Smile (a Michael Jackson Fanfiction)

(2)

Emma's POV

What did I do to deserve this life. I'm honestly asking. I don't know what I did to work at this shitty, pervert-attracting bar where guys 21-85 hit on me every single day. It's not even like they're good looking. I know that sounds shallow, but it's rare that I get a hot 21 year old to look at.

Aside from the idiots who hit on me, there is another man in my life who is even more disrespectful. The owner of the bar is the worst boss ever. His name is Mr.Brutally and it tailors him very well. He hits on me along with the other losers who walk in here. Often days I feel myself getting annoyed and uncomfortable when he is around, but I can't act on my feelings since he can fire me at any time and I need this job.

I bet that guys wouldn't hit on me if the outfits weren't so ridiculous. The reason why they do is because Mr.Brutally got to pick out the outfit for whatever person was working at the bar at the time. My shirt is so tight that my boobs hang out of it, my skirt is so tight you can basically see my ass and these heels are also tight because I couldn't get my size in a cheap pair.

The only reason why I still work here is because I can't find another job. I also get really good tips if I lean over when I hand the guy their drink so they can see down my cleavage. I'm taking advantage of them just as I should since they treat me like a piece of shit. I don't have parents to support me, no friends to give a shit, and all the money I earn goes to the cheapest apartment I could find rent in and the little food I can buy.

New York is not the place I thought'd be. I thought I could make it big, you know? Be a star, geez I don't know. But one day you decide to go to work, like every other day, and the same bum that is on the corner suddenly has the urge to mug you. Of course it's not the greatest thing to happen since it was only purse that he took, which also contained cheques from the last three months I had earned from the bar. It is what it is, but I'm still pissed.

I walk into the bar that is still as shitty as usual, and my boss walks up to me as I hang up my coat on the wooden rack by the back. I catch him looking at my ass, and I face him so he can't look.

"Turn around," he says, voice coated with Booz and tobacco. I sneer, not letting him see, but turn around since I'd probably get fired if I didn't. Not to my surprise he whistles and smacks my ass, "Get to work, slut." he smirks as I turn to walk behind the bar without a comment. I take an order at the bar while my mind fills with thought.

I am not a slut. I'm literally the complete opposite. A 24 year old virgin. Other than those who are waiting until marriage, I'm probably a rare species.

I slide the beer down to the guy and he looks at me with caring eyes.

"You're so pretty," he smiles.

"Thanks," I force a smile, before turning to roll my eyes. Billie Jean fills the corner where the radio is parked and I tap my foot to the genius record that is.

" I'm guessing you like this song?" He chuckles.

"As a matter of fact I do." I say, giving him a skeptic look, "Why are you being nice to me?"

"You are a woman. I don't disrespect women." He says, sipping his drink.

"That's nice." I smirk, "It's very rare that people like you come into this shit bar. It's mostly perverts and assholes."

"I think those people shouldn't be aloud in this world." he says. I smile, turning around to get a cloth to wipe down the table. I turn back around, and the elderly man is gone. I look to the front door just as he is walking out. He turns around, winking at me before walking out. I look down to where his drink is, and pick up the ten dollar tip he left me. 

I have about 50 more guys come into the bar, and 99% hit on me. The other 1% just ignored me. No one was as nice as that old man who came in at the beginning of my shift. The ones who hit on me were total perverts. Most of them wanted to get in my pants, and the others kept asking me to unbutton my white, tight shirt. I keep thinking this to myself; I am not a fucking stripper. I could be, but I don't want men looking at me that way, even though they already look at me in this bar...

at 12:55am I wiped down the counter, put on my coat, lock up the bar, and go home. I walk out into the brisk night air. Even though it's spring, it was still a bit chilly, especially at 1 am. I start to walk home. It was a 30 minute walk, but I can't afford to take a cab, that is how broke I am.

When I get home, I unlock my door, eat some leftover pasta, and listen to the radio for 10 minutes. I am about to turn the radio off when the name Michael Jackson alerts me. I listen closely to the nonsense they are probably going to say about him.

"Michael Jackson is touring Canada and the United States with his brothers to perform on the Victory tour! We are giving tickets to caller 25 on March 20th. If you win the tickets we will give you all of the information on the tour. The tour isn't going to be until next year since Jackson has decided to perform in Motown 25: Yesterday, Today, Forever."

I sit there and I decide to try and call on March 20th, even though I probably won't have any shot. I shut off the radio, walking to go to bed. My mind flees with thoughts about what it would be like to meet Michael. If you want to call it fantasizing, that's what it was, but it's not like I was going to meet him anyways.