She lazily wiped the sticky granite countertops; the stench of alcohol and olives permeating her dingy white cloth. The clinking glasses, raucous laughter, and lavish outfits were what initially enticed her to the Parisian club but this façade of euphoria and luxury faded fast as the months added up. She was growing tired of the monotonous routine; putting on her best dress, a little bit of sass, and waiting for the next expectant gentleman to innocently ask for a drink.
She was used to the men who obnoxiously pronounced their presence at the bar but this guy approached her a bit differently. His thick, dark mustache twitched every time he spoke and his thin bottom lip slightly quivered with every question. “Can I have a scotch on the rocks?” Although his speech lacked confidence, his body language did not. He sluggishly sipped the drink, sort of licking and lapping from the side of the snifter while he stared her down. He thought he looked seductive but she found this utterly disgusting. She had seen him order a few drinks from another waitress earlier no she knew she’d have to offer her services now, before he could buy another drink. “Would you like to follow me up to one of the rooms?” she asked, head cocked to the left, her pink lips raised in a smirk. He slowly nodded his head, still ogling her breasts, before knocking back the rest of his scotch.
She glided up the stairs as if she had no feet, very aware of the fact that he was watching her ass sway back and forth; her hand barely touching the railing as it dragged behind her. She could hear his feet clomping up each step and his breath getting heavier and heavier the higher they climbed. The dim lights from the candelabras flickered, sporadically exposing the peeling wallpaper and stained red carpets. She gestured with her hand towards the bed, directing him to lie down, as she creaked the door shut.