“Olivia,” the guy said. “That’s my sister’s name.” He gave me a smile, and suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my internal radar started going off. It wasn’t anything his tone or anything he’d done -- he sounded genuine and his smile didn’t seem fake. He was dressed in an expensive suit and had the semi-uninterested look of a guy who’d been dragged along on a work trip and didn’t necessarily even want to be spending his night in a strip club. I had no reason to think he was lying. His sister’s name probably was Olivia.
But I’d had enough experience with predators to know how this was one of their tactics. If a man wanted you to trust him, he’d find a way to connect with you. Something unassuming and innocent, something that would make you think he wasn’t a threat. It was how abusers were able to keep their victims close. They gave you a reason to connect with them and make you think you could trust them before exploiting that trust and confusing you about whether or not what they were doing was wrong.
“That’s nice,” I said vaguely.
“I’m Caleb,” he said, holding his hand out.
I took it and shook it. His grip was strong, his hand warm. Nothing about him on the surface seemed off – but my instinct was still telling me there was something more going on. It wasn’t even necessarily something nefarious. It wasn’t like I thought he was going to try to pay me to sleep with him or anything. It was just… I felt like there was more to him what I was seeing.
“Thanks for the drinks,” he said, holding up his beer and taking a swig. “And for putting up with my friends.” He rolled his eyes and I smiled.
“Have a good night,” I said.
“Yeah, you too.”
My heart was pounding as I walked away from him.
Relax, Olivia, I told myself. You’re being crazy. Just because you have the same name as some guy’s sister doesn’t mean something shady is going on. Stop acting like a victim. Stop being so suspicious of every single person you meet.
I got back to work and was just about to put in a special order for a bunch of frat guys when Jessa called me over to the bar. “Olivia,” she said. “You need to bring this to the VIP.” She pushed a bottle of champagne across the bar. “There’s a bachelor party back there, and they want bottle service.”
“Okay,” I said. “Um, where’s the VIP?”
“Straight through there,” she said, pointing to a red crushed velvet curtain with a textured square pattern imprinted into the fabric. “It’s the second door on the left. They’re waiting for you.”
I grabbed the bottle of champagne and slipped through the curtain. At the end of the hall was a full-length wall-sized mirror, and I almost didn’t recognize myself as I walked. My breasts were pushed up, my hair loose around my shoulders. My skin looked luminous from the makeup Jessa had put on me, and my cheeks were flushed from running around the club all night. My lips were pouty with lip gloss.
I looked pretty. Or at least, as close to pretty as I could get.
When I got to the second door on the left, I stopped, wondering if I was supposed to knock or just walk in.
Finally, I knocked.
I heard a bunch of hooting and hollering coming from the room, which I guess meant the men were ready for their drinks. I turned the knob and pushed open the door.
When I got inside, I frowned.
It didn’t look like a bachelor party.
At least, they didn’t look like bachelors.
There were four men, all of them middle-aged, all of them dressed in jeans and flannel shirts. There was another bachelor party going on out in the main area of the club, and those guys were a lot younger, and they were slightly dressed up, like they were going out for a night on the town.
The guys in here were definitely a lot older, and dressed a lot more casually, but maybe it was a second marriage or something.
“Hey there,” a man sitting in the corner said. He was bald, with graying hair around his temples and a pot belly.
“Hi,” I said. Something about the way he was looking at me made me nervous. It was different than how it had been out there, talking to Caleb. That had made me think that maybe there was more to Caleb than what I’d seen. But in here, I felt like maybe I was in danger.
I set the bottle of champagne down on the table.
“You bring us the good shit?” one of the other men asked. He walked over to the table and picked up the bottle, studying it.
“Yup,” I said, even though I had no idea if it was true. I knew nothing about alcohol, even less about champagne and what would be considered “good shit.”
“So, um, if you guys don’t need anything else…”
I turned to head out of the room, but before I could, one of the guys stepped in front of the door. “What about our dance?” he asked.
“Your dance?” I shook my head. “Oh, no, I’m not a dancer. I’m just a cocktail waitress. I’ll go out and find the girl who’s going to be, um, performing for you.”
I went to move by him, but he grabbed me by the shoulders, hard. “We like you,” the guy said. His meaty hand dug into my flesh. “We want you to dance for us.”
“I’m not a dancer,” I said. “But I’ll go get you one.”
“No,” the man said, his nails digging into me even harder. “Dance for us, girl.”