Page 1 of The Sicuro

One

Kelcie

He’s here, again. He’s been here every night this week. When he walks through the door at midnight, I can feel his presence before I see him. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, goosebumps rush over my whole body and my breathing slows and deepens. I can almost feel my pupils dilate allowing me to take in the full image of him. He’s easily 6’2” with broad shoulders and his suit flatters his muscular physique. His hair is a deep brown, cut short on the sides with some length on the top which is kept tidy. Sporting a couple of days stubble highlights his chiselled jawline, which I swear is so defined it looks like it could cut through a diamond. He walks with confidence and composure that demands your attention.

I have to concentrate to pull my gaze away from him and finish putting together the drinks order that Sarah, one of the waiting girls has brought over. It’s table service only here at The Sicuro, each table is set for the bookings made.

The Sicuro is a beautiful place, the main bar is set up in a manor to enable members to discuss business privately. There are three booths at each side of the room, the seating dressed indeep red velvet hugging the circular tables which are deep mahogany wood. A hanging lamp with a shade to provide a seductive, calming light, just enough so that you can see the expressions on the face of the person across from you clearly, but not those further passed. Ten tables line the floor evenly allowing more than adequate space between each. Dressed in the same style as the booths but with Chippindale wingback chairs. A single lamp dead centre in each providing the same seductive pool of light.

All waiting and bar staff are female, and purposefully all dressed in matching black dresses, individually tailored to each of them, hugging their bodies, the hem rests on their knees, full sleeves with a Queen Anne neckline, meaning that they move around the room like silhouettes. It’s a requirement that all staff are essentially seen and not heard, so do not disturb any members.

But this isn’t a restaurant or a bar that you can walk into on a random Friday evening. It’s a members’ only bar, a membership that is nearly impossible to gain, and only a member can extend an invite for a guest to attend.

The bar is set on the first floor of a three-story building, the ground floor is an open plan foyer with white quartz flooring, a large reception desk made of black marble, and a cloakroom, although guest do not check their coat here, they are taken down by the staff upon arrival to the bar. Concierges open the doors for every guest, then guide them to check in and then take the elevator to the bar. Staff do enter the building the same way but use the staff entrance via the stairs.Image is key for The Sicuro, and the place is always immaculate.

The second floor, I know has the HR team’s office, the owner’s office and one other room simply called The Suite the latter two I have never seen inside of. One of the girls has seen the inside of The Suite, when she was tasked to take in drinks for the owner when he was hosting members. She said it resembles a board room but not like you would expect in a company’s building but more like something you would see in a film at the back of a restaurant. I laughed when I heard this, who does she think we work for? However, I am not naive enough to think that this place isn’t used for something illegal.

As Sarah leaves silently with her table order I look back over at him and watch as he walks towards his usual booth, the suit he is dressed in is clearly worth more than my rent. But damn he looks good in it. It’s as black as the night and falls perfectly over his broad shoulders, hugs his biceps, and clings to his thighs. His crisp white shirt, which compliments his light olive skin tone, has the collar and top button undone. Just the image of him has me clenches my thighs together as my pussy throbs. His booth is the one closest to the bar on the left as I look out from it. I begin to pour his usual drink a double 25-year-old Dalmore whisky, neat. A whisky that retails at a thousand a bottle. I never understood spending that amount on drinks, but members here aren’t the type of people that have concerns about what things cost. I look up at Sarah and give her a slight nod, informing her that an order is ready, silently she comes to the bar, places thedrink on her tray and serves him. Not a single word is said throughout the whole process.

One of the reasons I landed the bar position and not a service role is that I’m able to remember the members, their orders and can move around the bar producing drinks with minimal noise. There are no glasses knocking together or the standard bar noise you would expect to hear. The owner, Mr DeMarco an older gentleman who has always owned the business doesn’t like to be involved with the service and bar staff, however, he does have very specific requirements on how the bar is presented. Service staff are seen and not heard, no more than four tables to each girl to ensure that no guest is kept waiting. The ambience is calm, with music set at the right volume so that you can hold a conversation but not hear the tables near you, the is heat set so that when you remove your coat your body doesn’t sense a change in temperature.

There are other specific requirements too, all staff are to sign NDAs, and you don’t use your real name. My work name is Lucy, it was the only thing that popped into my head when asked what I wanted to use. The NDA ensures the safety and confidentiality of The Sicuro’smembers, and they are secure in the knowledge if any staff overheard anything discussed they couldn’t divulge the information, or they would be sued for a minimum of a million. An amount that none of the staff have, if they did, they wouldn’t be working here. I have a sense that they would also be in constant fear of something happening to them. The pay is better than any other bar, andit’s helping me save to finally move out of here, and too good for me to break the NDA I signed, regardless of who asks and what they offer.

There was a rumour amongst the staff that one of the girls was approached and offered a significant amount of money to divulge who one specific member was entertaining, nothing else just a name. She was working to pay her father’s medical bills after he was involved in a construction accident. The girl wasn’t seen again, it was like she just vanished. It’s unsure if she broke the NDA or informed the boss and had to leave. However, that was before I got here and it was a rumour, I like to hope it was.

He sits in silence on his own, it’s been an hour, Sarah his server, is currently serving one of her other tables and I notice his drink is almost empty, I turn myself so that I am facing his booth, my purposeful body language catching his eye so that he looks up, I give a slow slight nod to indicate if he would like a refill. His return nod directs me to pour his drink, as I go to place it on the bar Sarah is there, tray held out. I place it on, she moves diligently to his booth replacing his now empty glass. He doesn’t speak, but that’s not unusual for him, it doesn’t bother the girls and he always tips well, better than most. He also always tips the bar staff, there is only ever one of us on at a time, I think there are three of us in total, and as the girls all keep their tips, he ensures the bar staff are tipped equally. He says nothing as he does it, the server’s tips are left on the table, and the bar staff are on the bar in a set area. It’s never handed directly to you if it’s left, it’s yours. There is no bill handed to guests at theend of their evening, each member has their tab which is settled monthly with the HR team. It’s 2am when he leaves, as he stands, he leaves a tip on the table, and as he passes the bar places a £50 note on the tip tray and walks out.

It's Friday and it’s been the same each night. I’ve been on from 10pm to close each evening, there isn’t a set closing time, just when the last members leave and when clean-up is done, which I can get through in half an hour. This week hasn’t been too bad, he has been the last to leave each night at 2am, but as it’s Friday I am expecting 3.30am at the earliest. Another pair of regulars have their weekly meeting tonight. Depending on the servers, when the last guest leaves and clean-up is done, we would have a beer or glass of wine and be able to have a conversation with each other. Most girls are here to pay their way through school, whether it be medical or law. Me, I don’t have the desire to gain any qualifications or have family pressuring me to, I am doing what I can to get enough together to pack up and start somewhere new. After my relationship broke down with my parents because their only child didn’t want to be a lawyer, or doctor and work 60 hours a week I decided it was best for me to get a fresh start somewhere new, somewhere warm. Then when I got called to say they had been in a fatal car accident it most definitely was. They didn’t have much, and what they did have they left to charity. That was three years ago. I jumped between jobs making ends meet until I secured this job six months ago.

It’s 3am, the last members have left, and clean-up is completed, Sarah asks if I fancy a drink. As I am not back on until 10pm again tonight, I agree to stay for one, the other girls take off, saying they have paid tuition scheduled. It’s normally myself and Sarah that stay, although I don’t know much about her, other than her real name is Helen and she has just broken up with her childhood sweetheart. She married him at a young age and is now trying to earn enough to move out of the house that she shares with him because she caught him balls deep in their neighbour. I still call her Sarah, saves me from messing up at work, and she’s ok with that. We chat about the usual, how she is having to deal with her ex asking to work through things and share her bed. I find my mind wandering off and thinking abouthim, and how he has been here every night, the way my body ignites when he is here. Sarah clicks her fingers in front of my face “helllooo” she sings.

“Sorry, I was just thinking erm, about” I trail off not finishing the sentence. A smirk takes over her lips.

“I know who you’re thinking of,” she declares. I look at her and stutter.

“What, who, I don’t know what you’re on about.” She sniggers.

“I see him looking at you, you know. Mr X.” We all call him Mr X, none of us know his name which is unusual. Normally we know the member’s names, like Mr Geovanni, who we know owns the Italian on West Street, is married but never brings his wife. Or Mr Owen O’Connell, who owns Pulse Entertainment, andhas only ever tried once to get one of the girls to work for him. He was quickly ejected from The Sicuro that evening and, was incredibly sheepish on his return and has since doubled his tips. But Mr X, we know nothing, his name or what he does, only that booth one is his and it is never given to anyone else.

“Give up”. I snap harsher than I intended to.

“I’m not lying,” she replies with a slight snigger. “All the girls watch him, that’s how I know he watches you.”

“Right, come on let’s call it a night, it’s almost 3.45am.” I’m not one for getting into personal conversations and this feels like it’s going that way. We finish up and Dave one of the security guy’s locks up behind us. The security team always locks up and one of them is always present. All of them get called Dave, except one, the head of security who’s David. Keeps things simple and personal details private apparently, regardless of how ridiculous it seems.

As we leave Sarah leans in and hugs me, something I still find awkward, I have never been a touchy-feely person. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she calls back as she turns and walks off in the opposite direction to me.

I’ve changed clothes before leaving, we have a room behind the bar where we each have a personal locker, there’s a dining table and chairs and some couches for us to take our breaks. Lockers because you can spend a hell of a lot of time there due to the opening hours. I always change before leaving, out of the matching dress and into loose jeans, a jumper, and my trainers. When I leave at night, I always throw on a largecoat, as if I am trying to hide that I am female. Constantly watching true crime and murder documentaries may have made me subconsciously paranoid.

Five minutes into my twenty-minute walk home, which could be a lot less if I took the back streets, but I always decide against it, I suddenly feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, my body shudders, and my core temperature drops. Someone is watching me. I can feel it. I take a deep breath and look around, I can’t see anyone, and there are no moving cars on the road. The route I take is lit up by streetlights, another reason I walk this way. I look around a second time, scanning each doorway and parked car. I still don’t see anything. I convince myself I am being stupid and need to find something different to watch, maybe some kind of comedy. I take back off, speeding up as I go.

I get home to my one-bedroom apartment, it’s on the ground floor so has direct access from the street, it has a small entryway with enough space to hang my coat and kick my shoes off. A decent sized open-plan living diner with a breakfast bar so no need for a table. It leads off to the bathroom, with a bath and shower, which was lucky to get around here, everything is space-saving. It’s then onto a large-sized double room. It’s all I need, plus it helps me save more. Initially I had the top floor as my first option but the difference in rent was unjustifiable. I lock the door behind me and immediately pull the top and bottom bolts closed. It’s not a high-crime area, but you never know what could happen. There it is! The paranoia kicked in again. I’m knackered so I get myself ready for bed, turn on the TV and relax for half an hour. My mind starts to wander back to him, just the image of him sitting in his booth and how his presence affects my body, that Sarah said he watches me. I try to shake it off and go to bed but as I start to fall asleep his image is still with me, it’s so clear he could be sitting in the corner of my room watching me fall asleep.

Two

Kelcie

It’s Saturday and gone noon when I wake. I lay there for a good ten minutes, my mind wandering back to Mr X again, his stature, deep dark brown hair, the stubble, and the way he carries himself, which I think may also be arrogance. I wonder what he does for work, to be able to be a member of The Sicuro I can’t imagine it’s anything mundane, and possibly not legal. I tell myself he wasn’t watching me like Sarah proclaims. Why would he watch me, the other girls at The Sicuro are far more beautiful. I am 5’5, with brown copper hair that reaches to the middle of my back. I’m not thin like the other girls who look like they danced throughout high school, I’m curvy with boobs and an arse. I force my thoughts away from him and get myself out of bed. Debating whether to go for a run before I have any breakfast or eat and go before work. Knowing I would make my excuses not to go later, I brush my teeth, pull my hair into a ponytail, and throw on my kit. I don’t run to make a certain distance in a set time, as it makes me hate it. Today I tell myself since I haven’t done anything for a few days to aim for around 45 minutes. It’s March so the weatherisn’t the greatest, cloudy but not raining, temperature low enough that I have a long sleeve top on.

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