“Do you know, that’s the first time I’ve heard that tonight?” I ask brightly.
“It is?”
Leaning closer, I whisper, “No. You’re the fifteenth guy to bring that weak shit and the girls and I have a pool. Whoever gets the biggest load of pathetic pickup lines wins the pot tonight. I really need that money so by all means, try out a few on me. Bring your A-game. I’ll be back when you decide on your drinks.”
The cheesy smile is still plastered on his face as if he’s not sure if that was an invitation or an insult.
Club Vice is the most notorious club in Milan, offering three different sorts of “entertainment.” There’s the downstairs, which we servers jokingly call the Bowels of Hell because it’s always elbow to elbow, sweaty bodies rubbing up against each other and shouting at the bartenders for more booze. Getting through the crowd to deliver drinks is like a trawler trying to break through the ocean ice in the Antarctic. Slow. Messy. Often impossible.
The second level is for the beautiful people, with elegant suede walls, plush seating, and gorgeous artwork. There’s a chef the Toscanos stole from a Michelin-starred restaurant in France who caters to their every culinary wish. Memberships on the second floor start at 100,000 Euros a year.
Then, there’s the third level. The goal of every server here is to make it onto the third floor because the money there is insane. Tips are lavish, gifts of jewelry and cars… I’ve heard all the rumors. The third floor is wildly lucrative for the servers because the owners have certain requirements. First among them, the server being able to deliver food and drinks, smile pleasantly,and make the guests feel as special as they demand to be. And do it while the guests are naked and likely fucking furiously with one or half a dozen other people.
I’ve never been in a sex club. I’m pretty sure I never wanted to, but I can overlook a hell of a lot of debauchery if the money means I can finally make sure my bills are paid.
Pulling down the short skirt of my glittery silver dress - and then instantly hiking up the neckline that dips too low - I sideswipe a drunk stumbling in my direction and make it back to the bar without being groped. The lights flashing from the DJ booth are blinding, bouncing off every mirrored surface as the dancers high above us writhe and twist in their aerial silks.
There’s a haze rising over the dance floor, an eye-watering funk of sweat, a million perfumes and colognes fighting for dominance, booze, and sex. Though doing it out in the open is forbidden on this floor, I’ve always wondered if they pipe the scent in from the third level. Maybe it’s a pheromonal mix designed to make everyone take leave of their senses.
It seems to be doing the job because couples are grinding on each other in every dark corner. If I can put up with this level for mediocre tips, I will sail through whatever unnatural activity they can get up to on the third floor if it means my wages quadruple.
“Ivy, how are you doing tonight?”
I spin around with a weak smile that brightens to a genuine one when I see Lucca Toscano standing there with a kind smile and his hand around the throat of one of the frat boys. He’s my favorite of the three Toscano brothers, he’s always respectful and considerate to the servers and I love his Russian wife Tatiana.
“Oh… uh, I’m good, Signor Toscano. You look… busy.”
He chuckles heartily, his hand still in a death grip on the purple-faced frat boy. “This littlecoglione,this fucker had his hand up Isabella’s skirt. Has he been bothering you?”
Stifling a spiteful little chuckle, I say, “Not anymore.”
Lucca nods pleasantly, squeezing his victim’s throat just a bit harder before throwing him to one of the bouncers. “Get that group of assholes out of here, but make sure they leave a generous tip for their server first. In fact…” He plucks a wallet from the pocket of Backward Baseball Cap Wearing Guy and sifts through the bills before pulling two hundred Euros out and handing them to me.
“Hey! That’s all my money-” He looks at Lucca’s forbidding expression and nods weakly.
“That was nice of you, thank you,” I brush my hair out of my eyes. I’d started with two really cute buns on top of my head and it’s now tangled into something halfway between an updo and a badger’s den.
“You’ll be treated with respect or we’ll kick their fucking ass,” he says sternly. “Never be afraid to let management or one of the bouncers know.”
“I- I was wondering…” I step closer as he turns to leave. “Do you have any openings on the third level? I think I’ve been here long enough to show my work ethic, and…”
He folds his arms, studying me. “The third level is very different from this one.”
“I know,” I nod firmly like that’s totally going to sell it. “But I feel like I can handle the responsibility of such a… uh… complicated position.” The blood drains from my face as I realize that soundssexual. “I meant, I understand the whole experience is that of a sensitive nature and you require discreet employees that-”
Lucca holds up his hand, laughing. “I know what you meant, Ivy. I don’t think it’s possible to talk about the third-level club without sounding like a bad porno.”
“Thank you,” I smile weakly.
“I’ll check in with Giulia and see how we’re doing with staffing,” he promises, “I know there’s some high-roller events coming up. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
My tiny shared flat is only four blocks away from the club, hidden in a private street here in Milan. That’s the main reason I rented it. But at three am, the bar district is at its worst. Too many mean drunks. Too many partygoers pissed off from getting kicked out after last call. Then, the usual clot of drug dealers, pimps, and general lowlifes, cruising freely up and down the street.
After getting mugged for the first time when I was in London, I changed my approach on how I maneuvered the streets. I get out of my tiny server’s dress before I leave the club and put on some baggy-ass jeans with my wallet sewed into the inside of the pants, a baseball cap pulled low, and a shitty-looking backpack that no self-respecting thief would steal. I walk fast, don’t respond to anyone, and keep my hand on my pepper spray.
“Ciao, bella signora…”
“Perché non vieni qui?”
