STRONGER (6 page)

“Oh, no!” Cocoa said, looking at me in the mirror as she applied her makeup. “I was hoping you all would get back earlier so we could to a fashion show!”

I laughed, pulling the uniform out of its bag and shimmying into it. “I feel like I’ve been putting on a fashion show all day with Mama,” I said. “It’s my first day of work tonight.”

“Congratulations,” Cocoa said warmly, sweeping her lashes with mascara.

I waited for her to add anything as I brushed out my new hairstyle—modern-looking angled layers and razor-cut bangs—but my roommate just continued to get ready.

“Mama told me all about the business,” I tried, “about what I would do.”

“That’s good,” Cocoa murmured. “You’ll do a good job.”

I was getting a little frustrated as I pulled out my own new set of makeup.

“Cocoa, what were you talking about earlier today?” I asked bluntly, turning away from the mirror to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“When you said that Mama wouldn’t tell me ‘everything’ about working here.”

I put my hands on my hips and resolved not to move until I got an answer that satisfied me.

Cocoa sighed and turned around after a few long seconds. “I’m sorry I said that earlier,” she said. “It only confused you and made you question this place. I should be letting you make your own judgments about working here.”

This response only confused me more. “Is something wrong here?” I asked.

Cocoa bit her full lower lip before smiling and turning back around toward her mirror. She rubbed a vibrant shade of red over her lips and smacked them.

“How about you work your first night and do the best that you can,” Cocoa said, applying the same red lipstick on my lips. “If you have any other questions about anything—and I mean anything—I’ll answer them when we’re back in this room.”

That comforted me a little, but my curiosity still burned.

I turned back to my mirror and stared. The red lipstick made me look like a grown woman. Working quickly, I put on some eye shadow and liner before enhancing everything with mascara. Slipping into the nonslip black shoes Mama had purchased for me, I followed Cocoa out the door.

A few other stragglers joined us in the hallway, hurrying.

“Have you girls met Jazz?” Cocoa asked, smiling at me.

“Welcome to the club, baby,” a blonde said, grinning. “Nice lipstick.”

Once downstairs, Cocoa showed me the supply closet in the kitchen. It contained everything we needed to set up—silverware rolled in napkins, chargers, candles, everything. The cleaning supplies were in another closet—brooms, mops, dustpans, a vacuum, and all manner of rags and buckets and bottles of product.

“Just follow me around tonight,” Cocoa said. “You’ll be my shadow. Watch what I do, smile pretty, and we’ll split tips.”

Tips. The thought of money made me smile.

“There’s that pretty smile,” Cocoa remarked.

We dusted the paintings until the frames gleamed, aware of the line of people that was already building outside. My roommate explained that opening and closing operation duties changed each day. The schedule was always posted in the lounge. Tonight, we were dusting. She had me hop up in those sumptuous booths and make sure there wasn’t a speck of the stuff at the tops.

“Five minute warning,” someone called.

I craned my neck around, dust rag still in my hand, to see Mama on the stage. She looked amazing—a floor-length mermaid skirt and strapless top that glittered every time she caught the light. Her breasts looked incredible. I had to smile, remembering suddenly that she’d gotten herself a new pushup bra while we were shopping this afternoon.

After Mama’s announcement, there was a flurry of excitement. Girls dashed to the supply closets, putting away extra napkins and chargers. Cocoa grabbed me by the hand and ran to the laundry room. We dumped our rags into a hamper labeled “restaurant.”

“This is where you do your laundry, too,” my roommate said before hauling me back out to the floor. “Let me look at you.”

Cocoa turned a critical eye to my appearance and I straightened, wanting to make a good impression. Frowning, she unbuttoned one more button on my blouse, even though I’d already opened it down to where Mama had been so pleased with me when we were shopping earlier today. Satisfied with the results, Cocoa tousled my neat hair a bit and reapplied the lipstick, which she kept in her blouse pocket.

“Let me see that smile,” she said, her eyes shining.

I smiled.

“Thattagirl,” Cocoa said, grinning. “You’re going to be great.”

Nervous butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

“Showtime!” Mama hollered.

The bouncers opened the door and the girls lined up, taking customers and their parties to a table in their section. Mama was at the head of the line, personally greeting each person who walked in—many of them by name.

“Every girl takes charge of a number of customers,” Cocoa explained as we queued up. “She gives them a personal experience and makes sure they have everything they need. We’re each assigned sections of the club by groups. This is also posted in the lounge.”

Swanky lounge music played over the speakers. I looked over at the stage, but the curtains were closed.

“Do you always have live music?” I asked. “Last night, there was a band.”

“We have it most nights,” Cocoa answered. “Wait till you see tonight. You’re in for a real treat.”

I thought my stomach was going to drop out of my body as we got to the front of the line.

“Don Costa, it has been too long, honey,” Mama said, pouring on the sugar for one of the customers entering the door. A bouncer moved forward for a pat down, but Mama shook her head at him.

“You know how it is when business gets too good,” Don Costa said, bringing Mama’s bejeweled hand up to his mouth and kissing it gallantly.

“No time to have fun,” Mama finished, giggling and turning away coquettishly.

Don? Was that a mob thing or his real first name? I turned to see how Cocoa was behaving, but she looked straight ahead, smiling. I swiveled my head back to the front and pasted on my smile, too.

Don Costa was tall, perhaps in his mid-40s. His hair was black overall, but the color faded to silver at his temples. He was attractive for his age, but I bet he’d really been good looking when he was young. Three men accompanied him. Two looked to be about in their 50s, but the third was much younger. He looked so similar to Don Costa that I was sure I was looking at his son. Gorgeous.

Mama glanced back at Cocoa and me. “What a treat!” she exclaimed. “I just got a new girl yesterday. Cocoa’s training her, so you get the company of two beauties tonight.”

Don Costa’s eyes fell on me as I smiled for all that I was worth. “A new girl?” he asked, raising one eyebrow rakishly. “You’re gorgeous, doll. I’d love to be the one to give you an introduction to the place, if you get my meaning.”

I felt Cocoa stiffen beside me and Mama’s smile froze on her face.

“She’s young, Don Costa,” Mama said quickly, recovering from whatever had passed over her in seconds. “This is her very first night. She needs a little time to learn the ropes, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure you and I can come to an agreement about it,” Don Costa said, his megawatt smile outshining even Mama’s.

I still didn’t understand what was going on, but Cocoa leaned forward, resting her hand lightly on the man’s arm.

“Don Costa, let us take you to your table,” she said in a flirtatious voice. “I reserved the best one for you as soon as I knew you were coming. I hope you all brought your appetites. The chef’s special is to die for. Can I tell the bartender to fix your usual?”

Don Costa let himself be distracted by Cocoa’s gentle prodding. We led them to a table with perhaps the best view of the stage. It was far enough removed from everything so that fellow customers couldn’t hear conversations, but everyone could still see exactly who was sitting here.

“You weren’t lying, sweetheart,” Don Costa remarked as they sat down. “This is the best table.”

“Why would I lie to you, darling?” Cocoa asked, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. “The worst I do is fib. Well, and bite, if we’re being honest.”

The table tittered. “We will take those drinks,” Don Costa said. “Tell me more about the chef’s special.”

Cocoa turned to me. “Jazz, please go tell the bartender that you need four martinis, up.”

I nodded quickly and slipped away across the floor. I hoped the bar knew what “up” meant because I had no idea. Having to weave in between other girls working and customers milling around, I realized the place was really filling up. All of the customers were dressed to the nines—not a pair of jeans in sight. I wondered if the club enforced a dress code.

I leaned over the bar, wiggling my fingers at one of the three bartenders bustling around in front of a glittering display of glasses and bottles of liquor. It was another one of Mama’s girls—the blonde that had told me she liked my lipstick upstairs.

“Whaddaya need, Jazz baby?” she asked, rattling a shaker vigorously. “I’m Blues, by the way. Well, that’s my club name. It’s ’cause I got these baby blue eyes. Real name’s Sandra, but I hate it.”

Club name? Real name? Was I supposed to remember them both?

“Um, I need four martinis, up,” I said, looking back over my shoulder at Don Costa’s table. Cocoa laughing uproariously at something the younger Costa had quipped. His father clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’re serving the Don?” Blues said, her mouth agape. She tossed the shaker she’d been holding to another bartender and grabbed a bottle of vermouth from the shelf. Blues peered around me as she mixed the drinks.

“Oh, you’re with Cocoa,” she said, sounding relieved. “Of course you’re serving the Don.” She poured the martinis into tall glasses.

“Is he important or something?” I asked.

“Or something,” Blues confirmed. “He’s one of our biggest customers. You should see the money he usually drops. Everyone wants to serve the Don, but Cocoa always gets him. She’s one of the most experienced girls. You have to do everything he says and she always takes care of him.”

Blues set the four glasses on a tray. For some reason, “always takes care of him” had been a weighted statement. It made me think of more things than simply taking the man’s drink order.

I took up the tray and my hands shook. The liquid at the top of the delicate glasses trembled forebodingly. Blues shot me a dubious look.

“Better not spill the Don’s drinks, baby,” she advised. “Oh, thank God. Here comes Cocoa.”

I turned and my roommate seized the tray without spilling a drop.

“We’ll practice carrying trays tomorrow,” she promised, “but with water in the glasses, not top shelf liquor.”

I tailed Cocoa back to the table, watching as she artfully spun the tray on her fingers while serving each cocktail. Visions of my mother and the way the ice tinkled in her highballs sprang unbidden to my mind. I shook them away. This was a different life.

Don Costa and his companions raised their glasses in a toast.

“To the incomparable Cocoa,” the Don proposed. “And the newest dish, young Jazz.”

I blushed and grinned. The Don thought I was a dish.

“We’ll go put your orders into the kitchen,” Cocoa said, tucking the empty tray under her arm.

“Don’t dally, ladies,” Don Costa said. “Our lives are less beautiful when you’re away.”