Page 7 of Only Me
4
Casey
“Itotally forgot the pharmaceutical convention was in town this week.” I shove the slip with the latest drink order across the bar to our mixologist, Rose. Not bartender. Mixologist. Call her anything else, and the old battle ax would give you a two-hour lecture on the difference between someone that pours drinks and someone that creates magic in a glass.
Rose rolls her eyes at the list of run of the mill drinks. None of these guys were interested in her concoctions. They want whiskey or beer. Oh, and tits. Lots of tits. “Wasn’t it on the convention calendar?”
“Yeah, I missed it though because Luther marked it as pill poppers con. I thought it was a Narcotics Anonymous convention or something. No way that crowd would have filled the place within ten minutes of unlocking the doors.”
As she fills up the tray, Rose glances around the room. “These assholes are the worst. I’ll take the old men in sweatpants any day to the dickheads that think they can pay their way into our pants. I don't give a shit if half the women in this joint are taking off their clothes, show a little respect.”
I nod. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. Won’t be the last either.
On stage, Divine wraps up her set with a flourish to the end of Britney’s Toxic. As the veteran dancer quickly scoops up her tips from the floor, Zsa Zsa attempts to wow the men in the crowd with her off-color humor. But a bunch of Patrick Bateman look-a-likes aren’t the right crowd for a drag queen's antics. The regulars love Zsa Zsa. The outsiders sometimes have trouble understanding why a drag queen is even in a strip club.
“Dang, boys. There are some mighty fine poles in the house tonight. And I’m not talking about the ones on stage.” Zsa Zsa leans over the edge of the stage and waggles her eyebrows at the lap of one of the men in the front row.
The target of Zsa Zsa’s little joke clenches his jaw and looks away.
“Get the real tits on stage, freak.”
I can’t see which of these greased back assholes yelled out that comment, but I glance at Butch’s second in command, Roger, and give him the universal look for get ready to kick ass.
“Oh, honey bear, if you’re here for some real tits you came to the wrong place darling.” That joke does get Zsa Zsa some chuckles.
Someone brushes against my back, but before I can move out of the way, I find myself pulled back onto a stranger’s lap. “Now, I much prefer the junk in the trunk you are sporting to all these skinny bitches on stage. What do you say you give me a private show in the back?”
I try to turn and wedge my arm between Handsy McGrabberson and myself. I’ve barely moved an inch when I’m ripped from the guy’s lap and shoved behind a wall of heaving grey cotton.
“Get your hands off what doesn’t belong to you.” The words are ground out from deep in the belly of Zeke, who I’m not shocked to see fills out a pair of jeans very nicely.
“I’m pretty sure everything in this place is up for grabs, for a price, asshole.” Handsy doesn’t know when to back down.
“Wrong. You were welcome to watch the show on the stage, but now even that isn’t up for grabs to you.” Zeke clutches the guy by the back of his polo shirt and straight up drags him to the door.
“Get your hands off of me!”
Zeke doesn't listen to the blubbering idiot, instead,he tosses him into the hall. “Butch, toss this guy on his ass and make sure he knows he’s not allowed back here.”
“Yes, sir.” Seriously? Sir? Zeke’s been the owner for all of ten minutes, and he’s getting called sir? Butch still calls me kiddo most of the time.
“Hey, cow shit for brains, I could have handled that.” I plant my fists on my hips and stand firm. When Zeke turns and levels me with the most intense, pissed off eyes, my knees don't go weak at all. Not even a little. Nope.
When he stalks toward me with obvious lust in his eyes, I definitely don’t hold my breath and hope he literally sweeps me off my feet to kiss me. Uh huh. Not me.
“We need to talk.” He doesn’t let me answer. Caveman Ken takes my hand in a firm but gentle hold and drags me back toward the office.
“I’ve got customers to serve,” I yell as I try to rip away from his hold.
“Take your time, lover boy, we got it out here,” Rose calls after us just as the music starts up again.
I shoot awhat the fucklook over to Zsa Zsa, but she winks, laughs, and starts playing Like A Virgin.Bitch.
Just as I’m afraid I’ll fall flat on my face trying to keep up with Zeke in these insane heels, he swings me into the office, slams and locks the door, and crowds me against the wall.
“No more waitressing.” His minty breath washes over me, and it is such a relief from the whiskey-soaked dude just pawing me that I momentarily don’t register his words.
But then they penetrate. And damn they piss me off. “Excuse me! This is my business.” I stab my finger out toward the main floor but manage to reel in the desire to stomp my foot. Petulant toddler isn’t the management style I’m going for. “I will do what needs to be done to make sure it continues to run smoothly. If that means I need to serve assholes in suits drinks, hell, if it means I need to get up on that stage and take my clothes off, I will.” Through my little tirade, I inched closer and closer to Zeke, but he doesn’t move back. Instead, we’re standing practically pressed together, both breathing like bulls waiting to be released and stomp on some cowboys.
