Chapter 4
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Icount my tips in the back seat of a taxi as it drives towards Ivy Lane, my uniform shoved in my bag and my spare outfit now on. The measly twenty-seven dollars in tips I hold in my hands only confirms that I’m making the right choice going to this interview; I need a better job, or there’s no way that I’m going to be able to afford rent for much longer. My shift was so slow that I was able to take my notebook and pen and scribble down some numbers, calculating my current income and expenses. It didn’t take more than a second for me to decide to call a cab once my shift finished.
The taxi slows as it turns into a gravel parking lot with an old, solitary building in the distance. The building is impressive—clearly an old Victorian manor with ivy covering the brickwork.
That explains the name, I think to myself, noticing the driver glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Bright letters are displayed above the entrance, spelling out Poison Ivy in bold colors as if beckoning people to enter.
My anxiety grows as we approach the building, and I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans.
“Do you want me to wait?” the cab driver asks, a concerned look on his face. I look between him and the meter, the price of my taxi increasing by the second. He meets my gaze with a sympathetic smile. “I can stop the meter for a bit, I was going to take a break anyway.”
“Thanks,” I say meekly, “I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.” And with that, I exit the cab, making my way towards the intimidating building. My heels crunch on the gravel underneath my feet as I pass between two large stone lions guarding the front entrance. I stand outside a heavy oak door and take a deep breath, reaching for the handle. The door yields to the pressure of my touch. The door booms behind me as it clicks shut, and I take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting ahead of me. I’m stunned by the interior as I look around.
“Rhett wasn’t lying about it being an upscale place,” I murmur under my breath. The decor shows no hint of the historic exterior; instead, black leather chairs with brass embellishments, dark marble flooring, and ornate oak tables meet my gaze.
I walk further into the club, deserted except for a guy sitting at a table near the entrance with a bored expression on his face. He’s wearing a black shirt with ‘security’ written in bold white lettering. With his huge build and imposing features, I can’t help but think that he wouldn’t look out of place in a WWE ring. He looks up as I approach him. He’s not unattractive, but something about him is unnerving, and the smile he gives me as I approach doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Hi, I’m Evi. I have an interview with Mike at three…” I half ask, half tell the intimidating man, trailing off nervously.
“Oh, right, Mike told me he was expecting someone this afternoon.” He gives me a look up and down, his gaze briefly pausing on my necklace and the hickies beside it, courtesy of Rhett. He stares at me for a few more seconds before getting up and gesturing for me to follow him. I walk quickly, trying to keep up with his large stride, as I follow him further into the club, and I can’t help but feel distrust for this stranger I just met.
The entrance opens to the main area of the club, with a dozen round tables dispersed throughout. More black leather chairs group around the tables, all pointed towards a stage equipped with three poles spaced evenly apart. We pass by the stage and walk towards the far end of the room, stopping in front of an imposing oak bar.
“Have a seat,” the security guard says, motioning to a bar stool, “I’ll go get Mike.”
“Thank you,” I say, but he’s already walking away.
Scanning the room, I pull myself up onto the tall stool and rest against the smooth wooden bar. The alcohol on display is impressive, and each bottle that lines the clear glass shelves is worth hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars. It seems as if no expense has been spared in the design of this place. I shift my attention to the stage behind me. The light reflects off of the brass poles, and I can imagine them dazzling at night when the spotlights shine towards them.
I inhale deeply, breathing in the smell of leather and mahogany from my surroundings. My nerves start to settle as I exhale, and I realize that if I can ignore the poles and the stage, this place isn’t too different from a regular bar.
It’s not long before a portly man comes bustling towards me.
“You must be Evi, I’m Mike, and it’s nice to meet you,” he says pleasantly.
His demeanor catches me off guard, his welcoming smile and the warmth in his eyes vastly different from the security guard who first greeted me. Mike is older, perhaps in his late fifties, with graying hair and wrinkles adorning his face.
He heaves himself onto a bar stool and looks mildly out of breath from this short burst of activity.
“So, Evi,” he starts enthusiastically, “I was quite happy to receive your application. We’ve been down a bartender for weeks now, and the others are getting quite tired of picking up the extra shifts…” He looks at me, and I nod eagerly to show I’m paying attention.
He clears his throat before continuing. “I saw on your application that you have experience waitressing. What was that like?” he asks, fishing a pen and small notepad out of his pocket.
I fill Mike in about my job at the diner, trying to put a positive spin on my work there and how I might use what I’ve learned behind the bar.
“It doesn’t get too complicated here; most guys only want beer or spirits, but it does get busy, and we’re open late. I’ll need you five nights a week from 8p.m. to 3a.m., do you think you can handle that?” he asks, his tone serious. Whether he’s desperate for me to take this job or is worried I won’t be able to handle the hours, I don’t know.
“I’ll be fine; I’m used to working late nights,” I lie easily.
“The pay for bartenders is twenty-five an hour plus tips, paid in cash.” He pauses, and I do a quick calculation in my head, realizing just how much more I could earn here than at the diner.
Mike looks at me before continuing to scrawl something on his notepad, his pen scratching against the paper. “The last girl we hired was worn out after a few weeks, so I need to hire someone who won’t quit on me.”
“I can work whenever you need me.” I jump in quickly. “To be honest, I need the money, and I’ll take whatever shifts you’re willing to give me.”
He smiles at me for a moment before slapping his hands on his knees.
“Okay let’s do this!” He grins. “Come with me to the office. I’ll get you to read and sign the contract, I’ll explain the rules, and give you a tour of the place.”
“Amazing, thank you!” I say earnestly, trying to maintain my composure as excitement and relief bubble within me.
Mike gets off his chair and begins walking down another hallway, I follow closely behind him, trying to take in everything I see while trying not to lag behind. All the doors in the hallway are frosted glass, with thick dark wood frames and large metal handles. Mike stops in front of the only solid wood door before producing a key from his pocket.
“This is the office,” he explains. “This is where you’ll find me most of the time, or Greg when I’m not working.”
“Who?” I ask, confused.
“Greg,” he says again by way of explanation, “the security guard you met earlier.”
He shuffles further into the office, heading towards a gray filing cabinet. He pulls out a few stacks of paper, flipping through them before pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to me.
“Read through this and then sign at the bottom. It’s standard stuff, but if you have any questions, let me know.”
I do as he says, reading through the paperwork speedily. I grab a pen off his desk and scribble my signature at the bottom of the page before handing the paperwork back to him.
“Congratulations, Evi, you’re officially employed at Poison Ivy! How does Friday night sound for your first shift?” he asks with a grin from ear to ear.
My smile is genuine as I answer him, eager to get started here and start making some more money.
“Now, let me show you around.” My grin matches his and my chest swells with pride, having landed a job I didn’t even realize I wanted so badly. I already feel the stress about next month’s rent start to dissipate.
We leave the office and Mike leads me down the hallway of frosted glass doors. He pauses in front of one and takes a different key out of his pocket, slides it into the lock, and pushes the glass door open. I inhale sharply as we both enter the room. The walls are painted dark red, with a black leather couch pressed up against one side, and a dark wood bar against the other. A silver pole is in the middle of the room, the center of attention. I walk further into the room, looking around as my shoes clack loudly against the dark stone floor. Above me, a crystal chandelier sparkles as it creates soft light throughout the room, bright enough so you can see what you’re doing, but dim enough to create an element of anonymity. The room screams sex.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say, barely whispering.
“We did renovations last year and, needless to say, I am quite happy with the results.” Mike chuffs, clearly proud of this place. “We have six of these rooms and they are all very similar, except they vary in size. They’re usually used for private dances, but sometimes we get groups of guys wanting a private party. They each have a bar, and you’ll be required to bartend in here as well as out on the floor, but don’t worry, we always make sure you girls never bartend in here alone. You know, the buddy system,” Mike says caringly.
The tour continues as we leave the room, and Mike talks the entire time, explaining the ins and outs of a typical shift. He stops in front of a door hidden behind the main stage, the words ‘employees only’ written in gold lettering.
“This is the communal room for everyone who works here,” he says, gesturing to the space in front of us.
If it weren’t for the black lockers lining the walls, I wouldn’t have known it wasn’t a part of the main club. The room boasts a large table with a dozen chairs around it, as well as a sitting area with black leather couches.
“This is the most luxurious staff room I’ve ever seen,” I say sincerely, and Mike smiles in return before continuing with the tour.
“The bathrooms are through that door over there, and there’s a fridge and microwave through there.” He gestures to two doors, each on opposite ends of the room. When you come in for your first shift, I’ll have a locker ready for you. You’re welcome to keep your work uniform in your locker, or you can come dressed for your shift, whatever you prefer.”
“Speaking of uniforms,” I say hesitantly, “what is the dress code here?”
Mike lets out a laugh. “Hun, the less clothes the better!” He chuckles. “You can wear jeans and a shirt, or nothing but your underwear—the only rule is that employees must be in black. And don’t forget, you compete for tips, so look your best!”
I can’t tell if Mike is joking about the underwear, and I find myself starting to doubt my ability to fit in here.
“Okay, perfect!” I respond to him, hoping my smile doesn’t betray how nervous I suddenly am.
We walk side by side, making small talk until we get to the front entrance, where Greg sits dutifully on his chair.
“Do you have any other questions, Evi?” Mike asks, his smile reassuring me.
“I…” I pause, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the amount of information Mike just rattled off over the past half hour.
Mike clears his throat and gives me a kind smile. “You have my email, so if anything comes to mind between now and your first shift, just send me a message.”
I flash a smile in return, grateful for his offer and feeling optimistic about having him as a boss, even if he does talk a little too much.
Mike holds the door open for me as I step outside, squinting as the bright sun blinds me momentarily.
“So, we’ll see you Friday night then, Evi,” Mike says as Greg watches on, seemingly uninterested.
I thank them before walking across the gravel parking lot towards the taxi, opening my door, and sliding into the back seat.
I’m officially a bartender at a strip club.