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“Sorry?” I say with a hint of nervous laughter.
“Are you looking to gain an MRS?” she says, and it dawns on me what she means.
“I’m not even looking to date right now,” I tell her. “I’ve always wanted to get away from my small town. Everyone knows everything about everybody’s life there and I thought St. Louis would be far enough, but I was wrong. Being here everything’s different and I want to find the right place for me.”
“Sam told me you refused to dance, a girl with your looks and your body would make a fortune on the stage,” Maura says trying to gauge my response it seems.
“So I’ve heard, but I guess it’s that small town mentality in the back of my mind that keeps me from allowing it. I went to church almost every weekend and some of that’s stuck with me. Maybe not as far as my language is concerned, but in other ways I still acknowledge it. I just can’t see myself doing that and if you can’t accept it I’ll just have to go back to St. Louis and work for Sam.”
“No need for that, I’m impressed that you’ve kept your conviction on that level. I’ve seen too many girls come here and lose themselves completely and it’s not good for them or me,” Maura says stunning me. “I’d be happy to have you as a waitressin the open door area. We also have a private member’s only area to the club, but you won’t have to deliver drinks there. We have a separate bar set up for members, and honestly, it’s a lot calmer than the open door part of the club. Sam said you were her highest earner and that you have a unique way of dealing with…difficult patrons.”
“I have a knack for diffusing situations and dealing with guys. I grew up surrounded by them, I was one of the only girls in my classes at church, my high school class had sixteen girls but thirty-two guys graduating, and I also took karate with the boys since there weren’t too many things for girls to do outside of a quote, unquote, ballet class.”
“Sam said you can have them eating out of the palm of your hand before you even take their orders, higher praise from Sam I’ve never heard. You can start tomorrow, our Thursday night crowd takes a bit of getting used to, there’s a group of men that come in every Thursday night, telling their wives they’re having a ‘fathers of deaf children’ support meeting when they’re really coming here and staring at my girls. Some of the fathers are also deaf and their hearing compatriots like to hassle the new girls about what the men are really saying,” Maura warns me, and I finally get the whole fate thing and start to laugh. “Something about that’s funny?” she asks me.
“It is when you’ve been signing since you were little,” I explain, and Maura now is the one stunned. “My grandfather lost his hearing in an accident at a factory where he worked when my mom was thirteen, so they all started learning sign language and it came in handy when my grandma’s hearing declined recently. My mom told me that I could sign cup, milk, more, food, happy, and sleepy before I even started talking. It was so common around my house that there’d be times when we found ourselves signing while we spoke to each other without my grandparents being there.”
“Well then how would you like to start tonight?” Maura asks. “Having someone who can understand what they want or what they’re actually saying would be a wonderful improvement. I can’t tell you how many girls have left crying after a Thursday night because that group was being crude or at least they felt they were being cruder than the others.”
“Sounds fun actually, I never had a hearing impaired patron at Sam’s, it could be interesting,” I stated, and boy was I right.
The evening had been going great, the bartender, Andy, quickly realized I knew what I was doing and when he got backed up I somehow found myself behind the bar pouring the drinks for my table. I was finishing the last one when he came over to help, the bar quite for two seconds.
“Is that a jackknife?” he asked.
“I know gross right?” I laugh. “I cannot believe what some of these people actually put in their bodies.”
“I’m impressed you know how to mix one,” he admits, taking a sip of the tiny bit of extra in the shaker. “Holy shit, this is good.”
“You sound entirely too surprised,” I tell him.
“Give me a break would ya? You come in here wearing the most conservative outfit I’ve ever seen a girl come in wearing while looking for a job, and believe me, there are some odd ones that have come in for auditions for the member’s only area because Vivian sees something in them she likes, and it’s not always easily seen. You, however, make most of them appear tame compared to what you were wearing earlier. Then when you come back out you’re dressed like that,” he says motioning towards the bouncy short skirt and tiny tank top that showed the swell of my breasts over the bra I wore. “You can remember drink orders like no one’s business. You’ve already kept two tables from beating each other senseless, and you’ve pouredyour own drinks. You’ll have to excuse me if I didn’t believe you could possibly be able to make a jackknife taste good.”
“Oh you’re excused as long as you keep filling my orders in the speediest amount of time possible,” I say fluttering my lashes ever so slightly. Not enough to be taken as an invitation but enough to send his pulse racing and hope it would lead somewhere—in other words my specialty.
“You got it,” he said then muttered a curse under his breath.
“Problems?” I ask looking in the direction he had spotting a large group of men, twelve or thirteen in total, who were heading for a reserved table in the middle of the floor.
“That’s your table, isn’t it?” he asks when they are seated.
“It is, don’t worry I can handle a large crowd,” I tell him already walking away to deliver the other drinks. I let the fathers’ group stew in their seats for a moment, taking care to send out the ‘look, don’t touch’, vibe I’d perfected working for Sam to my other tables as I set the correct drink in front of the right person. The owner of the jackknife took a sip and his face showed as much surprise as Andy’s had.
“Did you make this sugar?” he asks his southern drawl sticking out like a sore thumb with the other New York accents at the table.
“I did,” I tell him. “Couldn’t have ya’ll waitin’ on me.”
I give them the same look I shot Andy, and they’re putty. I head towards the fathers’ table thinking these New York businessmen are even easier than the ones back home, and it turns out so were the fathers.
“Evening gentlemen,” I say stopping beside their table making sure not to block the view of the stage but yet commandeering their attention. “I’m Amelia but you all can call me Ame,” I add but only with my words which takes considerable control over my extremities when I see a couple of the men signing to each other.
The first one signed, ‘She’s hotter than the last waitress,’ while the second signed, ‘I’d do her.’
Their words were no different than what I’ve heard a thousand, eh, more like a million times before and yet somehow seeing them being signed was more revolting, but I kept my composure not letting on that I knew what they were saying but closely following their movements.
“What can I get ya’ll tonight?” I ask and another father signs what I said since the lighting on the floor makes it hard to see and the men couldn’t begin to read my lips.
Their orders are the typical everyday same ol’ same ol’ drink orders, drafts, whiskey and bourbon. It takes me no time to get them filled but Maura stops me.
