rhythmically shaking her ass in a man’s face to the beat of some shitty Bruno Mars song.
She finished making the mojito a customer had just ordered (seriously, who orders a mojito at a strip club?) and handed it to him. He was about fifty and when he took the drink, he made no effort to hide the fact that he was checking out her boobs. He smiled at her and sipped from his drink, his eyes never leaving her chest.
“You should be up on the stage, you know?” he said. Finally, he looked to her eyes, maybe so she could see the seriousness in his drunken gaze.
“Wow. I haven’t heard that one before. What a unique pick-up line.”
Confused, the guy eventually sneered at her and then moved away from the bar and took a seat closer to the stage.
Yes, she’d had more than a dozen guys clearly baffled that she was behind the bar and not on the stage. Her manager was one of them. And while Danielle had endured enough demeaning jobs in the past, she drew the line at taking her clothes off for drunk men so they could slip fives and tens down her thong.
She knew this was just a temporary job. It had to be. She wasn’t sure what she would do to get out of this, though. Maybe she’d finally finish college. She had another year and a half left…and even though she’d be almost thirty by the time she graduated, it would at least be something.
Not that the perks of this job were anything to sneeze at. She’d had the job for a month, working four nights out of the week. On her second week, she’d garnered more than seven hundred dollars in tips alone. But it was the atmosphere and the feel of the place. Even when the goth girls came out and danced to music Danielle actually enjoyed, she felt the need to get out as quickly as she could.
Besides…sometimes when the dancers came to the bar or when she happened to run into them backstage, Danielle was always surprised to see that they didn’t look miserable. And when she saw them folding those fifties and hundreds up as if they were just handling napkins, the thought of getting up on stage wasn’t all that terrible.
That, more than anything, was why she wanted out of this place as quickly as possible.
She looked up and down the bar and noticed the crowd was thinning out. There were five people at the bar, three of whom—a male and two females—looked to be huddled very tightly, perhaps making plans to close out their Sunday night. Danielle checked her watch and was surprised to see that it was 11:50. Another hour and she could go home…she could go home and sleep until noon—something she had missed over the course of the last year or so as she had tried to become a more responsible adult. A responsible adult who had been far too dependent on a man, but a responsible adult nonetheless.
She started wiping down the drip trays under the taps and checking the liquor bottles to get an updated inventory sheet for her manager. She was in the middle of the tequila row when she heard her name called out from behind her.
“Hey, Danielle.”
It was a male voice. She tried to place it. Only a few guys that frequented this place had bothered to remember her name. She frowned, not in the mood for lighthearted flirting, even if it did mean a pretty nice tip.
She turned around, putting on her best agreeable face. But her expression froze when she saw the man sitting at the bar.
It was her father. He not only looked out of place sitting right there in front of her—but the sight of him in a strip club was surreal. To his credit, though, he did look incredibly uncomfortable.
The word dad formed on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it down. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of calling him that to his face. Instead, the most obvious question came out of her mouth first.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came by to see you,” he said. He leaned forward, as if trying to distance himself as far as possible from the two topless women on the stage twenty-five feet behind him.
“Let me try another question,” Danielle said. “How did you know I worked here?”
He frowned and nodded to the liquor bottles behind her. “Can I get a whiskey first?”
Acting as quickly as she could, Danielle grabbed a glass and filled it halfway with the cheapest whiskey the place had. She all but slammed it down in front of him. The entire process took less than ten seconds.
“There. Whiskey. Now…speak.”
“I’m not proud of it,” he said, “but I followed you.”
“From where? How do you even know where I live?”
He drained the whiskey in one full chug, grimacing as it went down. He slid the glass to her and gave her a nod to fill it up. Danielle took the glass and slid it to the side.
“Answer the question,” she snapped.
“I don’t know where you live. I was driving by Chloe’s place last week. Went up and knocked on her door because she won’t answer my calls or texts. As I came out of the building and got in my car, I saw you. You were heading into the building and I—”
He stopped here, glancing over his shoulder as a new song came on. Behind him, the same two girls started dancing and gyrating against one another to a newer deplorable excuse for a rock song.
“Can we talk somewhere else?” he asked.
“No. I’m working.”
“Five minutes, Danielle. That’s all I want.”
She nearly refused him, but then realized that he had answers she wanted. How did he know she worked here? What else did he know about her? And why the hell was he here in the first place?”
“Hold on,” she said.
She went to the door at the left edge of the bar and opened it. To the right, the dancer who had just come off of the stage was walking up a flight of stairs to the changing room. To the left, a small hallway led to three other rooms—an employee bathroom, an office, and a small break room for the girls.
Her manager was standing in the doorway to his office, speaking with another dancer and the backup DJ. He saw Danielle poking her head out the door, dropped what he was discussing, and came walking to her. It wasn’t that she was all that important—she was simply the only bartender on duty; she had been since nine o’clock that night, as Sundays tended to be relatively slow.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“No. Look…can you man the bar for like ten minutes? My fucking father decided to show up. And we don’t have a great—”
“Say no more,” he said with a smile. “I understand parent issues more than I care to admit.”
“Thanks,” she said. She doubted the bit about parents was true. He was always nice to her, probably because he was always trying to recruit her as a dancer.
He came out and stood behind the bar, allowing Danielle to lift the little employee door on the side. She didn’t even look at her father as she passed by him. She simply said, “Come on already,” and headed for the exit. She nodded to the security guard at the back entrance and he stepped aside to let them pass through.
Конец
