Chapter 2

"W hat do you mean there's not a job?" I asked my new boss two months after I first stepped through the doors after taking it. I had signed a lease for an apartment, using some of my savings from the club for the security deposit, and despite the raise in my salary, the place was extremely expensive, as was everything else here.

"There have been some unexpected cutbacks at corporate level which has affected our staffing. Your position was eliminated along with several others, vacant and not," he tells me, and my newly singular world begins to fall apart. "I am sorry about this Amelia; your work has been outstanding, but I can't keep you on."

"Thank you," I say, although I don't feel like thanking anyone, least of all the person who just told me I was out of a job.

"If there's anything I can do to help, references or recommendations, please let me know," is how he ends the news.

I suddenly feel like going outside and screaming until my voice is raw. Instead, I simply nod and shoot him a ‘you're an ass even if it's not totally your fault but I'm still blaming you though you don't know it' smile, gathered my things, noticing several others doing the same, and walk out. My first stop is home to drop off my pictures and plant that's nearly half-dead. I so do not have a green thumb, but it was a gift from the ladies at work, and then run down to the coffee shop for a tea.

While I'm there I pick up a newspaper to search for something else. I can't afford to break my lease and there's no job for me back in Missouri, a co-worker had been promoted almost before I'd even handed in my notice, so I have to make a go of it here. A few ads look promising, but I quickly found out that looking promising and actually being promising are two completely and utterly different things.

I have enough saved to cover rent for about six months, but I'd really prefer not to use it and Sam's words keep playing over in my head about Vivian's club and Maura. The thought crosses my mind that maybe that's really what I'm supposed to be doing. After all, everything happens for a reason, right? So while I didn't come all the way out here to become a cocktail waitress maybe it's what I'm destined to do?

Then again, what the hell am I thinking? Enough of this self-pity crap, I don't believe in destiny, I hardly believe in luck, so there's no way, no way , that I'm going to be happy serving a bunch of sleazy overpaid men for the rest of my life, especially not here. But it might be okay for me to stop by and check it out, just in case I can't find anything in the next month or so I told myself.

Well that month slipped by and then another, two months, hundreds of applications sent out, nearly fifteen interviews later and I'm still unemployed. My savings starting to dwindle, and I tell myself it'll only be until I can find something permanent as I head into Vivian's.

The place reminds me bit of Sam's place in the main area. There's a "Caged Bird's Member's Only" door to the left of us, and I don't think it's just for private dances. Even with that though, somehow the place feels safe.

I immediately sense the wondering glances being thrown my way by patrons as well as the staff but five years at Sam's place left me with thick skin and many ways to ignore people. There's a fairly good-looking guy behind the bar and so that's where I head.

"Don't take offense," he says giving me a once over and then a curious glance mixed with something akin to sympathy, "but this isn't the place for you."

Now, how is someone not supposed to take offense when the first words out of a stranger's mouth are, ‘Don't take offense?' I mean really what am I supposed to say to that? ‘Thanks for realizing I don't look like a stripper?' or how about the ever so common ‘You don't know the first thing about me?'

But I hold my tongue and simply ask, "Is Maura here?"

"She's busy at the moment," the bartender answers, a lie that's so cliché I actually find myself amused.

"Why don't you tell her it's Amelia—Ame, from Sam's place and see what she says," I suggest, not making it sound like a question but a demand.

The look that suddenly crosses his face more than makes up for the fact that he was arrogantly, albeit politely, telling me I wouldn't fit in here, but then a woman appears next to him. She reminds me of Sam, oh not in looks, she's square and heavy while Sam's tall and thin, but the determination in her eyes matches Sam to a T.

"You're Sam's Ame?" she asks raising an eyebrow in question.

"The one and only," I joke.

"She told me you were headed out this way, but I didn't believe I'd ever see you," Maura says.

"I didn't plan on it, but long story short, my job was cut thanks to the economy and a large five finger discount by one of the financial officers at the corporate office," I admit.

"And you're finding it hard to get another job with so many others also looking for work," Maura acknowledges. "Why don't we head to my office and talk?"

"Sounds good," I say resigned at least for the moment that this is what I have to do.

Maura's office is a lot like the woman, square with heavy wood furniture draped in dark fabrics as to not contrast to the flooring and walls, which are also muted in color. She motions to a chair for me to sit in and I do, waiting for the barrage of questions she's bound to throw my way. Her first one throws me a bit though, "Are you looking for another title in your name?"

"Sorry?" I say with a hint of nervous laughter.

"Are you looking to gain an MRS?" she says, and it dawns on me what she means.

"I'm not even looking to date right now," I tell her. "I've always wanted to get away from my small town. Everyone knows everything about everybody's life there and I thought St. Louis would be far enough, but I was wrong. Being here everything's different and I want to find the right place for me."

"Sam told me you refused to dance, a girl with your looks and your body would make a fortune on the stage," Maura says trying to gauge my response it seems.

"So I've heard, but I guess it's that small town mentality in the back of my mind that keeps me from allowing it. I went to church almost every weekend and some of that's stuck with me. Maybe not as far as my language is concerned, but in other ways I still acknowledge it. I just can't see myself doing that and if you can't accept it I'll just have to go back to St. Louis and work for Sam."

"No need for that, I'm impressed that you've kept your conviction on that level. I've seen too many girls come here and lose themselves completely and it's not good for them or me," Maura says stunning me. "I'd be happy to have you as a waitress in the open door area. We also have a private member's only area to the club, but you won't have to deliver drinks there. We have a separate bar set up for members, and honestly, it's a lot calmer than the open door part of the club. Sam said you were her highest earner and that you have a unique way of dealing with…difficult patrons."

"I have a knack for diffusing situations and dealing with guys. I grew up surrounded by them, I was one of the only girls in my classes at church, my high school class had sixteen girls but thirty-two guys graduating, and I also took karate with the boys since there weren't too many things for girls to do outside of a quote, unquote, ballet class."

"Sam said you can have them eating out of the palm of your hand before you even take their orders, higher praise from Sam I've never heard. You can start tomorrow, our Thursday night crowd takes a bit of getting used to, there's a group of men that come in every Thursday night, telling their wives they're having a ‘fathers of deaf children' support meeting when they're really coming here and staring at my girls. Some of the fathers are also deaf and their hearing compatriots like to hassle the new girls about what the men are really saying," Maura warns me, and I finally get the whole fate thing and start to laugh. "Something about that's funny?" she asks me.

"It is when you've been signing since you were little," I explain, and Maura now is the one stunned. "My grandfather lost his hearing in an accident at a factory where he worked when my mom was thirteen, so they all started learning sign language and it came in handy when my grandma's hearing declined recently. My mom told me that I could sign cup, milk, more, food, happy, and sleepy before I even started talking. It was so common around my house that there'd be times when we found ourselves signing while we spoke to each other without my grandparents being there."

"Well then how would you like to start tonight?" Maura asks. "Having someone who can understand what they want or what they're actually saying would be a wonderful improvement. I can't tell you how many girls have left crying after a Thursday night because that group was being crude or at least they felt they were being cruder than the others."

"Sounds fun actually, I never had a hearing impaired patron at Sam's, it could be interesting," I stated, and boy was I right.

The evening had been going great, the bartender, Andy, quickly realized I knew what I was doing and when he got backed up I somehow found myself behind the bar pouring the drinks for my table. I was finishing the last one when he came over to help, the bar quite for two seconds.

"Is that a jackknife?" he asked.

"I know gross right?" I laugh. "I cannot believe what some of these people actually put in their bodies."

"I'm impressed you know how to mix one," he admits, taking a sip of the tiny bit of extra in the shaker. "Holy shit, this is good."

"You sound entirely too surprised," I tell him.

"Give me a break would ya? You come in here wearing the most conservative outfit I've ever seen a girl come in wearing while looking for a job, and believe me, there are some odd ones that have come in for auditions for the member's only area because Vivian sees something in them she likes, and it's not always easily seen. You, however, make most of them appear tame compared to what you were wearing earlier. Then when you come back out you're dressed like that," he says motioning towards the bouncy short skirt and tiny tank top that showed the swell of my breasts over the bra I wore. "You can remember drink orders like no one's business. You've already kept two tables from beating each other senseless, and you've poured your own drinks. You'll have to excuse me if I didn't believe you could possibly be able to make a jackknife taste good."

"Oh you're excused as long as you keep filling my orders in the speediest amount of time possible," I say fluttering my lashes ever so slightly. Not enough to be taken as an invitation but enough to send his pulse racing and hope it would lead somewhere—in other words my specialty.

"You got it," he said then muttered a curse under his breath.

"Problems?" I ask looking in the direction he had spotting a large group of men, twelve or thirteen in total, who were heading for a reserved table in the middle of the floor.

"That's your table, isn't it?" he asks when they are seated.

"It is, don't worry I can handle a large crowd," I tell him already walking away to deliver the other drinks. I let the fathers' group stew in their seats for a moment, taking care to send out the ‘look, don't touch', vibe I'd perfected working for Sam to my other tables as I set the correct drink in front of the right person. The owner of the jackknife took a sip and his face showed as much surprise as Andy's had.

"Did you make this sugar?" he asks his southern drawl sticking out like a sore thumb with the other New York accents at the table.

"I did," I tell him. "Couldn't have ya'll waitin' on me."

I give them the same look I shot Andy, and they're putty. I head towards the fathers' table thinking these New York businessmen are even easier than the ones back home, and it turns out so were the fathers.

"Evening gentlemen," I say stopping beside their table making sure not to block the view of the stage but yet commandeering their attention. "I'm Amelia but you all can call me Ame," I add but only with my words which takes considerable control over my extremities when I see a couple of the men signing to each other.

The first one signed, ‘She's hotter than the last waitress,' while the second signed, ‘I'd do her.'

Their words were no different than what I've heard a thousand, eh, more like a million times before and yet somehow seeing them being signed was more revolting, but I kept my composure not letting on that I knew what they were saying but closely following their movements.

"What can I get ya'll tonight?" I ask and another father signs what I said since the lighting on the floor makes it hard to see and the men couldn't begin to read my lips.

Their orders are the typical everyday same ol' same ol' drink orders, drafts, whiskey and bourbon. It takes me no time to get them filled but Maura stops me.

"Why haven't you let them know you sign yet?" she asks.

"Because if I do they won't act normal," I tell her. "They think they can get away with whatever they want because no one knows what they're saying, so we're going to play a bit of poker. I hold my cards really close to the chest and when they least expect it I take them for all they've got."

"Smart girl you got here," Andy said placing the last draft on the tray.

"Sam said she was bright, but I wasn't expecting this," Maura said giving her a pat on the shoulder, her act of total approval.

I took the drinks over holding them up as I said what they were, acting as though the hand movements were distracting me and covering for the fact that I was understanding everything they said. I gave them a while to finish the drinks before I went back over this time catching a quieter conversation regarding myself that the two men in the center were conducting down near the table. When I saw them talking about sex, followed by my name spelled out, and a few signs even I didn't know for certain but could hazard a good guess weren't along the lines of marriage and babies, I thought I'd throw up. Somehow I held it together and waited for the right moment.

It came a couple hours later, most of the club was cleared out, a few stragglers remained here and there, but the fathers were holding center court. They were all well inebriated, and I had already cut their drinks down, but when Kat came onto the stage dressed in a school girl uniform they started getting bolder in their conversations.

Now I've heard a lot of things over the past five years, but I'll be damned if I ever heard a conversation like the one taking place. These men were sick. When Kat took her top off it got worse and then I saw my name being thrown into the mix and the next few comments firmed my commitment to stay single. The ones that followed them had me wishing I was more inclined to other lifestyles because I seriously was about to give up on men completely.

And then there was the kicker, a string of signs that should never have been strewn together, but they had been, and I was livid.

"Oh, hell no ," I say surprising myself as well as several of the other workers who were hanging out around the bar as the crowd dispersed, by the vehemence in my voice. It was one thing for them to joke around about the waitresses or comment on the dancers' looks but this was too much. There was no way I'd sit, or stand, around while they pervertedly signed amongst themselves about all the vile, repulsive, amoral, asinine things they wanted to do to me.

No way in hell.

Maura watched on approvingly as I marched over to the table and waited until they all looked up at me. Once I had their attentions, I let them have it, telling them with words as well as signing exactly what I thought of them.

"Usually if I saw someone talking like you all have been, I'd ask if they kissed their mothers or children with their mouths but this, this , is even worse. You're supposed to be fathers . The hands that you're using to tell each other how you'd like to degrade me, or the others are the same hands that hold your children , tuck them into bed with, and help them communicate to the world with, and you're using them like this ? What kind of low-life cretins are you?"

I heard a low intake of breath coming from the bar, but it didn't stop me, if they'd been talking this way about me after only knowing me for a couple of hours, I'd hate to know what they'd said about some of the other girls.

"What would you do if someone was talking about your daughter or your wife like that? If someone signed or said they'd like to tie her up and force her to do whatever you wanted? Huh? What? Nothing to say for yourselves? No? Then get the hell out of here and do not come back. At least the other patrons here still show a small amount of respect to those of us doing what we do, and in some of the cases the only thing they can do to support their children," I say stopping when my disgust for them overwhelms my other senses and I simply cannot stand to look at them any longer.

I didn't see their expressions after I finished but Maura told me that they paid their tab leaving a sizeable tip for me, like over a thousand-dollar tip for me, but I knew I couldn't touch that money.

"Give it to the local women's shelter or something," I told her. "I don't want anything that came from them."

"That bad?" Maura asked.

"No, worse—much, much worse," I said, knowing it'd be a night I wouldn't soon forget.