In A Perfect World

Chapter Four

Adam Hawkins was waiting for me outside of his bar like a tiger waiting to pounce on its prey. The night was warm and full of energy, with music from inside the bar coming out of the door and drifting to my ears. I had to grin to myself; no wonder they were looking for entertainers.

"Viviana!" he exclaimed happily, bringing me into an uncomfortable embrace. He was acting like we'd known each other for years when really we've held exactly two conversations, both of which didn't last very long. I pulled away quickly, scrunching my nose at the smell of cologne and tobacco that clung to him like a needy lover.

"Hey," I mumbled as I wrapped my arms around myself protectively. I felt awkward without my guitar, like I was missing another limb. But Adam clearly specified that I didn't need any instruments – just my voice.

I felt his gaze looking me up and down in an inspection. I shuffled on my feet, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. "I like the boots," he commented, nodding at my old Doc Martens, "and the shirt's nice. But the jeans are a no-go."

I looked down at my skinny jeans and felt my blood rise to the surface of my skin. "You never gave me a dress-code."

"It's fine," he reassured, ushering me past the security guards and towards the entrance. "One of the waitresses will have a spare skirt you can borrow."

Before I could tell Adam that I didn't wear skirts, let alone the tight mid-thigh ones that the waitresses wore, I was shoved through the front door of the bar and into chaos. If it wasn't for Adam's hand on my back guiding me through the crowds of people I probably would've gotten lost, or trampled to death, or both.

The bar was massive, set up into three main sections: a small stage area, the actual bar where you bought your drinks and tables spread across most of the floor area. Most of the tables were full of people dressed in shirts and jeans, swinging glasses of beer in their hands and laughing loudly. I had to hand it to Adam: he knew how to create an atmosphere that people were able to enjoy. It almost masked the anxious feelings building in my stomach. Almost.

A waitress brushed past me, a short brunette whose hair swayed down her back and ended at her tiny waist. Adam, spotting the waitress, called out to her. "Sam!" he shouted, his voice rising over the noises of the bar. At the sound of her boss's voice she stopped in her place and faced us. She was pretty, probably a lot prettier without the makeup and bright pink lipstick, and shared the same unamused look that I imagined was also on my face.

"Yes?" she asked, her eyes bouncing from me to Adam. I looked at him expectantly.

"Do you have a spare skirt that Viviana could borrow for tonight? Apparently she didn't get the memo."

No, apparently not. The waitress, Sam, raised her eyebrows at Adam. "What's wrong with the jeans?"

I could've kissed her on the spot. Yes, what were wrong with them? It seemed, however, that Adam had an answer to that question. "That's not what the girls are supposed to wear around here," he simply stated, making me frown. "We have a uniform and I want our entertainer to fit in."

Sam stared at me sympathetically. "Okay," she eventually said, shoving her notepad into the waist of her skirt. "I've got a spare skirt out the back for her, but I expect it back."

After Adam gave her a nod of approval she took my arm and began leading me to the back area, pulling and tugging me around the tables. I felt like we were in an obstacle course, constantly dodging things in our way. Sam didn't say a single word until we reached the other end of the bar and gently pushed me through the doorway of the back room.

"I'm sorry about Adam," she began speaking as she lifted a lifted a massive duffel bag onto a small table. I glanced around the tiny room and realized that we weren't alone; sitting on a wooden crate was a woman not much older than me, texting on her phone. She lifted her head and waved at Sam, and then at me. I suddenly felt extremely shy.