Page 7 of Scarred King

Scarface signals that he wants a drink and Charlie nods. “What happened to my waitress?” he yells again, and I wait nervously for Scarface to answer. He just points toward the upper floor and Charlie’s face grows sad. Charlie puts a small glass with a drink down on the counter bar and motions for me to take it. His gaze locks on me and then on the staircase as he sighs loudly. It looks like he is struggling not to say anything, and I help him by taking the glass over to Scarface’s table. I put the glass down in front of him and unintentionally my eyes scan the page with the names and numbers. Useless facts that goes into my head and will stay there forever.

The main door opens and two young girls enter. One is a tall brunette wearing skinny jeans and a tank-top and the other is a petite, slender blonde wearing a cotton dress quite similar to mine.

“Hi Charlie,” they both call out, “Hi Liam,” he nods, still focused on the paper in front of him, and they walk over to a door on the right side of the room, a door that I hadn’t noticed before.

I continue cleaning the tables and several minutes later they come out again. They’re both wearing short, tight dresses and heavy makeup. They are sniffling and rubbing their noses as if they’re having an allergy attack. One sits at one table, while the other one sits at a different table. Charlie signals for me to take the two glasses of wine he placed on the bar. I take the first one to the blonde’s table and she nods her head in thanks. I go over to the brunette’s table as she sniffles again and looks at me with a dreamy look on her face.

“You're new?” she asks and I nod. “I was too, once,” she says quietly and sips her wine. She looks cautiously over at Scarface’s table and just before she takes another sip, she grabs my elbow and whispers “This is not a place for you. Get out of here.”

6

I’m standing in the tiny restroom, leaning against the door. What have I gotten myself into? Should I just apologize and call it a night? Maybe I can find a better place to work? Is it really so important that I continue my studies, if it means working in a place like this? My head is filled with questions, as I try to shake it and set myself straight. Everything becomes clearer. I’ve gotten myself into some kind of hell. I don’t know if I’ll find another place to work anytime soon. Dropping out of school is not an option, so the way to my own private paradise is paved with prostitutes and pole-dancers. Why do you even care? I scold myself. You’re not here to make new friends. You’re not here to expand your horizons. You’re here only to get the money you need to make your dream come true.

Now, with my head being clearer, I can build in my head an equation with two variables. I close my eyes and write the two variables on an imaginary whiteboard in my head. The first is the number of workdays. The second is the daily pay. On the solution side I write the amount. 30,000 dollars. Now everything’s clear. I smile to myself. All I need to do now is to understand how my variables affect each other, and replace them with the amounts of money.

I walk out of the restroom and freeze as two girls with short, straight black bobs come in, both dressed in school uniforms. They lean over the sink and sniff some white powder. They straighten up, wipe off the remnants of the powder and turn around smiling widely at me. They’re identical twins.

“Hi there,” the one on the right says and rubs her nose. “Are you the new girl?”

“Yes,” I answer as I walk toward the door.

“Want something to help you get through the night?” The one on the left shows me a transparent capsule containing white powder.

“No thanks.” I don’t even try to smile back at them and I exit toward the bar area. Three more girls joined the two I met at the beginning of the evening, and now, once the twins sit down together at one of the tables, I count seven prostitutes. A man with glasses is sitting opposite the brunette, and the blonde is giggling with an older man.

“Elena,” Charlie calls and signals me to come to the bar. “Come on, get to work,” he scolds and I hurry to the table where the brunette sits.

“Would you like to order?” I ask her, and she bares her teeth and signals with her head that I should ask the man sitting opposite her. “Good evening, sir. Would you like to order a drink for you and the lady?”

“Sure,” he strokes the palm of her hand and she smiles at him seductively. “What do you recommend?” he asks, while his fingers slide towards her exposed elbow.

“How should I know what you like…” I mumble and they both turn to look at me surprised.

“Only joking!” I fake a laugh that sounds embarrassingly rusty. “I’m sure that an impressive gentleman like yourself knows exactly what he likes, and I have a feeling that you like nothing but the best.” He nods with pleasure and I stifle a giggle. “Then I’d pick the 19-year-old Glenfiddich for you.” He stops stroking the brunette’s elbow, removes his glasses and polishes them on the fabric of his shirt. I realize that he’s hesitating, as he surely knows the price of this particular drink.

Bizarrely, this amuses me. “And since you’re lucky enough to spend the evening with this beautiful lady, I suggest that you pamper her with this outstanding whiskey as well.” He lets out a short cough and turns pale. this turns this game even more fun for me. “And you’ve certainly found a real man who knows to choose nothing but the best.” I complete my compliments with a wide smile directed at the stunned brunette. “Is that it, then?” I turn my head to the man again, who has put his glasses back on.

“Umm…yes…maybe…just…” he stutters, and I place my hand on his shoulder.

“I knew you’d pick something special.” I squeeze his shoulder and make my way back to the bar.

“Two glasses of 19-year-old Glenfiddich,” I say to Charlie, and he looks at me surprised. “Come on,” I hurry him, “I have a lot of work.”

I repeat the same sentences, same compliments and the same smile at all the tables, until Charlie signals me to join him behind the bar.

“What are you doing?” He asks, and I don’t know if he’s angry or pleased.

“Waitressing.”

“How are you getting all of those cheap bastards to order our most expensive drink?” he asks curiously, and falls quiet as Scarface walks toward us. I get to see my new boss’s amazing body for the first time.

“Is there a problem?” he asks Charlie, as he sits down in front of us on a barstool and places his green file down on the black counter. I would guess Scarface is nearly two heads taller than me. He has an athletic build and his walk radiates self-confidence. His polo shirt is stretched tight over his pectoral muscles and biceps, accentuating them perfectly. His wide shoulders create the ultimate upper body V. I look at him in awe. If Pythagoras would have ever met him, his theorem would have been completely different.

“Yes,” Charlie answers and I shake my head and look at him alarmed. “Thanks to our Girl Scout here, we’re all out of Glenfiddich.” He picks up the empty bottle and Scarface’s eyes open wide in surprise.

“Have they paid you?” Scarface asks and narrows his cat eyes at me angrily.

“Of course,” I answer and take the dollar bills out of the small pouch around my hips.

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