Hello, Listeners
Rain falls softly on my black umbrella, the noise faint against the splashing of my boots in the puddles on the sidewalk. I casually put in my wireless earbuds as I move in and out of crowds of people headed toward me. Even in the rain, this city never sleeps.
The deep melody of his voice seeps into my ears.
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen.” The smooth and slightly mysterious tone sends a shiver up my spine.
I can’t tell if it’s the timbre of his voice echoing in my ears or the crisp October air that causes goosebumps on my arms beneath my black leather jacket. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
“Yeah, hey fuckers.” A wide smile covers my face as the producer and co-host chimes in. I know it’s him by the slight Manhattan accent in his voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’re new here, this is the Manhattan Murders Podcast. Thank you so fucking much for tuning in.” His voice is like whiskey, warm as it slips through me. It’s a sound that ignites a burning in my veins. If it could be bottled, I would take shots of it all day .
I finally make it to my destination: The Neon Rose Lounge. There are no free Fridays for this bartender. The job always demands my weekends.
Through the glass double doors, I watch my best friend Jace wipe down the bar and prepare for tonight’s crowd. He cleans the black marbled surface down with what’s left of the white, tattered rags we store under the bar.
Pulling the front doors open, they squeak as I walk inside.
He looks up when he hears my boots hit the hard wooden floor.
I set my black purse on one of the small, dark wood surfaces of the round tables just as I always do before we officially open for the night.
These empty tables and their matching chairs will be full in a matter of hours.
Mostly by drunk men trying to pick up unsuspecting women who are drinking with their friends.
“Bitch, about time you showed up.” His neon pink hair stands out next to the dark paint on the walls. It almost matches the hot pink lettering in The Neon Rose sign posted above the door outside. I smile as I remove my earbuds, knowing it will be a new color in a matter of a few days.
“What the hell, Jace. I’m early.”
“Girl, I know. I needed some time to talk shit before the men come crowding in thinking they could fit in between those thick thighs of yours.” He teases.
“Well, be my guest! Shit talk away, baby.” My pale cheeks turn a bright shade of red that matches the vibrant color of my hair. He always knows just what to say.
“Shit talking? Who are we shit talking about?” Our boss, and owner of The Neon Rose Lounge, joins in.
The sound of the heels from her knee-length boots comes tapping towards us as she makes her way closer to the bar.
Her maroon hair bounces on her purple-sweater-covered shoulders.
Her speed picks up as she eagerly walks in our direction.
“Oh, honey, the fun has just begun.” Jace’s voice lightens. His silver nose ring catches my eye as it shines from the glow of the Edison bulbs above us.
“Who do you think will grace us with their presence tonight?” My boss’ face turns into a small smirk.
“You think the guy with the neck tattoos will be here?” I ask, half laughing, trying to hide my distaste for the regular patron.
Anyone but him. He comes in every Friday in hopes that he can take me back to his place.
He pulls his dark, greasy hair into a ponytail that shows his badly done neck tattoos.
Whoever drew on the crooked lines must’ve had a difficult time drawing through the constant sweat that pours from his tan skin.
Just the idea of being alone with him is enough to make my stomach turn.
“Girl, I hope not. Son of a bitch never tips. It’s the least I need from him.
Maybe he’ll take his hair down so I don’t have to see those nasty ass neck tattoos of his.
Motherfucker thinks he’s God’s gift to women.
” Jace’s voice rises, with his arms getting more animated.
You good, Jace? I can’t help my mental question as my eyes widen when he talks about the regular creep that comes in.
“Janice,” Jace continues. His mannerisms completely transform as he changes the subject.
“Do you think your man will come in tonight?” My boss jumps at the thought.
Her admirer comes in every day and orders the same drink: a Manhattan.
How fucking original. He stares at her and only her from behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
He never takes his eyes off her figure as she patrols the bar.
Poor guy probably thinks it’s romantic, maybe even a twisted form of admiration, but it’s just fucking creepy.
“Oh God, I hope so.” She lets out a loud sigh. “The tips he gives are what keep this bar going.” She makes her way to the kitchen, but not before giving Jace her exaggerated wink.
There is always a light on in the kitchen.
I don’t spend too much time there. There are a few guys who only work back there.
I guess you could say they cook the food for this place.
By that, I mean warm up pre-packaged frozen appetizers, pour some chips in a bowl, and maybe cut up some vegetables.
I’m sure the kitchen has its busy moments, but out here is where the action is.
Plus, it's the best place for a girl to get tons of tips.
“Thalia,” Jace turns his attention to me. “When are you going to get yourself a man?” He stops me mid-adjusting my black mesh shirt.
“If I had a man, I would never have enough time with you here or on the days I have off.” He smiles. He can see through my bullshit.
“What you need to do is pull that shirt of yours down and pull those tiddies out at least and get some tips. Maybe even get you someone for the night.” I scoff at the thought.
“I’m not interested in the guys that come in here.”
“Who says you need to be interested? You need more than that vibrator in your nightstand and those headphones of yours.”
“Jace!” My mouth opens in shock. But honestly, a part of me agrees with him. It would be nice to have more than my hands and an inanimate object on some lonely nights.
“Girl, everyone knows what you do when you get home. There’s only so much true crime you can listen to, even if their voices are sexy as hell.” Little does he know, I could listen to people talk about gruesome acts of violence all day if it came from both of them.
Jace and I turn on our bartender charm as the night grows later and the bar gets louder.
Janice, being the good little owner she is, does her share too.
The sounds of chatter and glasses clinking fill the dining area.
I turn every now and then to face Jace to check on the line of people in front of him.
Just as I suspect, he has everyone's glasses lined up.
His rehearsed “honey” and customer service smile make me naturally grin.
Even if not genuine, his aura is addictive.
After noticing the line of people in front of me die down, I take one of the rags from under the counter and clean the closest dirty glass to keep busy. My Friday night will move faster as long as I keep working.
The once busy night is coming to a standstill, and the countdown to closing has me staring down at my phone. Just a half hour more and it’s time to head home and do what I love to do best: get in my pajamas, lie in my bed and finish up the newest episode from my favorite podcast.
Most of the people who were once laughing, taking sips from their glasses and slinging back shots have left. Probably to go to their penthouses or the other bars on the street. Now that everyone is gone, the sound of raindrops hitting the windows and the glass door echoes in the mostly empty room.
“No sign of the guy with the neck tattoos,” I point out to Jace.
Maybe he won't be able to hear the excitement in my voice. A night without his constant one-liners and creepy looks would be a bit of relief. Unfortunately, however, Jace and I are fooled and he walks in, the front door slowly closing behind him. Fuck . Jace turns his head and laughs, not even trying to hide the fact he thinks my torment is hilarious. He’s never shy about what he thinks, even if it is laughing at my misery.
Of course, why did I have to be so lucky? Why the fuck me?
“Hey stranger, didn’t think you’d make it in tonight.” My fake smile and rehearsed bartender character are in full swing. My face burns from the strain it gives me. Why did you have to come in this close to closing time?! Hell, why did you have to come in at all?
“I couldn’t end my Friday night without seeing you.
” I cringe at his rehearsed wink. Yeah. Get fucked, creep .
He pulls his straight, greasy hair away from his face and puts it in his usual ponytail with a black rubber band.
Come on, guy, you’re going to get your disgusting hair all over the bar after I just wiped it down. Typical.
“Well, lucky me.” Keep it together, Thalia. One drink, his usual lame ass pickup line, and he’s gone. That’s his usual routine. “What can I get you?”
“Your number, maybe?” Lame ass pickup line: check. The line didn’t work the first time.
“Still not on the menu,” I add. Giggling at the start of the sentence. Maybe that would hide my disgust for this guy.
“Well shit, just an Old Fashion.” That should be easy enough.
It’s a favorite around here. It seems like everyone orders it.
I grab the whiskey glass, add a couple of ice cubes, and start pouring in the brown liquor.
His eyes move from the small tattoos on my hands to my tits under my black mesh shirt as I make the cocktail.
Fucking creep. I slide him the sweating glass.
A sweating glass to match his clammy hands .
I add a little wink at the end. He may be a pig, but like I said before, a girl needs her tips.