Chapter 8—Payton
Warm green eyes meet mine, dark on the rim but fading to light. Striking. Something I missed last night as he sat in the shadows, but I can’t look away from now.
It takes an embarrassingly long time to realize he asked me a question.
He’s trying to read me, assess me. I’ve had it done too many times to count.
I never know what people see when they look at me like that, but so far, no one has questioned me on what they found.
Something tells me I’m not about to be so lucky.
I bite my bottom lip and let it roll forward as I shove my hands underneath my legs.
I have a horrible habit of fidgeting, something my dance instructors tried to train out of me.
I learned when to be still for them, and if there ever was a time to appear like the obedient student, it’s now.
Because whether I like it or not, Tommy is my new boss.
A man who can fire me, cut off my only income, and might even kill me himself based on his earlier words to Joel.
He obviously doesn’t share my fear of guns.
I glance at the side of his chest to see if I can see something that might look like a gun. But his posture is damn near perfect, and everything looks like straight lines.
The door opens before I open my mouth, making me jump just enough to be noticed. The items he asked for are dropped off on the desk between us before the man who brought them leaves.
He picks up the coffee cup from the saucer, sipping on it as he points with his chin to the towel.
I take it gratefully, giving him a small smile of thanks as I pat at my clothes before doing the same with my hair. Most of it has dried, but I’m not able to turn down a gift from him. Even something as simple as this.
“Thank you.”
He leans back as if this is just a random day of the week, nothing more.
Acting as if the only thing that would bother him is if he found gum on his shoe.
Something I’m pretty positive he’s never had to deal with.
He’s probably lived in some uber-fancy house all his life where spitting gum out the car window as you drive by means a night in prison.
“It’s all there.” I tip my chin at the phone I saw him place on his desk when I came in, assuming he already has the notes or whatever his guy found on me.
“What is?” He gives me a tilt of the head, but other than that, I can’t tell if he’s curious or just playing some game.
“What your guy Dante got.”
“Got?” His eyes are uncommonly wide.
I point to the door with my free hand, the other holding the towel to my lap, as if that depicts the entire club outside.
“Wasn’t he collecting information for more specific questions?
Running a check on me to get my entire life story?
” Wouldn’t restating it all be counterproductive?
Or is he just trying to figure out if I’m going to freak out on him?
When he doesn’t say anything, just waits on me, I fidget till I finally fill the awkward silence. Well, awkward for me. He doesn’t look at all put out.
“Um, do you have questions, or do you just want me to tell you my qualifications?” Last time I had to interview for this job, I had a résumé in hand and a dance prepared.
That was it. No one actually spoke to me.
I was the only one applying a few weeks back.
Now I feel as if I’m competing against the current employees and whoever else he has on the ready to fill in, like he threatened earlier.
“Let’s begin with the usual. What brought you here?”
“I needed the money,” I say harshly as I look down, picking at the fibers on the towel. I’m uncomfortable talking about my issues and why I need to be here.
“I’m sure a woman of your background could have found work elsewhere. Perhaps the New York Ballet or José Mateo Ballet Theatre.”
My eyes snap up to his. He’s not laughing at me but testing me. He must know about me already, or else he just guessed. My dance for him last night was more me trying to recall every bit of choreography I’ve ever learned to keep my mind from freaking the hell out.
I just press my lips together.
Moving the saucer to the side, he sets the cup down on it and leans forward, placing his forearms on his desk and clasping his fingers together. “So, what happened?”
Is he expecting me to share every aspect of my life? Things I barely told people I once called friends? Or does he just want the quick answer to get us moving along to other questions that reflect the job?
“My parents died.” Like every time I’ve said it before, my voice is hollow to my own ears. I might accept what happened to them, but that doesn’t mean I will ever get over it.
He hums. “How long ago?”
“Eight months next Tuesday.” It’s an automatic response. I’m surprised that I know to the day how long ago it was and yet not entirely surprised all at once.
“One day you won’t remember.”
I look at him, confused, as he stares ahead, not showing any emotions. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the topic, like so many before him did.
Friends, police, colleagues, even teachers I’ve known most of my life, they all looked away when I spoke about my parents’ death. Like it was bothering them when they weren’t even affected by it in the same way. Or at all.
“Your brain will stop subconsciously counting the days, reminding you of your loss. You won’t even know it’s happening till someone asks and it takes a moment for you to think on it.”
“Who did you lose?”
“My dad. I was seven.”
I don’t say that I’m sorry or offer any other condolences. Just like he didn’t for me. But we share a moment together. Of acknowledging that life sucks, but you keep moving. You have to.
“So, you dropped out of school to pay the bills and came here.”
More or less. But I don’t say that and just nod instead. It’s easier if he thinks that’s all there is to it. For him and for me.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
He raises an eyebrow at that.
“You could work anywhere. And yet you applied here.”
I’m sure he expects me to fill in the unspoken question of why, but I bite my tongue. He heard the worst of it, that I’m alone. The rest is something no one needs to know about. That part is just for me to be ashamed of.
The silence between us lasts for a moment longer before he breaks first and gives his caffè his attention.
I worry my bottom lip, concerned that he’ll turn me away. Maybe he’ll think he’s doing me a favor, but it will be a life sentence in ways he can’t possibly understand. I speak quickly to convince him that I’m what he’s looking for, even if I don’t even know what he wants in an employee.
“I might not work the stage, but if you ask any of the girls, my dance performance each night brings them in enough money, even on a slow night. I work hard at what I do, and I’m never late.”
“Except for today.”
I wince at his words. I was hoping he didn’t notice, but of course he did. I bet very little gets past him.
“This is the first time. The mom whose kids I watch got stuck on the subway. I can promise you it won’t happen again.
I’ll plan ahead if there’s expected to be more meetings this early in the day going forward.
” I want to plead my case that we’ve never had to meet this early before.
That I always show up on time when it’s for my shift, but this threw me. It’s a poor excuse, but it’s the truth.
He takes a second, then sets his coffee back down.
“Fine, I’ll give you a break for today since it wasn’t planned more than a few hours in advance.
In the future, when meetings are planned, I expect you to attend.
I’ll also make sure you and the rest get a twenty-four-hour notice, as you weren’t the only late arrival. ”
I breathe out slowly and nod, grateful that he isn’t just blaming me for this like Carl and is at least taking some responsibility for the unexpected meeting.
He writes something down and continues to look down as he asks his next question.
“What’s your cut?”
“I take 15 percent from what each dancer who works after my performance gets tipped out for.”
“Anything else? What is the house fund to you?”
I shake my head. “There is no house fund.”
This makes him look up at me, eyes narrowed. “You only get paid if a dancer makes a profit after you’re done?”
I nod.
“How much do they pay to the house?”
“Twenty-five percent for the night.”
“And if they choose not to work after you perform, they only pay that and nothing to you?”
I shrug with another nod.
His lips thin out as he continues to look at me.
“You’ll start on salary, starting today. You and the waitstaff, to include security. The dancers’ cut to the house will be increased to 50 percent a night.” He goes back to writing something down on his paper.
I’m not sure if the girls will like that, but I’m not the one cutting them out, so I shouldn’t care. They never seemed to be bothered if I was shortchanged before. Still, I feel a bit bad. Just a little.
“Ah….”
He stills his pen and looks up from under thick eyelashes. “That a problem?”
“Um, sort of. I… can I get it in cash?”
“Cash?”
I nod quickly. “Yes.”
He squints with a head tilt. “Why?”
Carl never asked why. Actually, he insisted it was cash. I never had to lie before like this, so the first thing that pops into my head is what I go with.
“Rent.”
He tosses the pen down and leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his impressively flat stomach. “Your landlord prefers you to pay cash over a direct deposit or even a credit card?”
I dip my chin slowly as I take in my own words. “Yup.”
He only raises an eyebrow at the obvious lie. Most landlords don’t take cash anymore. “Where do you live?”
“Brooklyn.”
His lips twitch at that. Of course I live in Brooklyn. The club is in Brooklyn, so it makes sense.
“Which part?”
“On the east side.” My voice squeaks on the last word, and I have to cough to clear my throat. I grab one of the water bottles from his desk, uncapping it quickly and drinking fast.
Two loud knocks on the door make me jump, spilling water down my chin.
Wiping it off, I pull the bottle away and look at the door, but it doesn’t open.
From the way Tommy moves to sit higher in his chair, I get the feeling it was to alert him of something.
Maybe Carl needs to talk to him. Or maybe his next interview is set up.
“Right. We’ll keep the same routine tonight as you’ve done before. However, expect changes to occur, including renovations to the club.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand and sighs as if he expected this reaction, which I bet is no different from the other girls. Like them, I need the money. Unlike them, I need it more than for myself.
“We’ll only do partial renovations at a time.
There will be no day shifts, which isn’t something that affects you anyhow.
We’ll do most of the work while we’re closed during the day and keep it clean for the night.
It won’t look pretty for a while, but I plan to expedite it so we can keep the customers coming and increase our margins sooner than later. ”
I nod even if he didn’t ask me a question.
“You may go. I’ll have someone get with you if I think any changes are needed with your routine.”
I stand, leaving the towel on my chair, and head for the door, but before I can open it, he stops me.
“Oh, and Payton?”
I shift my gaze back at him. He messes with his phone before putting it down and looking at me.
“Perhaps take another dance class. This time for something other than aerial.” He holds my stare, and I blink a few times, letting his words sink in.
“Do you… do you expect me to dance?” The quiver in my voice can’t be denied.
He’s slow to respond, tilting his head as if thinking it over. “Not on the stage.”
I let out a relieved breath only for it to catch as he continues.
“But if someone asks for a private dance.…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, and I feel my eyes water a second before I blink it away. It’s not a threat but a warning. I could go back there. It’s part of the job in his eyes. And if I want to keep this one, I have to be willing to do it.
I nod to show him I understand, then open the door to exit quickly. I need this job. But the fear of that room is real. I can only hope I get a customer who’s like my boss next time. One who doesn’t push. One who might be kind.
And one who has a deep voice like his, which I catch one last time before the door closes.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.