Savannah agreed to be my pretend supervisor. I called her on a whim since she’s the least catty among my former clique. Moreover, she’s a consummate manipulator and could convince a priest to rethink his vows, which makes her perfect for the task.
I could’ve asked Meela to participate in my scheme, but I prefer someone with a Texas area code and Southern twang for optimum effect. Savannah didn’t agree to help me out of the kindness of her heart. In addition to her otherskill set, she’s an unrepentant gossipmonger and craves recognition. I’m sure she told everyonewe know about thefavorshe’s doing for me by now and painted herself as a hero.
“Tell me about your time there.”
“Being a camp counselor was a very rewarding experience,” I respond with confidence. “My responsibilities included activity planning, chaperoning field trips, and ensuring the children’s safety. This role taught me patience, how to think on my feet, and how to handle conflict. Also, cleaning the facility, equipment, and grounds throughout the day was an essential part of my duties, as outlined on my résumé.”
Now to drive it home. “I’m fully confident in my ability to successfully perform the job functions listed for this position.”
Bam! Just how I practiced in the mirror.
Hawk asks a few more standard interview questions and jots down my responses.
“Are you available Tuesday through Friday, six to midnight?”
“Yes,” I answer enthusiastically. “That schedule works perfectly for me.”
“The weekend schedule is full, but I may need you to cover a shift occasionally. Is that something you can do?”
“Absolutely, I have no problem working overtime,” I assure him. “I’ll be here whenever you need me.”
“Good. Did you bring your driver’s license and high school diploma?”
Busted.
I drop my gaze to my clutched hands. “I haven’t graduated yet.”
“Excuse me?” Hawk snaps, his mouth twisting into a frown. “The qualifications for the job were discussed with you during the screening.”
“I just wanted a fair chance at this wonderful opportunity. Please accept my apology for being dishonest. I am eighteen, though.”
“Doesn’t matter, you’re still a high school student.” Hawk anchors his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers, his dark-brown eyes glittering with anger. “I don’t appreciate having my time wasted.”
“Please give me a chance,” I beg, a desperate edge in my voice. “You won’t regret it, and I promise to be the best employee you’ve ever had.”
He stands. “My hands are tied.”
“Put me to work right now.” I lift my chin. “Let me prove myself to you.”
He stares a moment longer, unreadable. “Impress me tonight,” he says finally, “and maybe I’ll forget you lied.”
My breath catches. “Thank you. You won’t regret this.”
I’ve been on the move nonstop for the last three hours. My body aches from all the bending, scrubbing, lifting, and hauling. Shadows is more or less a brothel. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t refilling condom bowls, changing semen-stained sheets, and discarding drug paraphernalia. But here we are.
The second and third floors are forprivateentertainment. I thought that meant birthday celebrations, bachelor parties, and horny men paying extra for butt-naked lap dances. I was way off the mark. Now I understand Hawk’s reluctance to hire a high school student. There are twenty rooms total—ten per floor—each with a king-sized bed, nightstand, seating area, dance pole, and bathroom.
Hawk delivered me to Muriel, the cleaning crew lead. I was issued a black polo shirt with the club’s logo embroidered on the left side and tan pants. After changing into uniform, I stored my belongings in a locker and was given a two-way radio. Muriel showed me the ropes and gave me the rundown, especially the rule about no dallying with customers.
Fraternizing is strictly prohibited and means immediate termination. Even friendly conversation is frowned upon. Basically, I’m to keep my legs and my mouth shut. Those duties fall to the strippers. Not a problem. I have no intention of engaging in any of it.
The women I’ve encountered seemed like willing participants,so who am I to judge? In any case, the pros outweigh the cons. Employees get one free meal per shift. I grabbed a fried chicken sandwich from the bar during my thirty-minute break, and it was pretty good. The schedule also means less time spent in the Double Dragon’s Lair. That’s a win on its own.
The only real problem is getting home. Buses stop running before midnight, and taxis are too expensive. Guess that means I’ll be walking home. Roughly five miles—not ideal, but doable. But a teenage girl walking alone that late at night? Disaster waiting to happen. No use dwelling on it. If I get the job, I’ll pick up pepper spray and a pocketknife tomorrow.
I refocus, gliding the steam mop over the coal-colored hardwood floors. Once finished, I step into the hall and stow the mop on the cleaning cart. I unclip the radio from my pants and push the talk button. “Room sixteen done.”
“You’re fast,” comes the reply. “Head to room nine.”
