“Then congrats on your future whatever,” she said, and pulled a bottle from the wine refrigerator under the bar. “Sixty for the bottle.”
He put a hundred down on the counter and told her to keep the change. She looked at the bill with suspicion.
“You from out of town?” she asked.
“You could say that.”
“Well, here in New York, the standard tip is a dollar a drink.”
“I bought the whole bottle.”
“That’s six drinks. Six dollars.”
“I’m not usually this generous. You should take the money.”
“I don’t take advantage of drunk guys.”
“I’m sober.”
“I don’t take advantage of them, either.”
“You have integrity.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Sam said.
“It’s inconvenient, but I won’t hold it against you.”
“You’re too kind,” she said. “So, where are you from? You look Greek, but you don’t sound it.”
“I’m—”
“Sam? We’re low on ice.” The club manager, Mack, leaned over the bar. Before Mack could see him, Kingsley pulled back out of the light, hiding from view. “Get your shit together.”
“We have plenty of ice.”
“Go grab a forty-pound bag.”
“That’s twice as much as we need for the night.”
“You want to play like you’re a man, then you can carry a big fucking bag of ice like a man.”
“Fine. Happy to.” Sam put on a stunningly fake smile and walked into the back. She returned a few seconds later carrying a large bag of ice.
“Good boy,” Mack said to her as she ripped open the top of the bag and poured ice into the cooler. “I’d say there’s a man in that suit after all, but I’m guessing you’ve never had a man in any part of you.”
Sam grabbed the ice pick from under the counter. Mack’s eyes widened momentarily. Sam smiled again and jabbed at the ice to break up the clumps.
“Jesus, why did you make me hire her again, Duke?” Mack asked the other bartender. “Her? Him? It?”
“Shove it, Mack. She’s the best bartender in the city,” Duke said as he loaded up a tray with drinks.
“The Duke and the Dyke. What a pair. I miss Jason.”
“All the girls hated Jason,” Duke said.
“I liked Jason.”
“Jason was a sexually harassing prick who treated the girls like shit,” Sam said. “Holly was about ready to file a lawsuit from what she told me.”
“Ah, Holly…” Mack said, and spun on his bar stool to ogle the stage. “That’s a real woman.” He pointed at Holly, who wore nothing but a black thong and knee-high leather boots. Currently she had her knees around the neck of a man Kingsley recognized as the youngest son of a Mafia don. “Men should dress like men, and women should dress like women. And that is how women should dress.”
Kingsley watched as Sam’s grip on the ice pick tightened even as her fake smile widened. Mack turned around, winked at Sam and went on his nightly ramble through the club.
“The Duke and the Dyke.” Sam sighed. “You know he was up all night thinking of that joke.”
“He’s going to be patting himself on the back for the next week,” Duke said. “Fucking hate that guy.”
“I’d like to nail his balls to the bar with this ice pick.”
Duke took his tray of drinks out to the f loor. Sam turned in his direction.
“Sorry,” she said. “Bad night.”
“He has an interesting definition of ‘real women.’” Kingsley pointed to the stage. “I’m fond of Holly myself, but if she’s not forty-percent plastic by now, I don’t know women. And I know women.”
Sam studied Holly and tapped her chin in faux earnestness. “The tits are fake,” she said. “And the nose. I think she said she had lipo, too. So…more like twenty-percent plastic?”
“Is your boss always like this?”
“You mean a total asshole?” she asked. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you quit?”
“Someone has to keep an eye on the girls,” she said. “He’s worse to them than he is to me. And Duke only works two nights a week. I look out for them.”
“So you’re fucking one of them?” Kingsley asked.
“No, I’m not.”