5. Abbie
5
ABBIE
T he Velvet Room pulses with energy as I walk in, my gaze sweeping the room. Bodies pack the space that was empty just hours ago, the air thick with perfume and cologne. Jazz music flows from hidden speakers, barely audible over the din of conversation.
"You made it." Michael materializes beside me, his commanding presence parting the crowd like Moses at the Red Sea. "Follow me."
He leads me to the bar where a breathtaking tall blonde mixes drinks with fluid grace, her movements quick and precise. She flashes a bright smile without pausing her pour.
"Lacey, this is Abbie. Please show her the ropes."
"On it, boss." Lacey slides two martinis across the bar and pockets her tips. "Stick close, newbie. Tonight's gonna be fun."
Michael vanishes into the crowd, leaving me with my new mentor. The bar stretches before us like an altar, bottles gleaming under soft lighting.
"First rule - don't let them see you sweat." Lacey grabs a shaker. "Second rule - smile like you know what you're doing even when you don't."
"What's the third rule?"
"Don't sleep with the customers." She winks. "Though that one's more of a loose suggestion than a rule. Lord knows I've broken that one a few times. Now, watch and learn."
A group crowds the bar, waving bills. Lacey's smile never wavers as she takes their orders, her hands a blur of motion between bottles and ice.
"Your turn. Take the guy in the blue shirt. He looks harmless enough."
I step forward, channeling some sense of inner confidence. "What are we drinking?"
"Whatever you recommend, beautiful."
"Careful there, Romeo." Lacey slides past me with a fresh tray of glasses. "She's still in training I’ll grab you a Whiskey Sour.”
I prop myself against the back counter, watching Lacey work her magic. She's like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of cocktails and charm. Every movement deliberate, every smile calculated to perfection.
"What's your poison, handsome?" She tosses the question to a suited executive who's been eye-fucking her for the past ten minutes.
"Surprise me." He practically purrs the words. I can hear the blood rush to his groin underneath the bartop.
"Dangerous request." Lacey's hands dance over bottles. "But I like a man who lives on the edge."
The way she commands attention is mesmerizing. Men trip over themselves just to get close to her, throwing down twenties like they're singles at a strip club.
"Take notes, sweetie." She slides past me with a wink. "Half this job is theater. Watch this."
She flips a bottle behind her back, catches it without looking, and pours a perfect shot. The bar erupts in applause. Another hundred dollars hits her tip jar.
"That's amazing," I say, trying not to sound as awestruck as I feel. "Did it take long to learn?"
"The tricks? Sure. The confidence?" She shrugs, already mixing three drinks at once. "That's all natural, baby. You've got it too, just need to let it out."
I snort. "Right. I can barely make eye contact with customers."
"Please. Look at you - those curves, those eyes. You're gorgeous. Own it." She hip-checks me playfully. "Stop hiding behind the counter and show these boys what you've got."
My cheeks burn. If only I had an ounce of her self-assurance. But after watching Lacey work, I finally understand what they mean. It's not about looks - it's about presence.
"Trust me," She says, reading my mind. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be running this place."
A guy in a crisp button-down sidles against the bar, his cologne mixing with the whiskey on his breath. "You must be new here. Haven't seen you before."
"That obvious, huh?" I wipe down the counter, trying to mirror Lacey's easy confidence.
"You've got that deer-in-headlights look." He grins. "It's cute though. Really cute."
I manage a polite smile and turn to grab more glasses, but he persists.
"So... do you have a boyfriend?"
My hands freeze on the glass rack. "Yes." The word comes out automatically, years of habit. "Well, no. Not anymore."
"Interesting." His eyes light up, but I'm already moving away, busying myself with restocking limes.
“You know where to find me if you want a new one.” He lingers for a moment before melting back into the crowd. Thank god.
Lacey slides up beside me, two shot glasses in hand. "Tequila time, sister. Spill."
"Oh, I shouldn't-"
"Honey, your break is in ten minutes. Consider this your first lesson in bartender therapy." She pushes one of the shots closer. "So what's the story?"
I throw back the shot, the burn matching the stinging memory. "Three years. Apparently, I'm not fun enough anymore."
" What the hell? Define 'not fun enough.'"
"I take night classes, I work - well, worked - as a nanny. Can't party every night like his trust fund allows."
"Ah." She pours another round. "One of those."
"He posted pictures with some blonde already. Didn't even wait twenty-four hours."
"Men." Lacey rolls her eyes. "The good news is, you're working in a bar now. Best place to get over someone is where you can watch drunk idiots make fools of themselves every night. Makes you appreciate being single."
The tequila warms my chest, loosening something tight inside. "Is that why you do this?"
"Honey, I do this because I make more in tips than most people make in salary, and I get entertained by drunk people for free. It’s a win win.”
Last call comes and goes, and my feet are killing me. But there's an unfamiliar buzz running through my veins that has nothing to do with the tequila shots.
"Not bad for your first night." Lacey counts out her tips, sliding a stack my way. "Here's your cut from the shared pool."
"Holy shit." The bills feel surreal in my hands. More than I'd make in a week of nannying.
"Just wait until you're running your own bar shift." She chucks me playfully under the chin. "You've got potential, kid. I can tell."
We wipe down the bar together, falling into an easy rhythm. The way she moves, the way she talks – it reminds me of an older sister I never had.
"So what's your story?" I ask, stacking clean glasses. "How'd you end up here?"
"Same as you – needed a change. Best decision I ever made." She tosses her rag in the bin. "Speaking of changes, give me your phone."
"What for?"
"Trust me."
I hand it over and she positions me against the bar's copper backdrop, the vintage lights casting a warm glow.
"Work those curves, baby. Show them what they're missing."
"Who's missing anything?"
"Please. I saw you checking your ex's Instagram earlier. Time to return the favor."
She snaps a few photos, my curls wild from the night's humidity, smokey eyes slightly smudged in that perfect way that says 'I'm having too much fun to care.'
"Damn girl." She hands the phone back.
I scroll through the photos, barely recognizing myself. The girl in these pictures looks confident, sexy even. Like someone who belongs behind this bar instead of hiding in the library.
"Post it," Lacey says. "Tag the location. Let the world know you've landed on your feet."
I bite my lip, thumb hovering over the share button. "Isn't that kind of... petty?"
"Honey, petty would be tagging him directly. This is just living your best life. There's a difference."
She's right. I select the best photo and type: "New adventures" with a cocktail emoji.
The crisp night air hits my face as Lacey and I exit through the back door. My feet ache, but the wad of cash in my pocket makes it worth it.
"Thanks for everything tonight. You're amazing at this."
"You're a natural." She pulls me into a quick hug. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we'll work on your pour technique.
“Thanks, Lacey.” I smile as I push open the door, my feet aching from my shift.
Crisp air hits my face as I unlock the car and slide in, stuffing my apron in the console. The drive home feels surreal, like I'm floating on a cloud. The radio plays some pop song about new beginnings after a breakup, and for once, I don't roll my eyes at the cheesy lyrics. What are the chances?
I unlock our apartment door to find Tessa sprawled on the couch in her unicorn pajamas, scrolling through her phone.
"Well?" She sits up, practically vibrating with excitement. "How was it? Did you make bank? Did you meet any hot guys? Spill the tea!"
I flop down beside her, kicking off my heels. "It was incredible. And look-" I fan out the cash. "This is just from one night."
"Holy shit!" She snatches a bill, holding it up to the light. "From tips?"
"Mostly. And get this - I actually enjoyed it. Like, really enjoyed it. My trainer is amazing. She's like this cocktail-making goddess who doesn't take shit from anyone."
"I saw your fire selfie! Your Instagram post is blowing up, by the way. Chandler's probably crying into his trust fund right now."
I laugh, pulling my hair free from its clip. "You know what? I don't even care anymore. I feel... I don't know. Alive?"
"That's because you're finally doing something for yourself instead of trying to please everyone else." Tessa pokes my side. "Also, black and mysterious suits you. We're definitely going shopping for more work clothes."
"I can't wait to go back tomorrow." I hug a throw pillow tightly. "Is that weird? Being excited about work?"
"Nope. That's called finding your groove, baby." She grins. "Now spill more details. I need to live vicariously through your speakeasy adventures.”
After half an our of recounting the night’s events and catching up on Gossip girl reruns, I head to bed ... looking forward to tomorrow.