“Sometimes.”
“You should join us next time.”
“Yeah, why not?” I smile, like I’m excited about playing golf with Victor Abbott and his cronies, but like my father always said, if you want to win at life, you have to play the game.
Victor gives a little wave before climbing into the driver’s side of his Infiniti and backing out of the driveway. Glancing toward his backyard, I spot an iron fence surrounding an in-ground pool.
A girl with blonde hair piled on top of her head and oversized sunglasses sits in one of the lounge chairs, paging through a thick book. Must be his daughter or his niece, both of which are seniors at Rosefield, so I don’t give her a second look.
Maybe she’s pretty. And maybe I haven’t been laid in longer than I’d like to admit. But so much as thinking about messing around with a student is a line I refuse to cross. I don’t even entertain those types of fantasies in my “alone time.”
Far too many careers have been ruined all because a teacher or person of authority couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
But that’s not me.
I have complete control.
Heading inside, I grab a beer from the fridge and take a seat at the kitchen table to cool off for a bit. Grabbing my phone, I pull up the Karma app, which promptly reminds me that I haven’t spoken to Absinthe in almost twelve hours and that it will give me two karma points if I send her a message right now.
Kerouac: I never asked why your name is Absinthe.
Absinthe is online …
Absinthe: Good morning to you too.
Kerouac: You were waiting for my message, weren’t you?
Absinthe: It’s called a push notification. I was alerted the second you sent me that.
Kerouac: Most girls would play hard to get. They’d make me wait several hours or maybe even several days before responding.
Absinthe: No point in playing hard to get when you have no intentions of getting me.
Kerouac: Fair point.
Absinthe: My eyes are green. Like the color of absinthe liquor. And I’ve been told that I have addictive qualities.
Kerouac: Addictive qualities?
Absinthe: One taste and men get hooked.
Kerouac: How many men have you been with, Absinthe?
Absinthe: Enough.
Kerouac: A number, please.
Absinthe: A handful. You?
Kerouac: More than a handful.
Absinthe: So basically, what you’re saying is … you’re experienced.
Kerouac: You could infer that, yes.
Absinthe: Some people get turned off by that. It’s the opposite for me. A man with experience is a good thing.
Kerouac: How old were you when you lost your virginity?
Absinthe: Does it matter?
Kerouac: Fine. I’ll go first. I was fifteen. She was the sixteen-year-old girl next door.
Absinthe: Who seduced whom?
Kerouac: She seduced me. And she had big tits. I couldn’t have said no if I wanted to.
Absinthe: Weak.
Kerouac: Your turn, Absinthe. Tell me about your first time.
Absinthe has signed off.
Chapter 5
Halston
I’m not sure what I expected from a restaurant called Big Boulders, where the woman on the sign is standing in front of two giant rocks that, I guess, are supposed to represent her breasts? But after filling out a dozen job applications over the past week, this is the only place that called me back.
“How many in your party?” The hostess, wearing a low-cut top that barely covers her nipples and leaves her belly exposed, gives me a dazzling smile.
“I’m here to see Todd Chadwick,” I say. “I have an interview.”
“Oh, yes, right this way.” She leads me to a back room before knocking on a door with a “manager” plaque taped to the outside. It smells like fried food and spilled drinks in here, and all of the girls are dressed in such a way that invites blatant ogling from the male patrons. “Todd, your one o’clock is here.”
The door flings open a second later, and a generic-looking white guy stands before me. Before he extends his hand, his eyes drag the length of me, lingering on my breasts, and then he invites me in, telling me to take a seat on a blue chair with a questionable white stain on the fabric.
“So you’re … Halston,” he says, grabbing my application from a stack on his desk. “What kind of name is Halston? If you don’t mind my asking?”
“I guess my parents named me after a perfume,” I say, monotone and repeating the answer I give everyone else who’s ever asked me the same stupid question. Supposedly it was the perfume my mother was wearing the night she met my father, when they were a couple of innocent high school kids with their whole lives ahead of them. But I don’t share that story. It romanticizes them, and they’re selfish assholes. “Anyway, your ad said you offered on-the-job training. Is that right?”
He nods, his hand partially covering his mouth as he rests his elbow on his desk. Todd can’t keep his eyes off my breasts for more than a few seconds, and I’m just now realizing his shirt says, “Get Your Rocks Off at Big Boulders!”
“Do you understand what kind of restaurant this is?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Like Knockers.”
“We’re better than Knockers.” His voice rises. Must be a hot button topic for Todd. “Anyway, we’re classier. Our women don’t look like ex-strippers and our food is all hand-made, nothing frozen.”
Because I’m sure that’s what’s bringing their customers here night after night.
“You’d be a server,” he says. “But we have a strict dress code. We provide the uniforms. I’m sure you saw some of the girls. Just think of it as a bikini. It’s no different. In fact, it hides a little more than a bikini would.”
Way to justify it, Todd.
“If there’s any doubt in your mind, any part of you that thinks you’d be uncomfortable in this kind of setting, I want you to get up right now and walk out of my office,” he says.
“I can handle this,” I assure him. “They can look, but they can’t touch, right?”
His eyes widen. “Absolutely. If anyone so much as puts their hands on you, you let me or one of the guys at the bar know. They’ll be shown the door immediately. We do not tolerate that.”
“Then we should be fine.”
“I will say, though. You’re going to be hit on,” he says. “Men of all ages, social classes, and backgrounds frequent this pub, and they come here because they want good food, pretty girls to look at, and someone to fantasize about when they’re lying next to their old ball and chains that night. That said, show them a good time. It’s okay to flirt back. It’s okay to let them think that maybe they have a chance. But our girls aren’t allowed to go home with the men or give out their numbers. We keep it professional.” He leans back in his chair, studying me. “How does that sound? You think you might be interested in something like that?”
“Absolutely. When can I start?”
It’s not like I have a choice. I need a job so I can get a car so I can get the hell out of here the second I graduate from Rosefield. There’s not much I won’t do at this point.
“Tomorrow?” he asks. “Can you start tomorrow? We’ll have you shadow someone for a week, but then you’ll be on your own. Shifts are eleven to five and five to eleven. You have a preference?”
“Eleven to five is fine,” I say. Vic and Tab would freak if I came home after eleven every night.
“Perfect. Let me grab your paperwork here. We’ll need a copy of your Social Security card and … well … everything’s outlined here. Take it home, fill it out, bring it back tomorrow, and we’ll get you suited up. Maybe get here about ten-thirty?”
I rise. He rises.
It’s done.
I have a job.
“Thank you, Todd,” I say.
I feel the weight of his stare on my ass as he walks me out.
Lying in bed, I double click on Karma and send Kerouac a message. I haven’t talked to him since I ended the conversation several days ago. Sure, I could’ve made up a story about the way I lost my virginity … saying it was some high school boyfriend and we were madly in love and it was sweet and romantic and perfect.