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“A little late tonight, are we?” he asked. It wasn’t said in a mean way at all, just in a curious and surprised one. I couldn’t blame him. Like I’d said, punctuality was something I was known for.
“Held up at home,” I muttered. There was no way I was going into detail. I was already embarrassed, and talking about my mom and her stupid habits would only make me more so. “Sorry.”
Jacob passed me the peanuts. “No worries. I guess you can be late once in a while.”
“I fucking hate being late. It won’t happen again…if I can help it,” I said, pouring the roasted nuts into the bowl.
Jacob glanced into the other room. “How’s Patrick doing?”
I shrugged. “He had a little trouble with his knickers, but I sorted him out.”
Jacob laughed. “Yeah, they take some getting used to. He seemed competent in his interview.”
I grinned. “Sure. But even if these guys have worked in restaurants before, Molly’s can be an education.”
“Oh, I know,” Jacob said, leaning on the bar and resting his chin in his hand as he gazed at Patrick trying to make conversation with the Youngbloods. “He’s cute.”
“Very. But that’s a job requirement.”
Jacob gave me a stern look. “Not officially.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He laughed. “Fine. Just don’t go saying that anywhere else. I don’t want to get on the wrong side of the Better Business Bureau.”
I rolled my eyes. “They wouldn’t touch Molly’s with a ten-foot pole. This place is a municipal gold mine. The taxes alone!”
“Yeah, we do all right,” Jacob said with a nod.
Technically, the serving staff were hired as ‘models and entertainers’, and Maverick Molly’s was listed as a gay club, so that Jacob and Sebastian could get away with only hiring male-presenting people.
And Maverick Molly’s did more than all right. As far as I knew, Jacob Moriarty and his boyfriend, Sebastian Declan, were raking in the dough. The gay subculture in this city was more substantial than you’d think when you compared it to the major metropolitan centers like Vancouver and Toronto. I’d wager on a higher percentage of the overall population in the queer community here in conservative old Ottawa, with a larger-than-average kink component.
Was it the same in all government towns? Who knew? I could tell you that a good proportion of our clientele came from offices on Albert and Slater, and in Old Hull, now called Gatineau. We didn’t ask questions, and I was pretty sure no state secrets were being shared at Maverick Molly’s. But folks who had to be serious and responsible during the day might be drawn to places like Molly’s so they could live their truth and let loose during the cover of the night.
And they had money to burn.
The staff at Maverick Molly’s was hand-picked from the local colleges and universities—young adults who were on a path to a bright future and who needed a way to make money that wasn’t swinging from a stripper pole or working retail. Not that there was anything wrong with either of those jobs, but most of us jumped at the chance to do something unique and fun, with a historical component as well. And, sure, we did burlesque skits and sang bawdy songs for entertainment, but that was only a fraction of our duties. Most of the time, we were encouraged to lounge around the gaming parlor looking cute and bringing drinks to men who thought we were adorable and sexy. It was a good gig.
Jacob and Sebastian paid us well, and even had a group benefits plan in place for regular employees, which was a step up from most service jobs in the city. In return, we showed up on time—mostly—and went above and beyond what was required, helping to make Maverick Molly’s one of the most prestigious gay clubs around.
It was the best place I’d ever worked. Still, by eight-thirty, I desperately needed a cigarette.
I sidled up to Robin, tucking my hair behind my ear. It felt weird not having eyeliner and lipstick on. Molly’s was one of the few places where I could indulge my taste for gender bending without concern, but I’d been late then I’d been busy training Patrick, so there’d been no time to get properly made up. I promised myself that after I had a ciggy, I’d duck into the change room and pretty myself up.
“I’m going for a smoke.”
“When are you gonna quit that damn habit, Toby?” Robin said with a withering look. “It’s so gross.”
I shrugged, not concerned with his distaste. “When are you gonna stop eating donuts?”
Robin gasped and put a hand to his choker.
“Can you keep an eye on Patrick?” I asked. “He’s doing okay so far, but some of these men can be a bit much.”
Robin grinned with salacious pleasure. “Oh, I know.”
“Yeah, you and I know how to handle them. He’s still learning,” I muttered, heading for the entry.
