The previous night had been full of customers flowing in and out of the darkened parlor. It was filled with laughter and smiles, and music penetrated the walls with pounding beats. You could feel the energy in the air. At the time I was still only a month in the business, I sat in a royal blue bikini top, and bopped along with the music, my breasts bouncing to the beat, my make-up perfect, and my hair dyed teal.
It's the kind of work environment where you let go, of course my coworkers and I are also standing around in our underwear. Our manager sat at one end of the bar, the night bartender leaned against the back counter, lines of glasses behind his head, he lit a cigarette and let the smoke trickle from his lips and with his other hand he raised a coffee mug taking a long drag from the cup.
Our mangers night began early, having our bartender pour him another shot of vodka once his cup was empty. Anyone could tell the atmosphere had began to wear on his nerves. Around the room a flurry of men jested to one another around the bar tables, a girl danced on the pole for tips. Another one pinched her customers nipples at the bar with his giggling over a half a beer. Some of us huddled together played a round of "Who would you do", pointing out who among the employees and working girls we would want to fuck starting with number five and working our way to one.
The party was hopping. The kind of night to remember, where everyone parties and no one goes to bed worried about paying the rent for the day.
In the morning it was quiet, no bells, just peaceful. The kind of Sunday morning people look forward to after a busy Saturday night. When I rounded the corner from C-Hall all I could see was a mass of people gathered round the bar. No customers, just employees.
Our manager and night shift bartender clung to the end of the bar, vodka in front of one, beer in front of the other. No one was on shift, the early morning cashier restocked the bar. A few early morning shift girls sat talking amongst themselves. Our manager half tipsy was engaging them in playful questions that most took as insult, too few really knew how to take his deadpan demeanor. What were the topics being discussed? Sex, guns, rock n' roll, and the events of the previous night, not our in house events but the situation they found themselves in across the street.
After most of us had ended out nightly fun, and the brothel had gone quiet, as the girls slept out bartender had decided to take our manager over to the brother across the cul de sac to introduce him to the owner. The owner of the competition being an old friend of our bartender and on very friendly terms with our own owner, it only made sense to have our manager become familiar.
They left drunk, head out the whole 44 paces away and ended up parked at our competitions bar. As we sat with them the next morning the story was recounted as something more like a farce. At some point our manager was forcibly removed from our neighbors bar and banned from ever returning. Later we would find out that he was trying to recruit girls to come to our brothel. Poaching is not considered in good faith in this industry. They then left, our bartender making peace enough to get our manager out the door and back to the safety of our brothel.
So there they sat, drunk at 8 am on a Sunday morning. We all round table conversed on many topics, bells rang, line ups happened, but they still sat at the bar, drinking, until finally a drunken decision was made between the two of them that our manager needed a gun, and our bartender being friends with the owner of the local armory knew just where to go. So triumphantly they got up and staggered out the door. The girls crowding the windows to watch them stumble down the road.
"Well, there goes fric and frac!" one of the girls said, "hope they realize at some point it's Sunday and that shit is closed."
"And that they're not going to sell a gun to two drunk idiots." Someone else pointed out.
Later after not so triumphantly returning without a gun, and still drunk they continued to sit at the bar and drink. A friend and I sat at the little table next to the bar painting our nails. Our bartender every so often peaking over at us, inquiring what colors we were going to use next. I got up and crossed the parlor, determined to retrieve my nail file.
"Hey Green Light! Where you going?" called out the bartender
To which I responded "green light means go". My green hair had a way in which it enchanted people in those early days. Our bartender called me green light.
As we did our nails, I noticed the bartender looking over, periodically drinking his beer, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair, he sat looking over his shoulder.
"What color do you want?" I called to him.
"What?" he said.
"Come over here, we're going to make you look pretty."
He sat down in the chair next to me and borrowing my friends black nail polish I took his hand.
"See this color goes with the black accents in your tie, and it's a very masculine color for you." I explained.
So there I sat painting his nails, as each one was finished he continued to explain that he didn't care if people did this kind of stuff because he wasn't afraid of what people think, he explained how he like different things, things that seemed unusual caught his eye.
All the while my friend and I laughed silently, watching our usually gruff and unapproachable bartender get a manicure. When they were finished they looked good.
"So this comes off with water, right?" he asked.
Everyone in the room laughed. The whole room had silently been amused by the whole process, having not known that he would allow a girl to paint his nails.
We explained that, no, it takes more than just water, he raised a painted hand to his mouth in shock and the whole room died crying with laughter. Our manager refused to help him, saying, "see, you let your guard down, and she got you."
After they were dry, and the joke was over, I took the nail polish remover and took the polish off. Our bartender being the practical joker that he is, watched me do this..."I'll get you back one day Green Light.
All I said to that was..."bring it on."
Our manager and night shift bartender clung to the end of the bar, vodka in front of one, beer in front of the other. No one was on shift, the early morning cashier restocked the bar. A few early morning shift girls sat talking amongst themselves. Our manager half tipsy was engaging them in playful questions that most took as insult, too few really knew how to take his deadpan demeanor. What were the topics being discussed? Sex, guns, rock n' roll, and the events of the previous night, not our in house events but the situation they found themselves in across the street.
After most of us had ended out nightly fun, and the brothel had gone quiet, as the girls slept out bartender had decided to take our manager over to the brother across the cul de sac to introduce him to the owner. The owner of the competition being an old friend of our bartender and on very friendly terms with our own owner, it only made sense to have our manager become familiar.
They left drunk, head out the whole 44 paces away and ended up parked at our competitions bar. As we sat with them the next morning the story was recounted as something more like a farce. At some point our manager was forcibly removed from our neighbors bar and banned from ever returning. Later we would find out that he was trying to recruit girls to come to our brothel. Poaching is not considered in good faith in this industry. They then left, our bartender making peace enough to get our manager out the door and back to the safety of our brothel.
So there they sat, drunk at 8 am on a Sunday morning. We all round table conversed on many topics, bells rang, line ups happened, but they still sat at the bar, drinking, until finally a drunken decision was made between the two of them that our manager needed a gun, and our bartender being friends with the owner of the local armory knew just where to go. So triumphantly they got up and staggered out the door. The girls crowding the windows to watch them stumble down the road.
"Well, there goes fric and frac!" one of the girls said, "hope they realize at some point it's Sunday and that shit is closed."
"And that they're not going to sell a gun to two drunk idiots." Someone else pointed out.
Later after not so triumphantly returning without a gun, and still drunk they continued to sit at the bar and drink. A friend and I sat at the little table next to the bar painting our nails. Our bartender every so often peaking over at us, inquiring what colors we were going to use next. I got up and crossed the parlor, determined to retrieve my nail file.
"Hey Green Light! Where you going?" called out the bartender
To which I responded "green light means go". My green hair had a way in which it enchanted people in those early days. Our bartender called me green light.
As we did our nails, I noticed the bartender looking over, periodically drinking his beer, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair, he sat looking over his shoulder.
"What color do you want?" I called to him.
"What?" he said.
"Come over here, we're going to make you look pretty."
He sat down in the chair next to me and borrowing my friends black nail polish I took his hand.
"See this color goes with the black accents in your tie, and it's a very masculine color for you." I explained.
So there I sat painting his nails, as each one was finished he continued to explain that he didn't care if people did this kind of stuff because he wasn't afraid of what people think, he explained how he like different things, things that seemed unusual caught his eye.
All the while my friend and I laughed silently, watching our usually gruff and unapproachable bartender get a manicure. When they were finished they looked good.
"So this comes off with water, right?" he asked.
Everyone in the room laughed. The whole room had silently been amused by the whole process, having not known that he would allow a girl to paint his nails.
We explained that, no, it takes more than just water, he raised a painted hand to his mouth in shock and the whole room died crying with laughter. Our manager refused to help him, saying, "see, you let your guard down, and she got you."
After they were dry, and the joke was over, I took the nail polish remover and took the polish off. Our bartender being the practical joker that he is, watched me do this..."I'll get you back one day Green Light.
All I said to that was..."bring it on."
(This story is by far my favorite day thus far in the brothel, we truly had too much fun.)
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