"Sweetheart, can you pass me that eyeliner?"
"Sure. So, like I was saying, these customers have no damn respect. I'm a server. Not a showgirl." There was a heated stare coming from her co-worker through the vanity mirror. Angela inwardly cursed herself for her mistake, "Sorry, Steph. I didn't mean nothin' by it. I just mean that I wish they would keep their grubby hands off of me. That's not the job I signed up for."
"Mmhmm," Stephanie hummed, unconvinced by Angela's apology. "Listen Angie, you should of thought of that before you signed up for a job at My Alibi. If you didn't want the customers touching you then you should have applied for a job at the bank. Where they keep you locked up in a glass box all day."
Angela pursed her lips at the thought. "You've gotta be kidding me. I don't know if you remember but this is Gotham we live in. Working at a bank is suicide."
Working at My Alibi was bad, but working at the bank was insane. A heist occurred nearly every week, and in Gotham being held at gunpoint was the least of someone's worries. There's no way she would work at a bank. At least they got a small amount of respect at My Alibi. It was pretty much known not to start a fight there. Though it would be bad luck to say there never was a fight or heist, because the moment you said it, there was bound to be one.
Visitors consisted of the occasional thug or mobster here and there, and even big names like Harvey Dent and Roman Sionis could bee seen with a lovely lady on their lap. Customers knew better than to cause any permanent damage to the club. A place like this was for relaxation, and everyone knew better than to destroy a place that more than a few of Gotham's criminals saw as a good place to get a drink and have a little fun.
Stephanie put the finishing touches to her makeup and stood from her chair, giving Angela a hardened look. "That's what I'm saying. At least you've got a job where you're more likely to get groped than to get your head blown off." She brushed past Angela and headed to the stage entrance. "Count your blessings, Kiddo." She called over her shoulder from the doorway.
Angela sighed and looked into the dusty vanity mirror as she brushed her hair back. She looked tired. There were a few bags under her brown eyes and her short black hair was a bit greasier than she would have liked. Having a late night job and taking online classes was taking a toll on her. She straightened her vest and grabbed her serving tray as she headed out to the showroom.
The night was just starting and the customers had just begun to trickle in. A few of the show girls had started slow, rhythmic dances on their small stages but they wouldn't be doing anything spectacular until later in the night. Angela took the orders of a group that had come in together. One of them took a keen interest in her fish net stockings. She had an exasperated look on her face as she headed to the bartender, Don, to fill orders.
"Why the long face?" Don asked as Angela set the order sheet down on the counter.
"I can just tell it's gonna be a long night." She said looking over her shoulder to the table she was serving.
"Who do I need to beat up in the back alley?" Don joked as he wiped down the bar.
Angela laughed, "No one yet, but I get the feeling it won't be long before I need to be rescued." She said posing like a damsel in distress and batting her lashes at him.
Don chuckled and started filling out her orders. "Nah, you've got this, Med School. I think you're a whole lot tougher than you think you are. You can handle those guys. No manhandling from me necessary." He winked as he set the drinks down on her serving tray.
"Thanks, Donnie." Angela smiled as she took her tray and headed back to the table.
Throughout the night the stares continued, as was to be expected when working at a club like My Alibi and while wearing a uniform like the one she was required to wear. High heels and fishnet stockings drew more attention to her legs than she cared for, and her leotard and vest provided little coverage to her upper body. The most aggravating part of the job was the nick names the customers would give her. "Sweet Cheeks", "Honey Bun", "Sugar Lips". No matter what nick name they decided to give her, she hated it. It put her teeth on edge and made it difficult to provide service with a smile.
She was by no means the most attractive girl working in the club and she found it difficult to understand why she caught the attention of multiple thugs a night. A large part of her mind assumed it was because they saw her as more attainable. She honestly couldn't complain about her job though. Stephanie had a point. She had to learn how to deal with the unwanted attentions of the customers.
Now was a perfect time to decide how to cope as one of Cobblepot's lesser thugs slapped her ass as she left to go fill his order. She slowly turned back around, a sweet smile on her face. Don watched curiously from the bar, eager to see how she would handle the situation. The man at the table smiled back drunkenly, "Somethin' wrong, sweet cheeks? You forget my order already?"
"Oh that's hilarious!" She giggled, swatting his shoulder a bit harder than he had been expecting. Angela grabbed his hand and smiled flirtatiously as she leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "Touch me again and I'll be sure to cut this hand off." She told him in a sickeningly sweet tone as she dug her nails into his palm.
His eyes went wide at first and then he began to wince as he noticed the pain she was causing to his hand. He pulled out of her grip. "Alright, you crazy bitch. I'll back off."
"Glad we had this little talk, sweet cheeks." She turned on her heel and headed towards the bar.
Don had a smile on his face as she walked over, her posture radiating the pride she felt after her encounter. "Wow, what did you tell him? The poor guy looked mortified."
"I told him I would cut his hand off."
Don swelled with pride. Little Med School was growing up so fast. He set a glass on the counter and smiled. "I think that calls for a shot."
Angela smiled and downed the drink before giving Don a high five and finishing up her last few tables for the night. As the customers began to dwindle the music stopped and chairs were turned over onto clean tabletops. She had two tables left before Don told her to head home, saying that he would finish her last few tables for her.
By the end of the night she was exhausted and her feet were aching from the heels she wore. She was dreading the walk home as she headed into the dressing room and put black jeans on over her fishnets. She would have to be insane to walk to her apartment in the Narrows at this time of night wearing what My Alibi considered a uniform. Though to be honest there were crazies out there wearing much worse. She grabbed her coat, taser in pocket, and headed out into the chilly Gotham air.
AN: So this is my first fanfic and I'm really curious and excited to know what people think. Future chapters are likely to be longer. I just wanted to know what people thought first. Comments, faves, follows. Any of those would make my day. Any critiques are welcome too.
Angela, Stephanie, and Don are my characters. Any others belong to DC.