Even to me, though he knew the draw I had. We butted heads constantly. He left me in charge of the shows and even the queens, though he couldn’t help but try and oversee every little step. We’d gotten into countless arguments where he’d threaten to fire me or I’d threaten to walk, but eventually we would both calm down and he’d pour me a shot and ask for a blow job. I’d drink the shot and swear I’d bite off his dick if he put it anywhere near me. He’d smile and I’d smile, and we’d retract our claws until next time.
Izaac was already behind the bar, serving a few people who sat on the stools. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me enter. “Boss man?”
“Boss man,” I agreed. “In the office?”
“Yeah. A bit pissed off, so.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Because that’s what I need right now.”
“Would it make you feel better if you saw my nipples?” he asked, reaching for the hem of his shirt.
I sighed as I shook my head. “Thanks, baby doll, but I don’t think even your nipples will help me out today. I best get in there and get this over with.”
He nodded. “That’s what my girlfriend said when we decided to try anal.”
“This is what I get for coming early,” I groaned.
“That’s what she said after trying anal,” he said, wiping the bar top.
“Thank you for being heterosexually adventurous and sharing it with me,” I said.
Izaac shrugged. “Gays can’t corner the market on butt sex. It’s for everyone, Sandy.”
Helena wanted to purr and rub his face, but I pushed her down and reminded myself I had to have my serious game face on right now. If Mike was in a bad mood, it wouldn’t help if Helena came out to play.
“I adore you,” I told him instead. “I’ll be back for my shots later. Make sure they’re ready.”
“I always do.”
“You’re so good to me,” I called over my shoulder.
I walked out the door to the second dance floor, which was an open-air back patio to the bar. There was a DJ booth set up on a raised platform and a second bar lining the far wall. Every other month, I hosted a Karaoke Sunday Beer and BBQ lunch out here, listening to men and women drunk off whatever the bar had that week on tap. Mike had wanted it to be a weekly thing, but I refused to give up my Sunday brunches with the family. And since no one else could handle hearing people warbling Katy Perry or Whitesnake (varied and eclectic, my Karaoke Sunday people were), he relented and let me set the schedule as I pleased.
I walked through the back patio and out the back gate to a small gravel parking lot that led to an alleyway that ran between the businesses. In the parking lot off to the right sat a small camping trailer that had been retrofitted to become Mike’s office. He couldn’t stand being inside the club while trying to work at night, given that the bass was always vibrating through the walls. And you only ever went out to the trailer when summoned. Job interviews usually took place inside the club. And if you were ever summoned out to the trailer, it was usually to get chewed out or fired.
Since I probably wasn’t going to get either (though I’d been subjected to the former and threatened with the latter on multiple occasions), I wasn’t too worried. Mostly.
I knocked on the door of the trailer and waited.
“I’m busy,” an irritated voice said, muffled through the door.
I rolled my eyes. “Then I’ll just leave you to it.”
“Get your ass in here, Sandy.”
I opened the door to the trailer and climbed the steps. It was stuffy inside; the ancient air conditioning unit attached to a window circulated the air more than cooled it. Mike sat at a desk at the far end of the trailer, a laptop opened in front of him.
Mike was in his forties, dark hair thinning on the top, spare tire around the middle, and a penchant for scuffed Italian loafers at the bottom. Mike wasn’t a good person, but then I didn’t think you could be a good person and also be a ruthless businessman at the same time. He owned Jack It, one of the few gay bars in Tucson, and the only dance club. I didn’t like Mike all that much. We had an odd respect for one another, but it was extremely volatile. I’d just as easily kiss his ass as kick it, depending upon my mood and what he demanded of me.
He didn’t look up at me as I closed the trailer door, focusing on the computer screen. He motioned for me to sit in the chair in front of the desk. I hadn’t actually seen Mike face to face in almost two weeks, since he typically preferred to bark his orders at me via text or messenger. “So, you woke up and thought that mustache was a good idea, huh?
” I asked, trying to avoid bumping my head on the ceiling. The trailer was fucking tiny. “Going seventies porn star?”
“Can it, princess,” he snapped. “I don’t have time for your shit today.”
“Make time,” I replied, not taking a seat just to piss him off more. “You can’t expect me to take you seriously with that thing. Also, it seems as if your chest hair is trying to escape from the collar of your shirt. At least we know where your hair has gone.”
“Clyde likes it,” he said.