AVA

 

Leaning gently against the wall I tug at the strap on my heel, pushing it into a more comfortable position before glancing at my watch. Ten-thirty. Still too early for the rush, but I’d heard from one of the concierges at the Hilton that there’s a large bachelor party running through town and heading in Fever’s direction. I’ll probably need to have at least four girls ready and available for that.

All around me the room is decorated in black. It’s sometimes hard to remember whether it’s night or day when I come into work, though Garth is always happy to take time away from his security desk to remind me when to eat and leave for my day job.

“Can’t have the bar finding out what Vegas’s favorite lawyer gets up to during her down time,” he told me one time when he led me out to my car, his heavy muscles rippled as he gave the shadows cast by the streetlights hard looks. I rolled my eyes but thanked him as he walked me to the car. Most men who work for brothels aren’t nearly as gentlemanly as Garth and I appreciate that.

I can’t see him from where I’m standing right now. I’m in the foyer, leaning against the black wall, my stilettos finally comfortable and resting firmly on the black and gold marble floors. Sitting in the middle of the floor are hot pink couches–the only color the boss Joey likes–to add a splash of contrast. Technically, Fever isn’t a brothel. It’s a gentlemen’s club. Whether the men who come in turn out to be gentlemen is another matter entirely, though the girls always have the final say in who they sleep with. This usually means that the loudest, rowdiest, or most misogynistic are shown the door. If they put up a fight, I signal to the bartender, who then signals for Garth. It’s a system we’ve perfected over the years.

I stride toward the bar, my tight dress pulling in a couple of places I wish weren’t being pulled but overall working for me. Black and gold, like the room. When I am at Fever, I blend into the background. That’s the duty of a hostess, to help make the client’s experience as seamless as possible.

Through the foyer, there’s a door that leads off to the bar. It, too, is decorated in black and gold, with the only color being the girls’ dresses. The girls are urged to stand out and look as sexy as possible, and undoubtedly they perfect that.

Even though it’s early, there are a few men dotted around the bar wearing business suits with the ties loosened and slowly relaxing expressions. I can’t see a single man under the age of fifty, but that’s common at this time of night. The younger men don’t come in until they’ve blown enough money at the casinos to try something new.

From the doorway, I can see Emma and Kayley working together on one man. His blushing red cheeks match Kayley’s nails, and he’s obviously moneyed enough to ask for both of them at once. When I make eye contact with Emma, she gives me a nod and a wink. I nod curtly back.

Emma’s been my friend since the day I walked into Fever for the interview. Emma’s dressed in pink and her tousled hair always smells like sweet fruit. Her skin is a beautiful bronze, and she can pull off a flawless Australian accent whenever clients request it. Beside her, Kayley looks more rebellious, more adventurous, with her tattoos and immaculate winged eyeliner contrasting beautifully with Emma’s refined beauty. I often feel a bit… blah, compared to those two. I sometimes wonder if I look more like a schoolteacher than the hostess of a gentlemen’s club when I get ready for work. Then I remind myself that my day job is a lawyer, not a schoolteacher, and that I’m damn good at swaying a jury to what I need them to think.

Why can’t I be as confident at Fever as I am in a courtroom?

There are stages as well–two of them with poles—set in the room to give maximum viewing pleasure no matter where the clients in the room are sitting. Right now, only one of the poles is being used. Jaye is working it, though her dance moves are too technically difficult to be titillating. She’s probably just practicing before the rush. Usually, Kayley would be up there with her. Kayley’s moves are always stunning, and when she dances she looks like an absolute goddess.

I love this. I love seeing the Fever world in its sleepy beginnings at the start of the work evening. I love witnessing it at the height of its productivity as well, but for different reasons. This place is exhilarating in ways a courtroom could never be. And why can’t I have both?

The bartender, Stephen, looks up from the glass he’s cleaning when he hears my heels clicking on the marble. He gives me a roguish wink as I lean against the bar.

“Evening, Ava,” he says, tossing a few strands of hair out of his face with a carefully controlled head-flick. The rest of his hair is up in a messy bun which looks annoyingly good on him. My own blonde hair never looks great up. I think it makes my cheeks look too thin. “How’s my favorite hostess with the mostest?”

“My goddamn feet are hurting,” I reply dryly. He pours me a glass of water without asking if I want one. “We’re probably going to get a bachelor party through here in a few hours.”

Stephen grins, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as though thanking Jesus. “Y'all know how much I love a good bachelor party.”

“Remember the girls are working, Stephen,” I tell him, taking a sip from the glass he passes me. “You can’t try to flirt your way into a room. Not until after hours.”

“You ruin all of my fun,” he says, mock-wounded.

I don’t dignify that with a response. I know Stephen has slept with most, if not all, of the girls at Fever. He’s got the necessary charm to talk his way into a room without having to pay for it, and many of the girls remain close friends with him afterward. At first, I had found his behavior unprofessional. I’d even considered asking our boss Joey to find a different bartender for my shifts. Until the night Stephen had caught a client trying to roofie a girl’s drink and smashed a beer bottle over the man’s head. Stephen may be a ladies’ man, but he’ll risk prison to defend the girls at Fever. I couldn’t ask for much more.

“Just keep your pants on until closing hours.”

“Well, now you’re just being unreasonable,” Stephen replies. He leans forward on the counter, so his hands are resting just beside mine. “What if I have to go to the bathroom? What then?”

“You’re a clever man, Stephen… you’ll figure something out.”

“You think I’m clever?”

“You have to be… to talk so many women out of their better judgment.”

Stephen reels back, dramatically clutching at his chest as though he’s been shot. “That’s bullying!” he says when he’s done. “I am being bullied in my workplace!”

“Take it up with the Boss.”

He probably couldn’t even if he wanted to. Our boss Joey Grima is like a ghost at Fever, hardly ever appearing unless something’s going wrong–I keep the place working so smoothly that it hardly ever does.

Movement catches the corner of my eye and I turn to see Emma waving for me. She points to the man she’s sitting with, then to herself and Kayley. I leave my glass on the bar for Stephen–who salutes me as I turn away–before heading back into the foyer to retrieve Emma and Kayley’s boxes. The boxes are hidden behind the desk in the corner of the room, decorated with the girls’ colors and containing a card explaining what each girl is willing to give to a man for the right price. I’ve never looked at the cards in too much detail. Partly because it’s none of my business. Mostly because I’m scared it will make me feel inadequate.

I’m not a virgin. But I’m not exactly experienced, either. I’ve had a couple of steady boyfriends, and they all thought ‘girl on top’ was about as kinky as it gets. It wasn’t until I came to work here at Fever that I’d realized my experience might be lacking. Reading those cards will probably just confirm it.

When I return to the bar with two boxes–one red ribbon and one pink–I see that Emma and Kayley have disappeared, leaving the man they were entertaining alone with his drink.

They’ve probably gone to set up the room, I think to myself as I shimmy over.

The back rooms are hidden away, decorated in the same style as the rest of Fever with a splash of color and enough lube and condoms to entertain a small army.

I walk over to the man Kayley and Emma had been entertaining. His face lights up when he notices the boxes in my hands.

“I trust Kayley and Emma have explained what these are?” I ask. My voice is deliberately pitched lower, huskier, because that seems to be what men expect from a hostess. In the courtroom I’m usually pitched low as well, but with more authority. At least, that’s what I hope the impression is. Here, the effect is obvious and it makes me a lot less nervous to play the role.

The man nods eagerly and reaches for them. The greedy look in his eyes forces me to look away. I know his type and although I’m confident Emma and Kayley can definitely handle him, I know it would be a different scenario for myself.

“You may peruse the contents of the cards while the girls prepare for you. When they’re set, they’ll come and get you.”

He eyes me up and down and I dread the words that I know are forming in his mind. “Any chance you’d like to join us?” he asks. His words are slurred and I wonder if the empty glass in front of him is his first.

It’s not unusual for men to proposition me. It’s more unusual for me to actually consider it. In this case my answer is immediate, “I’m sorry, sir… I’m just the hostess.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” He gives me a wink that he thinks must be charming, but is just sloppy.

I give him a smile. “Enjoy your evening.”

Before he can say anything more I return to the bar. Stephen’s still there, drying a glass and watching Jaye on the pole, though I can tell he’s got one eye on me as I approach.

“You’ve been pouring drinks down his throat, haven’t you?” I ask, not bothering to explain what I mean.

Stephen shrugs, still watching Jaye. “It’s over faster when they’re drunk.”

“They pay by the hour.”

“Post-coital naps count as part of the hour,” Stephen says. He gestures to Jaye. “Do you think I could learn to do that?”

I glance over my shoulder to see Jaye in her blue negligee holding herself upside down on the pole with her legs spread eagle above her. Her expression looks almost bored, and I wonder how many hours must have gone into perfecting the muscle strength necessary to hold herself in that position.

“I’ll have a stack of singles ready for you,” I tell Stephen.

He snorts. “I won’t dance for anything less than fifties.”

Leaning against the bar I cross my ankles, observing the men around the room and the women plying them with alcohol and sex. Fever is not where I expected to be when I graduated from law school. I acquired my first-year associate position at Page & Sons in Vegas, but still found myself defaulting on my student loans over and over again. The pressure of keeping up with my case load and stressing out over making enough money to eat that week quickly became too much. I’d gone to Fever with my head hung, expecting to be put to work on the floor. But our boss had made me a hostess instead.

“You’re organized,” he’d said vaguely. A lot of him was vague. Like he had his mind on a million things at once. “I’m confident you can keep things running smoothly. Keep the girls happy. Keep the clients from causing trouble.”

From that day I’ve kept things running smoothly and have kept the girls happy too. Even in the beginning before they were my personal friends.

I sometimes wonder what would happen to my career if anyone found out I was moonlighting at a gentlemen’s club. But it feels so good to be on top of my bills, to be able to devote my weekends and mornings to caseloads before unwinding with some banter from Stephen, or girl time with Emma and Kayley. I feel much lighter than I did when I first moved to Vegas that I can’t imagine giving it up now.

Besides, I’m fairly certain hardly anyone from my firm comes here. And when they do, I ensure Garth handles the ribboned boxes. As long as I can keep counting on my friends, I should be able to go on like this indefinitely.

At least, I hope so.