Maybe it would go better this time.
At 1, I left home and took the subway into Manhattan. My heels clicked on the sidewalk as I headed to the club. They made an authoritative sound against the pavement. I threw back my shoulders and strutted, pretending I was someone confident and collected, someone who knew where her life was going. That was too vague; I needed to pretend to be someone specific. I decided that I would pretend to be Sadie. I would spend the entire first day doing what Sadie would do. I would play the role perfectly, and nobody would be able to tell how scared I was.
The same man was waiting inside the lobby of the club. He smiled at me and said, “Germaine is waiting for you in her office.”
“Thank you,” I told him, and lifted my chin as I returned his smile, the way Sadie always did.
The club was empty except for a woman running a vacuum cleaner. I made my way to Germaine’s office and knocked.
“Come in!” she called.
I opened the door and went inside. Germaine stood to greet me. “Regan, right on time. Welcome.” She motioned for me to sit. “We have the usual paperwork to fill out, tax forms, direct deposit, et cetera. And the non-disclosure agreement, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. That was the only part I was worried about. What if I slipped up and said something about my job after a few too many drinks? I wanted to get a look at the actual clauses in the agreement. I’d worked at a law office for a while, and although I was hardly an expert, I would be able to tell if the club wanted me to agree to anything truly out of the ordinary.
After I’d filled out all of the other paperwork, Germaine slid the agreement across the desk. “Please read it carefully. We don’t want there to be any surprises. In essence, you’re allowed to tell people that you work here as a cocktail waitress, but nothing more: nothing about the clientele or the specifics of the operation.”
It sounded reasonable. I read over the contract, taking my time to make sure I understood everything. It all seemed fairly standard. I signed at the bottom in big, curling letters. A Sadie signature.
Germaine filed away the paperwork and turned back to face me. “Now that that’s over with,” she said, “I’ll take you to meet Beth. She’s going to be training you. I want to warn you that she isn’t particularly friendly; it takes her a while to warm up to new people. But she’s an excellent teacher, and you’ll be in good hands.”
That didn’t sound too promising. I hoped she wouldn’t sabotage me, or prevent me from learning what I needed to. Germaine didn’t sound worried, though, so I decided not to borrow trouble. I’d just wait and see what happened.
Germaine led me back out into the main room of the club, and introduced me to a small, dark-skinned woman standing beside the bar. The woman—Beth—shook my hand with a firm grip.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Regan,” she said. “Germaine, I’ll be happy to take it from here.”
Germaine returned to her office, leaving me alone with Beth.
Beth put her hands on her hips and looked me up and down. “You’ll do,” she said. “Germaine told you I’m not friendly, I’m guessing? Don’t take it personally. I’m a little shy.”
“I’m a little shy myself,” I admitted. So much for Sadie. But Beth’s smile made me glad I’d blown my cover.
“I think we’ll get along nicely,” Beth said. “Germaine said you haven’t waitressed before. Let’s start with the basics of the bar layout. You won’t typically need to make any drinks yourself, but it’s good to know where things are.”
She showed me where the garnishes were stored, and where to find the jiggers and different types of glasses; and then she showed me a laminated card listing the most common drink recipes, and set me at the bar to study that. I had just memorized the difference between a cosmopolitan and a Manhattan when Beth came back to where I was sitting and said, “We’re about to open.”#p#分页标题#e#
“I have to serve people tonight?” I asked. Beth had told me I wasn’t supposed to write down orders, and I knew I was going to get confused and serve someone the wrong drink.
“No, not tonight,” she said. “Wednesdays are usually quiet. Just follow me around and watch what I do. And—this is important—if any of the customers touch you, or try to touch you, tell me immediately. We’ll have them blacklisted.”
“Wow,” I said. “So you’re really—”
“Germaine doesn’t play,” Beth said. “They want to grope somebody, that’s what the dancers are for. Waitresses are off limits, and everyone knows it. The clients try anything funny, they get the boot. You’re not getting paid enough for sex work, so leave it to the professionals.”