She shrugs noncommittally. “I don’t know. It’s a good time to get some practice in without having to be bothered by anybody,” she says. “Come on, Omar’s waiting.”
She leads me through a door and into a long hallway with doors on either side. The first one we pass is open. I glance in to see a dressing room, lockers and makeup vanities, mostly. It’s relatively clean except for the vanity counters. Those are stained with the different powdery makeup colors and glitter from the dancers. No one’s in here and no one’s guarding the girls’ stuff. Weird.
Past that are the bathrooms, a janitorial closet, another door that’s markedManager, and at the farthest end is a door that’s half open with a flight of stairs leading up.
We stop at that door and I ask Natasha, “Does Omar stay in his office during work hours?”
“Mostly,” Natasha responds with a laugh. “It’s murder on my calves running up and down these stairs on nights when I have to field complaints for him on the floor.”
We walk up, and at the top of the staircase is a small hallway leading to a single door that’s open. Natasha takes me by the shoulders and with a gentle smile says, “Good luck, bestie.”
“Thanks,” I say. She hugs me and then disappears back down the stairs. I turn to the door and ground myself.Protect your heart, keep your head in the game.
I walk through the door, gently knocking to announce my presence. The office looks more like a box at the football game. One wall is just glass, looking down on the club, I imagine, to keep an eye on things. I didn’t notice it when I came in, so I wonder if what I would see if I looked up is actually a two-way mirror.
“Ms. Lorenzo. Welcome.”
I turn toward the voice. A man in a casual dress shirt and dark slacks stands up from behind the desk where he was just sitting, which also happens to be a mess, papers everywhere surrounding what looks like an obsolete computer. On the walls behind him are several faded centerfolds and an empty whiteboard tinted green from old dry-erase markers.
I focus on the owner. He looks young. At least my age. Dark hair and eyes, and olive-skinned. He appears decidedly handsome and put together for someone who owns a titty bar.
He smiles with bright white teeth and puts his hand out to me. “Omar Rodriguez,” he says. I walk in and shake his hand politely.
“Ember Lorenzo,” I say. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Please, have a seat.” He motions to the chair in front of his desk as he circles back around it, fussing over the papers. “Excuse the mess. I’ve been trying to make heads or tails of the books. My last manager kind of left things a mess.”
I nod as I watch him move and stack the papers. Underneath it all is a large ledger with handwritten notes. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen an actual ledger that wasn’t on a computer.”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “He was kind of old school. He said that he liked things on paper because it was more permanent, but I think that was just an excuse because he was afraid to use his computer. Speaking of which, did you bring your resume? Don’t make me have to turn this fossil on to find it.”
I smile politely and reach into the billfold I’m carrying, then I hand him my copy of my resume and cover letter. He looks it over as he sits down. “Hmm. Manager at Schecky’s Restaurant for the last ten years? And a business degree. Wow. What made you want to apply here?”
I have canned answers for him. I’ve heard them a million times when I was on the other side of that desk. But looking at this room, at the state of his desk and really everything else, I know two things. One, Omar Rodriguez doesn’t have time for bullshit. He’s a man who just got tossed in the ocean without a life jacket. Two, I have neither the time nor the inclination for bullshit either. Like it or not, I really need this job. So, let’s try another approach.
“Honestly?” I tell him, “I had a run of bad luck with the wrong guy and now I need steady work to rebuild my life.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Wrong guy?”
“It’s a long story, but the short version is that I fell for a guy who cheated on me and ran off with my savings. Also, if I can be blunt… well, looking at everything I’ve seen so far, you need somebody to get this place into shape and make more money than it’s making now.”
He narrows his eyes smartly at me. “What you’ve seen so far?” he repeats. “You mean just walking through the club? That’s a bold statement. You seem sure about how much revenue this club generates.”
“I’m not sure, but I do know that if you were making enough money, you wouldn’t be open quite so early. You’d also have a newer computer, maybe a little better decor.”
He purses his lips skeptically and his finger taps on the desk. Uh-oh. Shit. Did I misread this situation? Well… in for a penny, in for a pound. I’ve got to swing for the fences here.
“The thing is, Mr. Rodriguez,” I continue, “I’m a hard worker, and more importantly, I’ve already got ten years of experience running a very successful business. Wherever you’re at financially, I can build on it and double your profits by the end of the year.”
He cracks a smile. “Wow. That kind of confidence is… interesting. If you’re so good, why aren’t you still working for Schecky’s?”
The obvious answer jumps to the front of my mind, along with the shame of if. I swallow my pride and say, “Some breakups are messier than others. I… I had a little trouble keeping my ex out of my place of business.”
He tsks. “That is something I’m not unfamiliar with around here. Believe me. It’s also something that I really can’t tolerate too much of, if you get my drift.”
“Of course. That’s in the past. I’m quite single now and I intend on staying that way for a while. Once bitten, as they say.”
He nods slowly. “You’re sharp and you certainly talk a good game.” He regards me for a moment, narrowing his eyes. “You’re also a very beautiful woman. I realize I’m not supposed to say such things in an interview, but I have to take that into account.”
