Jellyfish

1. A Day in the Life

You never truly knew the night life until you were accustomed to harsh lights, shaking walls, and unabashed dancing. Whether from the patrons of the club, shamelessly grinding together on the dance floor in a drunk haze, or from the stage where poor souls made their living through seductive glares and little clothing, there was always movement and always the reflection of lights through refilled crystal glasses. There was always a thick film of smoke in your lungs, on your lips, and it always followed you home to whomever or whatever was waiting for you. The night life was a sheen of sweat that glittered under streetlights and fled softly past your lips in giggles or dreamy speeches. It was an artificial euphoria of the most addictive kind, unless you were on the other side of it.

For every flushed patron with a Hennessy in hand, there was one of us, in a flashy uniform with a fake smile to keep it full and keep them happy. For every pervert in the crowd, there was a dancer on stage putting aside their personal comfort to please the man and pay their rent. There was no night life for us, just business and the hope that a little more dazzle would go the distance. Personally, I had grown to accept and even enjoy the taste of someone else's cigar smoke. The smell of spilt martinis that haunted me wasn't even unwanted anymore because it was existence of a kind I'd always wanted. Working at the club was a blessing of anonymity and careless entertainment. There were no questions asked, no boundaries set, and nothing to stop me from making more than the average doctor in tips alone. How could I complain?

I was lucky enough to never work past the bar or the restaurant. They kept me busy with mixing headaches or taking orders, so I never had to see the underworld just passed the velvet rope. We all knew it was there even if, like myself, we had never been personally introduced to the darker side of Toxic City. It was for my own peace of mind that I avoided staring too hard into the dance floor or lingering too long near the stage. You never knew if you'd catch a drug dealer in the act and wind up dead in the back alley, or worse, if you made eye contact with the stage dancers and caught the moment their resolve slipped. It happened from time to time. A dancer would accidentally lose their smile and you'd be met with eyes so desperate for a break it hurt. That was always hard to ignore.

Tonight though, my shift was over by two, so I didn't have to worry much longer. I'd already set to wiping down the bar and handing over my apron by one forty-five, and Veronica let me go with no complaints. She wasn't exactly keen on work, so it wasn't surprising that she gave me less than a glance though it was still something I appreciated. Being hit on by old men and drunk women was something I was more than eager to get away from so even ten minutes early was a small blessing. Steering clear of the general public, I made my way to the stairs, sound fading with every step I took upwards. This was an area off limits to everyone but employees so there was significantly less partying, but also suspiciously more glitter on the floor compared to downstairs.

I paid no mind to the chaos and clutter headed straight for the dressing rooms down the hall. As a waiter, I myself had no need for the dressing rooms, but one of my housemates was a dancer and he would always wait for me there. Blair was dressed and ready for once when I opened the door. He sprang up as if another moment on the sweat stained couch would kill him which, in all fairness, it probably could. "God, let's leave. Albert is hitting on me again and I might have to pepper spray him soon."

I chuckled in response letting him loop our arms together to better drag me down the hall. I didn't mind that Blair was very touchy, it was actually quite endearing considering it meant trust between us. With strangers, neither of us were quite the friendly type- unless we were working- but things changed when you were around friends. I used to think I didn't need friends in my life to be happy, or really, I didn't need to be happy to live, but the friends I had now were quickly proven irreplaceable. Blair was just one of my housemates, the closest to me both in age and attitude, and we got along brilliantly. Unlike some of the others, I had no trouble calling him my friend when it came down to it.