Page 7 of Deuce

He laughed at his comparison. I gave him a tight-lipped smile. Something about him felt off to me, too. I didn’t notice it in my interview, but now it was abundantly present.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Okay then. Well, let me show you around before I hand you off to Sweets.”

After securing my apron and name tag, we left the office, and he gave me a mini tour of the back area. I made mental notes of everything, such as the bathrooms, break area, and supply closets. There was one door in particular that he omitted. It was an eerie, rusted steel door at the very back with several locks.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Nothing you need to be concerned about. That door is off limits.”

He walked ahead of me. I stood there for a moment, looking back at the door. What the hell was back there? It gave off horror movie vibes. Niggas never made it to the end of horror movies, so I’d keep my black ass away from it.

“Peach!”

“I’m coming.”

Boss led me through the crowd and up a flight of stairs to the VIP area. It wasn’t as packed as the main floor, but there was a good amount of people, mostly men. When I stepped in, several eyes drifted to me. Many of them held lust and desire. That was common. I was a pretty bitch. At five foot seven, I weighed in at a buck fifty. My mama always told me I was stacked like a brick house. She would know because I got my shape from her. Most every woman in my family was shaped like me. Mama claimed her cooking was what kept my father, but her body was what brought him home every night. As many times as I’d heard them fucking, I was inclined to think she was right.

“Sweets!” Boss called.

A short, pretty, brown-skinned girl looked up, and he waved her over.

“Sweets, this is Peach. I need you to show her the ropes tonight.”

“Boss, it’s busy. I don’t have time to hold her hand?—"

“Sweets.”

He gave her a stern look. She frowned as her eyes drifted over to me.

She smacked her lips. “You got any serving experience?”

“I do.”

“Good. Take that section over there. Don’t be too friendly and never accept drinks. These muthafuckas will try to roofie your pretty ass sure as shit.”

“I understand.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Grab a notepad from the bar and get to it.”

Boss patted my shoulder. “Good luck, Peach.”

He left the room, and I went to grab the notepad like Sweets said. Putting on my best smile, I walked over to my first table.

“Good evening, gentlemen. What can I get you?”

My feet were on fire.

I’d been running around for the past three hours and if I was sure of anything, I needed better support shoes for this job. I stood at the bar waiting for the bartender to fill my current order.

“How’s it going?” Sweets asked, causing me to jump.

“Busy. Is it always like this?”

“Always. How are you doing in tips?”

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