I rummaged in my purse madly as my heels made click-clacking noises on the sidewalk, adding yet another sound to the general noise of the city around me. Those noises seemed to be the loudest in the world as I grabbed a tube of lip-gloss out of my bag and applied it absently, smacking my lips when I was done. I'd barely checked my make-up on the way out the door and it seemed liked every glance at me was a critical one. Not that it would matter once I got to work.
In the scarce lighting of the club, I'd practically be invisible. People didn't pay much attention to the bartender's eye-shadow anyway. I'd been working at Red for over six months now, and the only real attention I`d gotten was a few drunken yells from the idiotic men I served night after night. They focused mostly on the girls, though, since that was what they were paying for.
A strip club had never been my idea of the perfect workplace environment, but Red turned out to be my kind of gig, believe it or not. As I pushed the heavy employee door open the smell of alcohol and perfume almost seemed like home. A friendly smile from my boss, Scarlett, completed the picture.
Scarlett was in her late thirty`s and dressed younger than me, with short skirts and tight shirts. She didn`t wear make-up and always pulled her black hair into a high ponytail for work, where it stayed for hours on end.
`Hey, Gemma,`she said as I walked by, giving me a smack on the ass. My real mother never did that, but she didn`t exactly give me raises, either.
The music from the club drowned out my reply as I walked through another door and emerged into the nightlife, where I had to stop and let my eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. Muted lights occasionally brightened among the crowd of people, highlighting random body parts. The club was filling up quickly tonight, and already there were people starting to drift towards the bar.
I closed the door behind me and reached over, searching the wall for the light switch. My fingers scrambled over it until I finally flicked it upwards, igniting dozens of carefully placed lights over my working area.
The bar was large and nicely furnished, with loads of vodka and other supplies hidden in the many cupboards. Those lights were a mixture of white and red that gave me just enough light to work, and they set off cool reflections from the glasses stacked everywhere. As soon as the bar was illuminated, heads turned towards it and even more bodies surged forwards.
I approached the actual counter, kicking off my four-and-a-half-inch heels as I did so. It wasn't as if the customers ever noticed my footwear anyway. I was already wearing my "uniform", a deep red halter top with form-fitting black jeans. Basically, I had to wear red. My dark titian hair was done simply in a ponytail, with bobby pins structuring it carefully. I wore earrings shaped like white peace signs that dangled from my ears, and a white belt featuring a buckle with the same symbol. My formerly mentioned make-up was totally unnoticeable as I approached the first customer. He seemed normal enough and I thanked God that the crazies hadn't decided to visit yet. Of course, they would come in a couple of hours.
The night wore by as I mixed hundreds of drinks for people that could have done without them, handing them out time after time with a smile and a suggestive comment that translated into: "Come back for more."
There was a huge stage on he other side of the club, which I never even looked at anymore since half naked girls aren't my favourite choice of entertainment. Several raised platforms stood out among the crowd with poles raised out of them all the way to the roof. One by one these poles became occupied with more desperate women, twisting themselves around the metal for tips.
I never really talked to any of the strippers, but according to Scarlett there was no reason to. They came and went most of the time, working here for a year maximum before moving on or finding real jobs. Red was the biggest club in the city, so moving on from here meant that they had places to go, and wouldn't need to make friends with the lady who mixed the drinks.
I knew the stage names of some of them, obviously, but those were just titles for men to call out at them all night long. I was content to stick with Gemma and just bartend at the hottest place within a hundred miles of my apartment. It was fun enough, since there could be some pretty hilarious drunks around. Weeknights were my personal favourites since business was slow and the only customers were guys with nothing else to do or people coming to visit Scarlett.
This was Saturday night, though, and the whole place was throbbing with a fast beat. The crowd surged along with it, moving like a sea of heads to the music. The girls rubbed themselves around in places I'd never look at, let alone touch, and people arrived quicker that on any other night.
One guy came up to the bar and promptly told me what he wanted to do with my breasts and then staggered off with a silly grin on his face to harass the strippers. I was barely offended. The jerk probably wouldn`t even remember it when he woke up on his friend's couch the next morning.
At around two I was still pumping out drinks like a vending machine, accepting loads of tips and growing bags under my eyes. I didn't really feel tired yet, but when three o`clock rolled around I definitely would. Three-thirty, and I was slouching. Three forty-five, my eyelids batted pathetically. Less and less customers.
Finally I got a long break from the flow of people and leaned against the bar, half-ready to fend off that same guy who was checking me out again. I barely noticed as a young man walked up and sat down on a bar stool almost right in front of me. I perked up a little as he looked over the neon-highlighted menu hanging over my head.
The guy looked just over twenty, about my age, and had beautifully dark skin and big eyes. I couldn't tell what colour they were, but they seemed like huge brown orbs as he gazed upwards. His hair was a little disheveled, sticking out in cute tufts like a broken halo. He seemed much to innocent to be hanging around a strip club at quarter to four in the morning. I straightened my back anyway and walked over, the soles of my feet hurting.
"Know what you'd like?" My voice sounded strange to my own ears, but he seemed unbothered.
"I'll have a paralyzer," he said smoothly, glancing at me shortly before turning his eyes back to the list of drinks. I nodded and went to work on it, thinking of how his gaze had lingered on me for just a second when he thought I wasn't looking.
His handsome face seemed to be on the verge of erupting into a grin, but whatever was funny, I sure wasn't seeing it. I was dead tired and hungry as well. At least having something to do cheered me up.
I handed him his drink when it was done, glancing backwards at the tiny digital clock installed in the bar. Scarlett wouldn't get a big one since she said it was bad for business if customers realized how long they'd been drinking, dancing and ogling naked women.
My shift was over at four, and the place was clearing out already. I slipped my shoes back on and stretched my arms, watching as men trickled out the door to face the rising sun. I mixed myself a margarita of some kind and slipped out from behind the bar, taking a seat next to the young guy. He glanced over at me as I sipped my drink, staring into space.
"You look like death," he commented idly, making me blink and then flush. I was a little shocked for a second, trying to muster a reply. "Thanks," I answered wryly, then in a more serious tone said, "I've been here for way longer than six hours, I swear."
He nodded and replied, "I know. Job-hunting isn't any better. It's worse than your actual profession, and you're not getting paid for it."
"Yeah. I'm so glad I can at least rot here with good pay. Took me forever to get this job."
"Really?" He sounded tired too, and I couldn't detect any sarcasm.
"Um-hm. It's a big place. You're just one of thousands of guys that visit this place to drool over naked girls that are mostly made of plastic anyway." He scoffed at me and replied, "Sorry, that's not exactly why I'm here. Unemployed, remember? Besides, strippers aren't exactly my type."
"So what is your type?" I dared to ask the question as I sipped my drink carefully, half-wondering what the hell I was doing, flirting with this unfairly hot guy in the middle of a strip club.
He glanced at me smiled, an unbearably cute look of mischief playing on his features. "That all depends on what your type is." He raised an eyebrow at me and I watched his lips form a gentle smirk as he volleyed the conversation right back to me. My mood fell immediately and I felt the ghost of a smile that had been laid on my face disappear in an instant as his words struck me.
"Currently my type seems to be over-bearing and unloving," I said sourly, hating how my brows drew together at the thought of my boyfriend, Simon. The stranger looked sad, but mostly intrigued. "And?"
"Irritable, unsupportive, stupid," I added with a certain bitterness to my tone. "It's like he has to know what I'm doing at all times, and if he doesn't approve of it then I shouldn't go, and if I go anyway, he-" I cut myself off abruptly, immediately stopping as forbidden words almost slipped out of my mouth. I wanted to tell him so badly, but I held it in and denied myself the pleasure of sharing my secret.
It's not even a secret, I told myself. Nothing bad is happening. As the thought crossed my mind I hurriedly adjusted my shirt so that the swollen bruise on my hip wasn't showing anymore.
"He what?" The man was looking at me curiously and I blushed, turning away.
"N-Nothing. He doesn't do anything." The guy's face mirrored mine with a frown, but his was perplexed instead of angry. For a moment I was terrified that he'd push the matter and I'd let it all spill out, but he just glanced at me unreadably.
"Okay," he said, and I knew that he understood that something was wrong and I couldn't tell him. "Well, your type isn't exactly the norm, is it?"
That drew a tentative smile from me and lit a playful light in his eyes that danced about like a shooting star trapped in his irises. "Not quite," I answered. "You never told me what your type is." He looked up at the ceiling and then slowly let his eyes fall back to me. "I think I'll let you find out." The mystery made me feel childishly giddy, and I tried to cover it with another question.
"What do you do? Hot dog vendor? Department store manager?" He shook his head.
"How about DJ?"
That took me off guard, and for a second I sat there and just nodded slowly. He was giving me that slightly contemptuous smirk again, the one that made me feel like I didn't really know anything about anyone. "That'd make sense," I managed, and he turned back to his drink. "I hope so."
I followed suit and finished off my margarita, running back behind the bar to quickly grab my purse and leave my glass on the counter for tomorrow. I made sure that I hadn't forgotten anything as the stranger recklessly downed the rest of his drink. He set it down on the counter and watched idly as I retrieved it and placed it next to mine as I got ready to go. It was a little unnerving feeling his eyes follow me across the floor as I cleaned up a little, and when I finally turned towards the employee door he was still sitting there.
I glanced back at him and he slowly got up, facing towards the door. I was about to push through to the back of the club when his voice called me back. "Hey!"
I turned my head around and looked at him expectantly as he stood next to the bar. "I'm Kartik."
I did a horrible job of suppressing a grin as I replied without thinking: "Gemma." He nodded and smiled again before turning and walking right out of the club, leaving me there with hot ears and droopy eyes. After I stood there for a while, my senses returned and I swung the door open, passing through and leaving Red empty once again.
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.Queen.x