the
morning.
The apartment was quiet
as I made my way into the kitchen, grabbed a diet coke and poured myself a bowl
of Captain Crunch. The caffeine and sugar had their desired effect and I
cruised through my paper on the Impressionists. I had just enough time to
shower and get dressed, which included getting in a fight with pantyhose,
before catching a cab down to the club.
Miranda was at the desk
by the front door chatting with the doorman when I arrived. She reminded me of a
World War II pin-up with her glossy, wavy black hair, natural curves and her
penchant for red lipstick. She wasn’t all hairspray and silicone like most of
the Crimson girls. She carried herself with professionalism and maturity. These
traits plus the fact that she had brains, was probably why Grant liked her.
She was all business
when I walked in. “Natalie. I’ve been waiting for you.”
I gulped, wondering
what I might have done. She smiled when she saw my deer in the headlights expression.
“Marco
requested you to work in the VIP section tonight.”
“Oh,” I
said, relieved. “What do I have to do?”
“Just keep
the drinks coming, don’t spill on anyone and try not to come off as too
intelligent.”
“So, act
dumb, look pretty and keep them drunk?”
She laughed at this.
“You got it! Oh, and watch out for Brittany tonight.”
“Why’s
that?”
“She
usually has VIP and she is pretty pissed you bumped her – and that you were
requested.”
Then it really
registered about who had requested me. The image of Marco Grabano’s beady eyes
popped into my head. It was all I could do to control a shudder.
“Brittany
may seem tiny, but she has a temper. You don’t have a car do you?”
“No. Why?”
“Good.
Brittany’s been known to take her anger out on cars – flat tires, broken
headlights, windshields, etc…”
I tried to picture the
petite girl terrorizing someone’s car and laughed.
“Seriously,
Natalie, watch your back.”
This was the second
co-worker I’ve been warned about and I was seriously beginning to wonder just
how many drugs my brother and Miranda were doing together, because these
warnings were absurd.
“Okay,” I
said to appease her.
I went into the
employee lounge to hang up my jacket and bag. Brittany was sitting on the sofa
reading a magazine. She glared at me when I walked in. I smiled at her and went
about my business. One of the shooter girls sitting next to Brittany was
hunched over the coffee table doing lines of cocaine – her pre-shift routine.
Joey D., one of Grant’s bouncers, walked out of the shower area wearing only
black jeans, his muscles rippled with his every move. He sat down on the sofa
and did a line with the shooter girl. Not interested in that extracurricular
activity, I quickly applied some lipstick and left.
My heels clacked on the
dance floor when I crossed on my way to the VIP section. The club was cavernous
without all of the people and with the lights on, glaringly bright. I was
disappointed to see that Dominic wasn’t working the bar in the VIP area. It was
Sal, another dark haired bartender, not nearly as beautiful as Dominic. After
helping Sal set-up, I roamed around hoping to find Dominic. I found him in a separate
room enclosed in dark tinted glass that was reserved for private parties. He
was arguing with my brother- big surprise. They didn’t see me as I quietly
entered the room and stood in the shadows.
“I can’t
believe you took her there,” Grant hissed at Dominic.
“It was no
big deal, nothing happened,” Dominic defended himself.
“You’re
lucky. If anything had happened to her, I swear to fucking Christ-”
John B. Garvey, Mary Lou Widmer