“So … um, I’m supposed to do stuff like that?” I ask, indicating the dirty couples. “That’s what this waitressing job is about?”
My manager merely shrugs.
“This is what the Billionaires Club is about,” she says in an even tone. “We’re here to cater to the members’ needs, and going topless is routine,” she says. “They do it at the pool too, should you decide to transfer to that location, and also the wrestling ring. Go topless, I mean.”
I want to ask more. There’s a pool where all the pool girls are topless? And what’s this about naked wrestling? Holy cow, this is crazy beyond my wildest expectations. But my manager interrupts my thoughts then.
“They did tell you how much you’d be paid, right?” she asks neutrally. “Did HR get a chance to brief you on that?”
I bite my lip. Really, it doesn’t matter. You can’t pay me to be a whore. But at the same time, I’m curious, so I shake my head.
“No, I think we were in such a rush that that I missed that part of orientation,” I fib lightly. “Why, how much is it?”
My manager nods her elegantly coiffed head.
“We are short quite a few girls right now,” she murmurs to herself, surveying the bar. “But your rate will be fifty dollars an hour, plus tips. HR will collect your bank account number. They do direct deposit, and the money is put into your account each Friday. Tips, of course, are in cash, and trust me – these billionaires are very generous. Get on their good side, and your tips can far outweigh your hourly pay.”
I stare at her, unable to believe my ears. Fifty dollars an hour? Suddenly, Dr. Thompson’s words ring in my ears. He’d said something about making three to five times my usual rate, but I’d figured that was nothing but exaggeration. At most, they’d pay me fifteen an hour and then reassure me with the promise of lots of cash tips. But it seems the Billionaires Club really does live up to its hype. Fifty dollars an hour is five times what I made at the Silver Star. With that kind of base, I didn’t even really care about the tips.
Suddenly, my mind was made up. I’ve wanted to go to college for so long, and money is the big thing holding me back. Of course, there’s the issue of getting in, but being able to afford tuition is also huge. If I worked here at the Billionaire Club for a little while, I might be able to save like crazy. Fifty dollars an hour times eight hours a day is … four hundred dollars! Four hundred times seven days a week is twenty eight hundred per week in base. Suddenly, college didn’t seem so impossible.
The situation reminds me of my friend Darlene. She’s a good girl, and plenty smart too. But after her mom got ill, Darlene was hard up. The medical bills were smothering her, and she decided to take a job as a high-class escort. I still remember the conversation we had before she left for Chicago.
“Dar, you can’t,” I’d said. “You can’t do this. You can’t sell your body to make money! You’re a smart girl, and it’s crazy besides. You could get hurt.”
Darlene shot me a look, even as she stuffed more clothes into her duffel bag. She didn’t say anything, so I continued.
“Dar, think of your future,” I implored. “What if people find out? They’ll brand you as the hooker ho for the rest of your life. It’s like having a felony on your record. No one’s going to want to hire you, much less associate with you.”
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make some new hooker friends,” she said tightly, her eyes fixed as she continued packing her bag. “It’s never too late for that.”
“No, you know what I mean,” I begged. “I’m just saying that you don’t want to tarnish your reputation. You’ll be labeled, and you’ll never be able to be considered for the Supreme Court! You’ll never be able to hold any elected office.”
My comments made Darlene laugh. She looked at me with a mirthful smile, her hands paused for a moment.
“Gem, do I look like a future justice of the Supreme Court? I mean, look at me,” she said, flipping one hand through her blondish brown hair. “Do Supreme Court justices have frosted ends and ombre dye?”
“No, I’m just saying,” I protested again. “Most Supreme Court justices have gray hair, from what I can tell, but still. Don’t brand yourself with a scarlet letter!”
That made her go still, her eye catching mine.
“That’s why no one knows what I’m doing this summer,” she said in a quiet voice. “Only you, Gem. And you’re not going to tell anyone.”
“Of course I won’t,” I said. “But aren’t you afraid people will find out?”