Fiction
A Pretty Slick Game
By Clea Bierman
Originally published in Apricity Magazine, pages 30-35
. . . It was time to admit that I was afraid. The connection between buying bottles at The Side Door and getting served with divorce papers had to be obvious by now. Didn’t it? Although, the club visits weren’t always followed by divorce. Sometimes I didn’t know what the wives did with the tapes, what arsenal they created. But, divorce or not, the timing would still align. I was still in the middle of their closed-door drama. What would happen to me if I was found out? Could I be sued? Arrested? Or would someone take a riskier, more violent route?
“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” my lawyer said whenever I asked. I appreciated his ‘if.’ But felt more like a ‘when’ to me.
Sometimes I’d lay awake at night wondering what I’d have to do when I got caught. Losing my job wasn’t too big a deal. Money wasn’t too big a deal (In case you haven’t done the math, it’s $27K/week x 52 weeks/year. I had the potential to make $1,404,000 in my first year). But the town, New York City. The nightlife scene. I’d be eaten alive. Spit out.
A Pretty Slick Game
By Clea Bierman
Originally published in Pink Panther Magazine, pages 30-35
I start making money at midnight.
My first reservation is for the Power Forward of the New York Knicks, his minimum spend is $1500, meaning I’ll make an automatic $300 tip. He’ll tip extra because that’s what famous men do in the presence of pretty girls, which I am. I’m a Bottle Girl– a VIP waitress at a New York City night club.
12:17: My second table arrives, stockbrokers eager to be in the same room as professional athletes. An $1100 spend, $220 for me. Another hundred in cash, which I shove into my boot. A tip for the cocaine I bring them . . .
3:47: The manager leaves me alone in the office where I’m organizing my receipts while he ushers out drunk guests. I grab a USB drive from my boot– the other foot, not the one with cash in it. I shove it into a computer which is connected to the security cameras, download the video footage for the night, and copy it onto the drive before putting it back inside my shoe. $9000 for the drive, it’s the only reason I come to work anymore. The tips I make are pocket change, cash I’ll spend that week.