Working in a bar is not my idea of a good time. I have cleaned up more puke and other vile substances than a janitor at a dog kennel since taking this pathetic job. There is not a part of me that has not been ogled by one customer or another and even the boss, Thomas. Somehow just saying his name makes me feel a wave of nausea.
There has been some excitement at the club recently though. I think I might finally be onto something that could really be a big story. In fact, I think I might have landed myself an even bigger story than I had first imagined.
You know what is hilarious? The way that most people automatically assume that if you are an exotic dancer that you can pole dance. I am here to tell you different. I just watched Vanilla training a new girl (her name is Sophie) to use the pole. First off, Vanilla looked up how to do it on-line and used a YouTube video as her training aide. Secondly, even she, although used to being on the stage, looked almost as uncomfortable as the girl, or at least for the first few minutes. Perhaps changing the tempo of the song was what helped.
Thomas watching her every move made my nausea return full force. He didn’t look at her like he was impressed. He looked at her like he owned her. There is something sinister in the way he refers to her and their daughter as “his girls.” It isn’t pride as one would expect, it is darker than that, as if he is speaking about objects rather than people.
Sophie looked at Vanilla with astonishment, as though she had never seen anything like what she had just witnessed. I couldn’t help myself, I found it rather funny, knowing how Vanilla feels about the pole in general.
As I was buffing the bar to a shine and watching them, Vanilla looked over at me with a strange mixture of emotions on her face. I asked her through my expression what was going on. She looked back at Sophie and then said something to the girl that was too low for me to understand. I moved closer to them, as close as I could get with the bar top in the way.
“I’m…umm…I’m 18,” Sophie stammered.
Vanilla’s gaze caught mine again but this time we were on the same wavelength.
The next thing I knew Vanilla was yanking Thomas away from his phone call, her eyes burning with fury. “Thomas! We have a problem!” She said to him.
He didn’t look particularly concerned.
“There is no way in Hell that Sophie is 18!” She said to him under her breath.
At first he looked as though he might strike her, but then the quick flash of anger was replaced by an unnatural, arrogant calm. He walked away from her with a disinterested sigh. “I’ll take care of it.”
He was lucky he didn’t lay a hand on her. I had come to care about her in a short amount of time, and her daughter for that matter. I would have had a jagged beer bottle with his name all over it, the asshole.
I looked at Vanilla again, and she appeared rather stunned. If she only knew the other things I suspected. Things were definitely starting to heat up. It wouldn’t be long before the truth was out, whatever the truth was.
Who is Sophie? Who is Thomas? Thank you Diane Winters (aka Ionia Martin) for writing this Guest Character post. For more of Ionia check her out here and here.
