She heads for the bathroom. I duck into her closet for a minute, whipping off my silvery tank top. I drop the thin, fairly useless black bra I had on and slide into Carol’s.
I immediately feel the lift. I look down. I have cleavage! At least a little.
The tank goes back on smoothly. I pull it low to show off the bit of shadow between my boobs. Look at that!
When I come out, Carol is back in her chair.
“It works!” I tell her.
Carol smiles. “It looks good on you. Keep it. I’ll never fit in it again.”
I lean down to hug her. “Thank you! I’m going to put this other one away, and then, I’m off!”
“Be careful,” Carol says. “Make Merrick walk you to your car after. I doubt any Wild Hair will get a chance to go to the bar tonight.”
I pause. “Do you know what they’re doing exactly? I’ve never seen everyone gone at once.”
She shrugs. “The Wild Hair will always tell you what you need to know.”
Interesting. I practically skip my way to the bunkhouse room. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know what the gig is. There will be no Wild Hair at the bar. It will be a light crowd.
What might happen?
I zip through with the thrill of possibilities.
The drive from the clubhouse to the Leaky Skull is quick. The parking lot is almost empty. Even better!
When I step inside, only two tables are taken. Jake waves before walking to the kitchen. Merrick leans forward on the bar, his hands clasped together.
I tug on the bottom of my tank, making sure my new cleavage is visible. The skirt is so short that the bottom of the shirt almost reaches the hem.
Since I’m working, I skipped the heels and put on fringed ankle boots. I feel good. It’s fun to wear sexy clothes rather than T-shirts and jeans all the time. I get why people do it.
Especially when you have cleavage!
“I guess I should walk around,” I say to Merrick. “Or do I stay on this side of the bar?”
“Either one,” he says. “Let me show you where to stow your purse.”
I follow him through the kitchen door. Jake is back there, talking to a cook who is frying a batch of tater tots.
“This is Marietta,” Merrick says. “You know Jake. This is Neil, who helps in the kitchen, especially when Scottie is out.”
Right, Scottie is Wild Hair and off with Iron Jack.
Neil gives me a nod and shakes the metal basket in the hot oil. He’s probably in his thirties, heavyset, and he wears a wrinkled white apron over a T-shirt and sweatpants.
“I didn’t realize you cooked many things here,” I say.
Merrick shrugs. “Just pub food. Fries. Fried chips.”
“Fried cheese,” Jake says.
“I make burgers, too,” Neil says. “If you get hungry.” He doesn’t look up from the oil.
“Come on. We’ll put your purse in the office,” Merrick says.
“I’ll watch the bar.” Jake heads for the swinging door.
