Serving the Billionaire
Page 4
Busted. “Well, not exactly, no,” I said. In for a penny.
“That isn’t a problem,” Germaine said. “Fewer bad habits to break. We’ll provide you with the necessary training. You seem, based on your attire and mannerisms, to understand the behavior appropriate to this setting. Everything else can be taught.”
My attire and mannerisms? Sadie had been right, then, but I didn’t know what Germaine meant by mannerisms. I didn’t pick my nose in public or anything, but that seemed like a pretty low bar. I gave Germaine what I hoped was a confident, knowing smile.
“As I’m sure you understand, our clients value their privacy, and we take great pains to ensure their comfort and security,” Germaine said. “They come here because they feel safe. Your job is to make them feel perfectly at home. You must understand what they need before it occurs to them, and provide it quickly and quietly. They should only notice you if they choose to. You will serve as lovely background décor.”
She paused and looked at me expectantly. I said, “I understand.”
She nodded slightly and continued. “You are understand that we are, in effect, a strip club. There are... other services available to our clients, but those are offered exclusively in the private rooms, and you won’t be serving there. ‘Cocktail waitress’ is not, in this case, a euphemism. You will remain fully dressed at all times, and there is no physical contact permitted between waitresses and clients. Do you have any questions?”
“Actually, yes,” I said. “If this is such a high-class joint, what were you doing advertising in a bodega?”
Germaine smiled. “An excellent question. As I said, we hire based on personality. We’ve found that casting a wide net provides us with a more diverse pool of applicants. It’s impossible to predict who will be a good fit based solely on demographic factors.”
That made sense. I nodded to show that I understood.
“You’ll start tomorrow,” Germaine said. “You’ll be training under one of our most experienced servers. Shifts are ten hours, from opening until we close at 2:00. You can work anywhere between one and seven shifts a week. While you’re in training, you’ll earn ten dollars an hour plus tips. Once your trainer decides you’re ready, we’ll bump your pay to fifteen an hour.”
That was more money than I expected. I hadn’t even anticipated making minimum wage. These people were serious about finding and keeping the best talent. I just had a hard time believing that the “best talent” included me.
Germaine continued, “Your current attire is more than appropriate. The club opens at 4:00. Please be here at 2:00 to sign paperwork and start on your training.”
And that was all: it was that easy. I’d gotten myself a job.
I had a feeling that I’d also gotten myself in over my head.
Chapter 2
The next day, I slept as late as I could. I knew I would have a long night at the club. Finally, around 10, I couldn’t sleep any longer, and got up to make myself a pot of coffee.
The morning dragged by slowly. I was nervous and eager to get started, but at the same time, I was dreading it. I was convinced that Germaine was wrong about me. I didn’t know anything about rich men or how to keep them happy. I would probably trip on the carpet my very first night and spill a tray of drinks all over the richest man in the room. Just my luck.
I texted Sadie: first-day jitters
My phone buzzed ten minutes later. u are going 2 b great!!!! so exciting!!!!!!!
For whatever reason, Sadie’s exclamation points actually made me feel a little better. I wished that Sadie could be there with me. She would be so much better at it than I would—charming, charismatic, the perfect cocktail waitress. I was good at office jobs, where I could sit at a desk and ignore everyone. I’d waitressed briefly in high school. It had been a disaster. I forgot orders, dropped things, and invariably delivered the wrong food to the wrong table.
Maybe it would go better this time.
At 1, I left home and took the subway into Manhattan. My heels clicked on the sidewalk as I headed to the club. They made an authoritative sound against the pavement. I threw back my shoulders and strutted, pretending I was someone confident and collected, someone who knew where her life was going. That was too vague; I needed to pretend to be someone specific. I decided that I would pretend to be Sadie. I would spend the entire first day doing what Sadie would do. I would play the role perfectly, and nobody would be able to tell how scared I was.
The same man was waiting inside the lobby of the club. He smiled at me and said, “Germaine is waiting for you in her office.”
“Thank you,” I told him, and lifted my chin as I returned his smile, the way Sadie always did.
The club was empty except for a woman running a vacuum cleaner. I made my way to Germaine’s office and knocked.
“Come in!” she called.
I opened the door and went inside. Germaine stood to greet me. “Regan, right on time. Welcome.” She motioned for me to sit. “We have the usual paperwork to fill out, tax forms, direct deposit, et cetera. And the non-disclosure agreement, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. That was the only part I was worried about. What if I slipped up and said something about my job after a few too many drinks? I wanted to get a look at the actual clauses in the agreement. I’d worked at a law office for a while, and although I was hardly an expert, I would be able to tell if the club wanted me to agree to anything truly out of the ordinary.
After I’d filled out all of the other paperwork, Germaine slid the agreement across the desk. “Please read it carefully. We don’t want there to be any surprises. In essence, you’re allowed to tell people that you work here as a cocktail waitress, but nothing more: nothing about the clientele or the specifics of the operation.”
It sounded reasonable. I read over the contract, taking my time to make sure I understood everything. It all seemed fairly standard. I signed at the bottom in big, curling letters. A Sadie signature.
Germaine filed away the paperwork and turned back to face me. “Now that that’s over with,” she said, “I’ll take you to meet Beth. She’s going to be training you. I want to warn you that she isn’t particularly friendly; it takes her a while to warm up to new people. But she’s an excellent teacher, and you’ll be in good hands.”
“That isn’t a problem,” Germaine said. “Fewer bad habits to break. We’ll provide you with the necessary training. You seem, based on your attire and mannerisms, to understand the behavior appropriate to this setting. Everything else can be taught.”
My attire and mannerisms? Sadie had been right, then, but I didn’t know what Germaine meant by mannerisms. I didn’t pick my nose in public or anything, but that seemed like a pretty low bar. I gave Germaine what I hoped was a confident, knowing smile.
“As I’m sure you understand, our clients value their privacy, and we take great pains to ensure their comfort and security,” Germaine said. “They come here because they feel safe. Your job is to make them feel perfectly at home. You must understand what they need before it occurs to them, and provide it quickly and quietly. They should only notice you if they choose to. You will serve as lovely background décor.”
She paused and looked at me expectantly. I said, “I understand.”
She nodded slightly and continued. “You are understand that we are, in effect, a strip club. There are... other services available to our clients, but those are offered exclusively in the private rooms, and you won’t be serving there. ‘Cocktail waitress’ is not, in this case, a euphemism. You will remain fully dressed at all times, and there is no physical contact permitted between waitresses and clients. Do you have any questions?”
“Actually, yes,” I said. “If this is such a high-class joint, what were you doing advertising in a bodega?”
Germaine smiled. “An excellent question. As I said, we hire based on personality. We’ve found that casting a wide net provides us with a more diverse pool of applicants. It’s impossible to predict who will be a good fit based solely on demographic factors.”
That made sense. I nodded to show that I understood.
“You’ll start tomorrow,” Germaine said. “You’ll be training under one of our most experienced servers. Shifts are ten hours, from opening until we close at 2:00. You can work anywhere between one and seven shifts a week. While you’re in training, you’ll earn ten dollars an hour plus tips. Once your trainer decides you’re ready, we’ll bump your pay to fifteen an hour.”
That was more money than I expected. I hadn’t even anticipated making minimum wage. These people were serious about finding and keeping the best talent. I just had a hard time believing that the “best talent” included me.
Germaine continued, “Your current attire is more than appropriate. The club opens at 4:00. Please be here at 2:00 to sign paperwork and start on your training.”
And that was all: it was that easy. I’d gotten myself a job.
I had a feeling that I’d also gotten myself in over my head.
Chapter 2
The next day, I slept as late as I could. I knew I would have a long night at the club. Finally, around 10, I couldn’t sleep any longer, and got up to make myself a pot of coffee.
The morning dragged by slowly. I was nervous and eager to get started, but at the same time, I was dreading it. I was convinced that Germaine was wrong about me. I didn’t know anything about rich men or how to keep them happy. I would probably trip on the carpet my very first night and spill a tray of drinks all over the richest man in the room. Just my luck.
I texted Sadie: first-day jitters
My phone buzzed ten minutes later. u are going 2 b great!!!! so exciting!!!!!!!
For whatever reason, Sadie’s exclamation points actually made me feel a little better. I wished that Sadie could be there with me. She would be so much better at it than I would—charming, charismatic, the perfect cocktail waitress. I was good at office jobs, where I could sit at a desk and ignore everyone. I’d waitressed briefly in high school. It had been a disaster. I forgot orders, dropped things, and invariably delivered the wrong food to the wrong table.
Maybe it would go better this time.
At 1, I left home and took the subway into Manhattan. My heels clicked on the sidewalk as I headed to the club. They made an authoritative sound against the pavement. I threw back my shoulders and strutted, pretending I was someone confident and collected, someone who knew where her life was going. That was too vague; I needed to pretend to be someone specific. I decided that I would pretend to be Sadie. I would spend the entire first day doing what Sadie would do. I would play the role perfectly, and nobody would be able to tell how scared I was.
The same man was waiting inside the lobby of the club. He smiled at me and said, “Germaine is waiting for you in her office.”
“Thank you,” I told him, and lifted my chin as I returned his smile, the way Sadie always did.
The club was empty except for a woman running a vacuum cleaner. I made my way to Germaine’s office and knocked.
“Come in!” she called.
I opened the door and went inside. Germaine stood to greet me. “Regan, right on time. Welcome.” She motioned for me to sit. “We have the usual paperwork to fill out, tax forms, direct deposit, et cetera. And the non-disclosure agreement, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. That was the only part I was worried about. What if I slipped up and said something about my job after a few too many drinks? I wanted to get a look at the actual clauses in the agreement. I’d worked at a law office for a while, and although I was hardly an expert, I would be able to tell if the club wanted me to agree to anything truly out of the ordinary.
After I’d filled out all of the other paperwork, Germaine slid the agreement across the desk. “Please read it carefully. We don’t want there to be any surprises. In essence, you’re allowed to tell people that you work here as a cocktail waitress, but nothing more: nothing about the clientele or the specifics of the operation.”
It sounded reasonable. I read over the contract, taking my time to make sure I understood everything. It all seemed fairly standard. I signed at the bottom in big, curling letters. A Sadie signature.
Germaine filed away the paperwork and turned back to face me. “Now that that’s over with,” she said, “I’ll take you to meet Beth. She’s going to be training you. I want to warn you that she isn’t particularly friendly; it takes her a while to warm up to new people. But she’s an excellent teacher, and you’ll be in good hands.”
