by Portia Moore
Hillary breaks the silence with a small laugh, but it’s void of her usual energy.
“My mom is basically my dad’s slave. He’s a pastor.” She swirls her straw around in her drink. I try to hide my shock. Knowing how wild Hillary is, I never would’ve expected her to grow up in such a conservative household.
“Good ol’ Dad is the king, his wife and his daughters all the little minions in his kingdom. The good book this. The good book that. The man is the head of the household. Spare the rod, spoil the child. All that jazz. I got out as fast as I could.”
“My parents are happy in a traditional sense, I think,” Angie adds. “They’ve been married for twenty-nine years, so I hope they’re happy. I wouldn’t mind having a little bit of what they have one day. That forever type of love would be nice.”
“I like the sound of that,” Hillary admits with the softest expression I’ve ever seen on her face. “A forever type of love.”
“I don’t remember much about my parents, but I remember my mom reading to me every night.”
They both smile at me and it’s genuine, not condescending or bored.
“They were short stories. I was only four or five. The stories were always fairy tales. Stories of princesses and princes living happily ever after. I know that life isn’t about a prince coming to save you.”
I laugh before adding, “My Aunt Raven always made sure to stress the importance of a princess being able to save herself. But I remember when my dad would come in and love on my mom. I knew that he was her Prince Charming.”
“And who wouldn’t want that?” Angie says.
I blink a stray tear away. I want what my parents had more than anything. Love always radiated off of them. I felt it. It was so real I could make it into a sweater and wear it.
“I’m sorry. We were supposed to be having a fun dinner and I completely sucked the life out of it.”
Hillary pulls me into a tight hug. “No, you didn’t. I need someone in my life who still believes in magic, because that’s what it’s going to take a lot of to find a guy like that these days.”
“Don't listen to her,” Angie urges. “Nice guys still exist.”
“Yeah, but who wants a nice guy?” Hillary giggles, her eyes bright with mischief.
“Normal girls,” Angie teases back.
“I disagree. We say that we want a nice guy, but what we really want is someone who’s going to tell us to shut up before banging us senseless.”
“Maybe a little of both,” Angie relents with a sigh before she turns to face me with a bright smile. “So. About Steven.”
I shake my head.
“Oh, come on, Lauren,” she whines. “Steven is super handsome. He’s a junior at UIC. He’s even out of his douchebag and manwhore stage that all men go through.”
“Really?” Hillary exclaims, surprised. “He was such a slut after he broke up with that Nicole chick. She was a model or Hooters waitress or something.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be set up. Plus if he works at The Vault, isn’t that a bad idea anyways?”
Hillary laughs. “Well, I didn’t have a lot of luck in that area.”
“You were screwing around with different guys. It’s not the same thing,” Angie reminds her.
“I guess you’re right,” Hillary says, shrugging.
“Ciroc, Tito’s, Svedka, Grey…” I tap my finger against my chin while I try to think of which brand came next. Why are there so many different brands of alcohol? They all do the same thing in the long run. So what does it matter?
I’ve been trying to memorize the menu for three straight days now. I barely had any time to study in between classes and finishing up my last hours at the bookstore. The only problem is that I have to take the test today. I already failed it once. If I fail again, I won’t be allowed on the floor to train for another week. I need to start as soon as possible so that I can be able to pay Hillary rent.
“What’s the big difference between Ciroc and Svedka?” I murmur to myself as I slam down the drink menu.
“The difference is a five dollar tip and a fifty dollar tip.” I glance up to see a guy with shaggy dark blond hair. He also seems vaguely familiar. He stretches out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Steven. Occasional bartender, full-time student.”
I shake his hand, a strained smile on my face. Steven. A.K.A. the guy who Angie picked out to be my apparent savior from celibacy and singlehood.
“I’m Lauren, and sorry if my first impression was completely terrible,” I blurt out, my cheeks burning.
A dazzling smile pops up on his face. “No, you’re great.” After a pause he clarifies, “I mean you were great then. Not that you’re not great now.” A flush in his cheeks gives away his embarrassment, making me start to like him.
“Thanks. You’re great, too.”
There is something about his smile. It’s infectious and I can’t help but return it.
He glances down at the table before pointing at the drink menu. “I could help you with that, ya know.”
“Really?” I ask, looking at the horrible menu as well.
“I am the bartender, after all,” he teases. “I’ve got to stock and pre-prep, but I can quiz you if you wanna hang out while I do it. Maybe I could even give you a few tips that might help.”
“That would honestly be amazing.”
I hop up from the stool I’ve been sitting on and follow Steven through the empty club. It’s only five in the evening now. Later tonight there will be hundreds of people inside the building. The Vault doesn’t look the same when it’s closed. I’m finally realizing how big the place actually is.
We reach the bar that stretches out several feet. He leans over the bar to grab something. My eyes are instantly drawn to his back and shoulders. I can’t help but notice how broad and muscular they are. Daniel was lean and athletic, but that was a high school boy. Steven looks to be about twenty-three or twenty-four, and let’s just say there’s nothing boyish about his body. I rub the back of my neck to get a grip on myself.
He turns around and grins at me. “This is the heart of the club. Also known as where all the magic happens.”
He starts to move around the bar and gestures for me to follow him. “It has its own atmosphere.” His voice is smooth and melodic and I wonder if he’s a singer. There’s dozens of shelves behind the bar that are stocked full with loads of different bottles of alcohol. Steven stops in front of them and starts explaining the small differences between them. I can barely concentrate on his words. I can tell he loves bartending. His eyes light up as he talks about it. He looks like me when I talk about art. After about an hour I realize he’s not only a great teacher, but funny and charming, and I have a sneaking suspicion he knows it, too.
“Okay, bonus question,” he announces seriously. I demand my brain to focus on what he’s taught me and not on how straight his teeth are and the subtle facial hair on his cheeks. God, what is wrong with me?
“You’re an English major so this should be easy,” he says with a boyish grin.
“What do you get when you when you mix tequila with English class?”
I twirl my finger around my hair and think hard, then realize it’s a joke and let out a sigh of relief.
“A tequila mocking bird!” he says with a wide smile. I laugh. He waves his hand playfully. “That was terrible, I know.”
“No. It was perfect,” I tell him, and mean it.
I pass my test, barely, but I still pass. I never would have been able to do it without Steven. Simply reading about alcohol doesn’t mean anything to me. I had no way to remember it. Once I was able to put my attraction to Steven aside and actually focus on what he was saying, things finally started to make sense to me.
Ryan looks up from his laptop. “Brilliant job. Are you free to start your training tonight?” I have to stop myself from squealing. I coolly nod my head and grin.
“Okay, Angie works tonight, I’ll have her train you. Did you already get yo
ur uniform?
“Yeah.”
I wasn’t really prepared for the outfit. It was a tiny purple corset and black shorts that were so fitted I could barely breathe, and fishnets to go with it. Three steps up from being naked.
Remember how much money you’ll be making.
I have to repeat it often. I’m so nervous about the outfit, the people, the drinks. But I won’t forgive myself if I don’t try.
“Good. Be back here in two hours.”
I rush out as quickly as I can. I have to go shower, do my hair, and put on makeup. Hillary decided to let me move in as soon as I got the job, even though I don’t have any money to give her upfront, so I have to make this work.
I burst through the door; Hillary’s sitting on the couch watching television. She looks up and jumps off of the couch. “Did you pass this time?”
“I did!” I sing. As soon as the words come out of my mouth, Hillary almost knocks me over with a hug.
“I knew you could do it!” she exclaims.
“I would’ve failed again if it wasn’t for Steven.”
I could feel Hillary’s body go rigid against mine. She slowly pulls away from me and asks, “Did you just say Steven?”
“I was in the club, studying the menu. Steven walked up and offered to help me. He is one of the bartenders, after all.” I shrug. I don’t want Hillary to make it a big deal. She’ll end up saying something to Angie, who will make it an even bigger deal.
She looks at me knowingly with a smirk. “Whatever you say. But I know you think he’s hot.”
Before I can say anything, she walks away. She isn’t wrong. I do think he’s hot.
My nerves are worse driving back to The Vault than they had been driving home. I’m not built for this job, but I’m going to give it my best shot.
As soon as I get out of my car, I see Angie getting out of hers. I run up to her as quickly as I can in these sky-high heels. Her face breaks out into a huge grin. “Look at you! I’m gonna guess and say that you passed your test.” I smile proudly. I was going to call her straight after but I thought it’d be better to surprise her.
“Yes, I did, and you get to train me today.”
Her grin becomes even wider. “We’re gonna have an awesome night!”
She hooks her arm with mine and we take off towards the employee entrance. Angie leads me past the main bar where Steven is talking to another guy I haven’t seen at the club before. As I walk past the guy Steven is with, he looks as if he stopped talking in the middle of his sentence. I keep walking and hide my smirk behind my hand. I can’t say his reaction doesn’t make me feel a little more confident.
The first time that I had come to The Vault, I was nervous and anxious just being here. But trying to work with all of these people? Much worse. If it wasn’t for Angie I wouldn’t have made it longer than five minutes. We’re on our first mini-break that Angie warned would feel like a microsecond.
Angie recognizes my panic. “Breathe. You’re not going to do anything wrong and everything is going to be fine.”
“You can’t know that!”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “I know a lot of things. Like how you had a special study session with Steven today.”
I glare at the floor. God Hillary, you couldn’t even wait until the next day? And now Angie is going to hound me for every detail, even though nothing happened.
“It wasn’t a big deal. He saw me struggling and he offered to help.”
“It didn’t look like nothing the way that he looked at you as you walked past him,” she sarcastically points out.
“We’re definitely going to talk about this later,” she warns. “But for now, we’re going to shift into work mode. We got money to make.”
For the first couple of hours, I basically follow Angie around and watch her get guy after guy to buy a bottle. I’m honestly not sure how she’s able to sell so much. We’re in VIP so of course that makes it easier, but it’s still kind of awesome. All she has to do is basically walk up to a guy and smile, and then he practically throws his money at her.
After a while Angie pulls me aside. “Are you ready to try it now?”
Is she crazy?
“I still don’t even know how you did that,” I tell her. “I don’t know how to do what you do.”
“Well, I’m normally flirty with the men, super complimentary of the women they’re with. But that’s not really your style. I think your best shot is to just be nice. Pick someone who looks like they have a lot of money, start a conversation, and ask what they’re drinking. If it’s something cheap, offer them something more expensive. If they decline, then ask if they need any more. You only take orders of bottle service here,” she coaches. “This is the best place to train you since most people here are already planning on spending a lot of money. On the regular floor it’s going to be a lot more hectic, but you won’t have to make much effort since you’re not selling hundred dollar bottles of liquor.”
I nod. If I can convince Ryan to hire me, I’m sure that I can get someone to buy a bottle. I must still look panicked because Angie puts her hands on my shoulders.
“You can do this,” she assures me. “I’m going to wait at the bar for you. Just go and try once, then come and tell me what happened.”
I nod my head. She’s right. I can do this. I turn around, holding my head up high. I brush my hair over my shoulder and march into the crowd. I decide on a guy sitting by himself, at least for now, in his own section. He’s bobbing his head to the music with eyes locked on his blackberry. He looks to be in his early thirties, maybe a stock market guy.
“Hi, I’m Lauren. How are you tonight?” I ask as brightly as I can.
“Good,” he replies dryly, until he looks up at me. His expression morphs from bored to interested, and downright giddy as his eyes make their way up my body.
“I’m great now that you’re here,” he flirts. Great, he likes me! Let’s see if he’ll spend something.
“Awesome. Can I offer you a bottle?”
“Of course. Two bottles of Jameson and Coke,” he says instantly.
Wow. That’s it? That was easy!
“And your number,” he adds with a grin. I giggle in a way that Daniel used to like.
“I’ll be back with those bottles,” I tell him sweetly. He smiles wider before I walk away, knowing that I have to come back. I rush over to Angie.
“So what happened?” she asks enthusiastically.
“He bought two bottles of Jameson!” I’m not able to contain my excitement.
“See? You’re going to do great!” She gives me a quick hug, and for the first time since she said it, I think she might be right.
“Let’s get the man his drinks so you can get your first official tip.”
Tip. I almost forgot about that.
Six
Mr. Jameson left me a seventy dollar tip, which wasn’t bad since I didn’t leave him my number. That night I ended up making twice as much as I would’ve in a week at the bookstore. By my seventh shift, I couldn’t believe the number in my bank account.
I decide to give Hillary a full month’s rent since she let me move in early. It’s the least I can do. I write the check before I take it to her room, and knock softly on her door.
“Come in.”
I walk in to see Hillary sitting at her vanity doing her makeup. “What are you getting all dolled up for?” I jokingly ask her.
She looks over her shoulder with a grin. “I have a date with one of those warehouse guys that I was telling you about.”
“Where is he taking you?”
“That’s the best part. I have no idea what we’re doing. He said that he wanted everything to be a surprise. It’s actually kind of nice. That is, as long as we don’t end up wrestling pigs or something.”
I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “You just want to do another kind of wrestling.”
Hillary erupts into laughter. “I feel like I’m corrupting you.”
I shrug and han
d her the check. “I just want to say thank you for giving me somewhere to live, even letting me move in earlier, and just being an amazing friend to me.”
She takes the check with a thoughtful smile. “It was nothing. And thank you for being such a good friend and roommate to my crazy ass.”
She looks down, slightly confused. “Lauren, this is our whole rent. Not half.”
“I just wanted you to have extra this month as a thank you.”
“You should use the other half of this money to buy yourself some furniture.” She glares at me and I wince because she does have a point. The only furniture in my room is the bed that’s been there since my birthday. I found out that it was Hillary’s old bed and she let me have it. I had been living in a dorm forever, so none of the furniture is mine. I can go and get my old furniture from my Auntie Raven’s house, but that was all from when I was a kid. I really do need something new.
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter because it’s too late. Just take the money and let me do something nice for someone.”
“Okay, if you insist,” she says, giving me another hug.
Tonight is my second night off since I’ve started at The Vault. Since I don’t have to work as much for the same amount of money, I decide to volunteer at the children’s art center. When I was in high school, I volunteered to teach free art classes to kids a few times a week. Since coming to college and getting a job, I haven’t able to do it as much as I want to.
“Lauren, look at my painting! It’s so much better since you showed me your way,” Alison, an adorable little eight-year-old, tells me. She’s one of my favorites and according to her, is a “little Da Vinci in the making.”
“I’m so glad I helped. Keep it up and your art is going to be in museums around the world.”
The class went well. I had fun and so did the kids. I walked them through a fairly easy painting tutorial. Their finished projects were remarkable and made the experience completely worth it. Now that I’m working at The Vault, hopefully I can have more time to volunteer again.