The rain clouds are gathering in gunmetal-gray clusters overhead, threatening to spill at any moment. I hurry down the street to where my modest white sedan is parallel parked, unlock the door, and slip inside — just as the first few sprinkles of precipitation start speckling the windshield. With a heavy sigh, I start up the engine and make the trek to the Amber Room.
Upon arrival, I notice that Natalie’s motorcycle is parked in back, with two helmets hanging on the handlebars. I can’t help but roll my eyes fondly, wondering which girl she’s romancing today. I remember when I first started coming around the club, back when my dad was still alive and he’d just hired Natalie, she clearly had a bit of a thing for me. It wore off quickly, after my dad died. She shifted straight from pick-up mode to caregiver mode, always checking in on me and being supportive however she could. Nowadays she is one of my very best friends, and there’s nothing remaining of the former vibe.
I fish my umbrella out from under a pile of jackets and scarves in my backseat and step out into the light rain, leaping a few puddles as I cross the parking lot. Once inside, I am immediately greeted by Charles, whose wiry frame pops out from under a booth.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he calls out with a cheery smile. I squint in confusion at the screwdriver in his hand and he promptly explains. “Oh, this metal table leg has been kind of wobbly and a couple patrons pointed it out last night, so I brought my tool kit to fix it up.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” I reply warmly, fist-bumping him as I walk by on my way to the bar, where Natalie is wiping down the counter. She’s humming to herself and clearly in her own little world. I clear my throat and set my purse down loudly on the stool beside me. Suddenly she does a double take over at me and breaks into a wide grin.
“Hey, short-stop,” she greets me. Then she narrows her eyes and adds suspiciously, “You look rough. Did you sleep okay?”
Damn it. Count on Natalie to be the perceptive one. “Thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“Oh no. Today’s the day,” she continues, catching on.
“Yep,” I reply, resting my chin on my hands and giving her a what-can-ya-do shrug.
“What are you gonna do, kid?” she asks, leaning in closer.
“No idea.”
Her eyebrows shoot up and she purses her lips. “Down to the wire, huh?”
I change the subject quickly — this is a topic I don’t need her worrying about. It’s my problem, and I’ll deal with it. Natalie, Ashton, Charles — they’re all innocent bystanders in this situation, and all I can do is hope that my failure doesn’t put them in any danger. So instead, I say softly, “I couldn’t help but notice the two helmets hanging off your bike. Wanna tell me how dinner with your mother went last night, Nat?”
Her cheeks went pink and she bit her lip. “Okay. Now that I can explain—”
“You didn’t bring your mom to work this morning, did you?”
“I was actually being a perfect gentlewoman and giving Ashton a ride to work, thank you very much,” Natalie retorted, fighting a smile. “She always takes the bus and you know how dangerous public transportation can be for a girl like that!”
“Oh, like she’s really safer on a motorcycle with you?” I goad her teasingly.
Just then, Ashton comes around the corner with her blonde hair in a flouncy ponytail, looking very sweet and totally oblivious. Natalie gives me a pinched look, shakes her head ever so slightly, and I stifle a laugh.
“Hi, Miss Foss,” Ashton says brightly.
“Hey, Ashton. And remember you can call me ‘Katy,’ okay?”
“Yes, ma’am — Katy,” she replies.
“Alright, people. I’m going to be in the lounge working on some business stuff for a while if anyone needs me,” I say, loudly enough that Charles can hear me from his place underneath the table. He extends a thumbs-up.
I give everyone a brave smile and head to the VIP room to lock myself in with my misery and ponder what the hell I’m going to do. It is noon now, and from previous months I’ve gathered that the mafia guys prefer to strike around this time. I suppose it’s somewhat considerate of them to show up before we actually open at one o’clock. The last thing I need is for my patrons to catch the club owner in mid-shakedown. I’ve gotta put on a tough façade. It’s hard enough just being a woman in charge, especially in such a male-dominant industry. Most of the other clubs around the area are run by paunchy older guys in sleazy business suits. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them are actually members of the mafia themselves. But me, I’m just a pawn, low on the totem pole. Financially, I’m barely holding it together. Emotionally, I’m starting to really fall apart, living in my dad’s shadow and trying to keep his dream afloat.