothering us.”
I snap my fingers and point at Belle, keeping my eyes on Cindy.
“See? I expected you to read my mind, and you didn’t. Which means you suck.”
The waitress comes back and deposits our three glasses of wine in front of us and then disappears again.
“Can we get down to business before the next person gets up on stage and ruins one of my favorite songs?” I plead, taking a big gulp of my wine.
“There really isn’t any business to discuss,” Belle says with a shrug. “You’ve got the calendar up-to-date with all of our bookings, answered the hundred or so emails that we’ve gotten in the last week since you moved, sent us a bunch of research on the whole naughty cocktail-waitress thing, and filed all of our small-business-license paperwork on time. We just told you it was a business meeting so you wouldn’t fight us about going out.”
I want to glare at them, but I’m feeling entirely too guilty to do anything other than down my entire glass of wine. I never told them I forgot to file the paperwork when I was supposed to, and that it was so late that Ursula, the woman at the court house, stood there lecturing me for twenty minutes. And I thought I was a bitch. That woman could be crowned queen of all bitches, she was so nasty. With her short salt-and-pepper hair in a sophisticated layered style and an expensive-looking black business suit, she looked exactly like Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada. She acted like her as well.
“A stripping business? Is this a joke?”
“Nope. Definitely not a joke. You’ll see that everything we need is included in the folder. I realize it’s a little late, but I’ve had some personal issues lately and—”
“Your personal problems are of no concern to me. This town prides itself on being wholesome and dignified. Women who lower themselves to removing their clothing for money are neither of those things.”
“And you are entitled to your opinion. However, that’s not really up to you, is it? It’s up to the county board members. Several of whom have enjoyed the pleasure of the services we offer and have given us glowing recommendations, which I’m sure will be an asset when the board looks over the paperwork. We also have a two-page, handwritten recommendation from the owner of Charming’s Gentleman’s Club, who is a close, personal friend to the mayor. I’m sure that will also go a long way towards board approval. ”
“Yes, well. We’ll see about that now, won’t we?”
Sure, under normal circumstances it would probably be a huge breach of privacy to mention having board members partake in our services, but I wasn’t lying when I told Ursula the Witch that they gave us recommendations for the file. And I might have stretched the truth a little bit saying PJ was close personal friends with the mayor. I think Cindy told me they might have golfed together once a few years ago. However, I was quite proud of myself that I never once told her go fuck herself, even though I screamed it in my head a thousand times during our exchange. Honestly, I still don’t understand why an administrative assistant at the courthouse thought she could speak to me that way and look at me with such disgust.
“It should be any day now that we get the board approval, right? I don’t understand what’s taking so long. You turned that stuff in almost two weeks ago,” Cindy complains.
“So, can we discuss this whole Eric thing now?” I quickly ask.
No one is more shocked than myself when those words come flying out of my mouth, but right now, I’d rather talk about anything other than the paperwork. I feel like an asshole for dropping the ball and not telling the girls.
