Fake it (On hold)

First Quarter: Part One

Maggie
I almost cry with joy when I hear the words I have been waiting to hear for the six hours I have been at work;

"Last drinks darlins." Gina scrapes in her baritone voice, tapping on the bar with a shot glass, effectively startling one of our regulars, Sid, who has fallen asleep on the stalls yet again.

It's a nightly ritual. He can be found asleep at the bar or in the toilets, passed out drunk religiously, though I'm not entirely sure which is more sanitary. Either way, he is a staple for my nights at work. It's always the same. Each one plays their part, each pivotal in the epic failure of my daily existence.

As I glance around I note all of the different pieces. Gina and I at the bar. The girls are on the pole or doing things in private rooms I pretend to not know about. Able is by the door keeping watch and Sax is in his office. Sid is asleep by the time we want to close. The other regular customers are in their respective constant positions . It's the raw comfort I'm sadly accustomed to by now.

"Yeah yeah." Sid manages in response to the second bang, this one closer to his head which has him dragging his sorry ass off the worse for wear wooden stalls and hauling his good leg towards the exit.

"See y'all tomorrow ladies." He is able to drawl out as he all but pours out the doors.

"Get home safe Sid." Able says dryly, no emotion visible but I know he means well, as he shuts the door and bolts it before hitting main breaker for the lights.

If the place looks average in the dark, there is no mistaking the regular shit hole it actually is when the lights come on.

The walls still bare some of the original silver glitter from when Diamanté opened twenty plus years ago but that is the only glamour still standing. The first adult content bar in San Theresa, it caused quite the stir.
It's not a huge space but what it lacks in dimension it packs a punch for in entertainment.
For this one horse town anyway. Three lack lustre girls spinning around poles or rubbing up on someone's knees isn't exactly the highlights of the adult entertainment industry but for Spitfire San Theresa, it's the best that it gets.

The staff are kind, its regular pay check and the tips are good. That's all that matters to me.

On a night when the basketball is on in San Antonio, just a short hour drive away on the new stretch of highway,the tips are even better. And now that local golden boy turned pro , Ace McLaren has returned home and landed a spot on the team, the place is busier than ever with equally eager and horny stopovers on the way back from the games.

And without any part of this dive I call work,  I would be screwed. We all would. So I turn in, push my meagre assets up and get to work. I don't think. I don't fraternise with patrons. I just do my jib and leave.

It's become my motto of sorts. Four years and nothing has changed since my first night here.

"Close up your register Mags and I'll start checking the booths." Gina says but I'm already three steps ahead of her. Til counted and register balanced. I want to get out of the smoked filled haze and back to my guy as fast as I can.

Six nights a week of this shit is six too many in my opinion. But it's a means to some sort of end. I just haven't figured out what that is yet.

Any day now.

I make my way to the back office, knocking before I enter. Habit has me being careful now, since the one and only time I just barged in and found the owner and one of the new dancers in a compromising position.

Or two.

It wasn't so bad until Sax found out her ID was fake and the twenty one year old he was banging against his desk became the eighteen year old he was banging against his desk.