Instead, I sighed, mumbled a farewell, and hung up.
Though I dawdled as I walked to my second job, I was still early, and while I felt like a spendthrift, I decided I was hungry and could afford to buy a burger from the joint next door.
It tasted divine. The beef was rich and juicy, and not like the stuff I bought to save money from the store. It exploded on my tongue, melting in my mouth while enabling me to savor the naughty goodness of all the accompaniments—oh yeah, it was go big or go home, so I had it topped off with bacon and cheese too.
Afterward, of course, I felt sinful, but fuck it.
The money wouldn’t last forever, I knew that, but one burger wasn’t going to break the bank.
Of course, the instant that thought crossed my mind was the minute I worried if it was. If it would break the bank with the trigger pull of me being slingshotted down a slippery slope that involved me making shitty choices when I couldn’t afford one wrong move.
Hell, I’d already made one wrong move and it had led to this situation with the professor. That alone was enough to make me have palpitations, because wrong didn’t even begin to describe what was going on with him.
As I sat in the restaurant, staring down at the meal I hadn’t intended on eating, on money I hadn’t intended on spending, dread curdled with fear.
The rash decision would have meant nothing to some people, but I just didn’t have the means to splurge on things. Not even a burger.
For so long, my life had been one long round of drudgery, followed by more hard work, and I’d taken it on because I’d known, after college, it would be worth it.
This burger, though a small blip on the radar, represented the start of an attitude change I couldn’t afford.
As a result, it made that curdling sensation in my stomach happen all the more, and made me doubly regret the meal I’d gorged on.
When I headed to the club, I threw myself into work, hoping to burn off the excess calories as well as disperse the guilt with the nastiness of cleaning the place, before a double shift behind the bar.
Crow was a kind of club-cum-chill out space. The music was always too loud, the clientele too damn swank for their own good, and we’d been raided by the cops four times in the past year.
For all that, by the end of my time here, I’d end up with a perforated eardrum and a brown nose from the, you guessed it, brown-nosing, but I quite enjoyed it.
More than the cafe.
There, the hours dragged by because though business was brisk, it wasn’t like the bar. Here, the second I’d grabbed someone’s money, another client was shoving theirs in my hand to get the next drink. I had three people hollering orders at me while I served someone. Time flew by. Not to mention, the tips helped me massively.
The cafe was more sedate, more relaxed, and I guessed it just didn’t fit me as well as it probably should have.
I liked working late nights too. I preferred to be in the dark with music I enjoyed, rather than having to get up at the asscrack of dawn to pour snooty city types their cup of morning Joe before they trawled into Manhattan to start their day.
Crow was a long, thin rectangle, that was a pain to clean, but once it was done, that was it until next Friday—the only time I pulled this chore. With housekeeping over, I had a quick wash in the restroom, then changed into the uniform in time for my next shift, which started with restocking the shelves before opening.
The bar stretched along the back wall, and working with me, there was a team of six serving the heaving crowds that surged inside from the second the doors opened. Beyond us, there was the dance floor that was overstuffed with humanity, and overhead, there was a kind of mezzanine with a VIP area—I never served up there. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure who did.
In our white shirts, denim skirts, and high tops, the all-female team rushed here and there as we served on command. What the lofty bartenders in VIP wore was as unknown to me as the purpose behind Area 51.
Three hours into my shift, my manager tugged my arm. “Phoebe? Time to head upstairs. One of the girls has called in sick.”
Sweat was beading on my brow as I reached up and swiped at it with my forearm. “Me?” I asked with a frown.
Michaela nodded. “Yeah. And before you argue, you’re the girl with the most experience down here.” Her slick, red lips curved with amusement like she’d known I’d argue and I hadn’t let her down.
Blinking down at her, because I was quite tall, I grimaced. “Should I get changed into a different uniform?” I motioned down at my outfit, but it was mostly in an attempt to divert her attention.
Knowing how most bars like this worked, because I’d been around the block as I tried to get a job that fit with my lifestyle, I knew the uniform in the VIP section would be swanky and skanky.
Maclean was right. I was a lardass and the uniform probably wouldn’t fit.
The burger churned inside me once more like a silent, pulsating warning, one that dared me not to heed my inner Scrooge again. Ignoring that side of me came with an accompaniment of guilt, and that was something else I couldn’t afford.
“No, no need. You just stay behind the bar and let the others serve.”
So, she was just as aware that I was fat.
Great.
There was no point in getting angry. This was NYC, after all. If you weren’t young, beautiful, and most importantly, thin, you didn’t exist. I was quite happy with being a shadow in the dark, and would have given my left tit for Maclean not to have shone a light on my path, one that illuminated me in his world, and one that guided me in a direction I hadn’t chosen and never would have.
With a grunt, I dipped my chin at Michaela and headed toward the end of the bar where I could exit the enclosed space.
As I moved, however, she grabbed my arm and frowned at me. “Are you okay?”
Surprised by the genuine concern in her voice, I asked, “Yeah?”
“Are you answering my question with a question?” she mocked, amusement lacing her words now.
My lips twitched. “Maybe?”
She snickered. “Seriously, you okay? I expected more arguing.”
“What’s the point?”
That had her sighing before she squeezed the arm she’d grabbed. “Tips are better up there,” she assured me, and that had me perking right up.
I could offset the stupid burger if I got more tips than usual.
Her words had me pasting on a bright smile that wasn’t totally phony. She snorted at the sight then slugged me in the shoulder. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” she teased, and I shot her a grin before darting off to start earning those bigger tips.
As I headed out from behind the bar, the sheer welter of humanity in the space, as always, overwhelmed me.
What people saw in these damn places bewildered me, but maybe that was because I saw this dump in the natural light.
With strobes and lasers, the mirrors in here looked pretty cool. There were huge figurines formed from an opaque white plastic that glowed in the dark, throbbing in time to the music. The shapes were forged into icicles, which considering the heat from all the people dancing, was beyond ironic.
As I slipped into the crowd, a guy grabbed my ass, making me jerk in surprise. When I was hauled into someone’s arms and twerked against, I scowled up into the stranger’s face and shoved at his chest when he twisted me in his arms.
When his cock pressed into my belly, disgust whirled inside me—who did that? Shoved their erection into a stranger’s stomach and, for even more ick factor, ground it into the soft mound like I’d pleaded with him to do so?