The Bartender

Chapter 1

I walked in the club and was stunned by the looks of it. It was bigger than I imagined. Like seriously, it was ridiculous. The house itself didn't give any notice of how much space it hid. Golden and white chandeliers hung from the black ceiling, a huge stage was built at the east side of it, a long glass bar stretched to the right. I stood, taken back by the luxury spread and money's worth of the interior. This was insane. When I thought that nothing was ever fancier than the clubs I'd seen in Florida, this beat them all. Of course, I hadn't been to LA or any other huge city in the States, but I couldn't imagine anything else measure up to this one.

There were maintenance people everywhere. I caught a guy setting instruments up on the stage, rolling out miles and miles of cables while others carried in boxes and trays. Two waitresses were wiping down tables, swings hung from the railing under the ceiling and lighting was turned up all the way. 

Were there dancers or circus people performing while hanging from tonight?

I watched the nightclub turn from a dimly lit cave to a brightly illuminated space. It was huge! Ok, I already said it was enormous but I have to be clear, it was. For heaven's sake, this place probably had its own area code. 

"Jon, get this out of here," a man from the stage yelled, pointing at my direction.
I turned my head, trying to figure out if he was talking about me or about something, object-wise.

I held the palm of my hand against my chest and mouthed a Me?  to the guy.

"Yeah, you!" He said, now talking into a microphone. 

I cramped,  my heart falling behind on the normal beating of my heart and I closed the hems of my jacket across my chest, a useless action to prevent my strong beating muscle jumping out of my chest. 

Obviously, I was in a wrong place, though the sign clearly said "Sugar Sweet" above the doors.

Maybe there were two clubs named the same in NY?

I doubted it.

I watched Jon stalk over to me and grab me by my hand.

"I'm sorry!" I let him pull me by the hand toward the door I had just entered but instead of escorting my sorry ass outside, he turned the corner after the stairs and guided me into a blue lighted hallway.

"I'm sorry if I did anything wrong, but I did come in from the back door as required," I explained, pleadingly. 

I caught him staring down at me, shaking his head. 

"This is Malcolm," he said and opened a door to our left. "If you have ever heard of the band Mainstream, you should know that the lead singer of that group hates people he hasn't approved a meet and greet with."

"That's kind of unreal," I put my bag down and sat on the chair Jon pointed to. "I mean, what if he goes to store? Will he yell at the cashier and get security to kick her out?" 

"No, he wouldn't. He doesn't go to the store. His loaded. People do things for him and he delivers what is expected from him. Call it a 'rich guy syndrome'."

I tried to swallow the laughter that wanted to erupt from my mouth, but couldn't bite it back. 

"Rich guy syndrome- there isn't such a thing. Is there?" I asked and he rolled his eyes.

"Maybe there is or maybe there isn't. Call me stupid, but I had to give that kind of behavior a name." 

I watched as the smile on his lips reached his eyes. Light blue eyes and golden hair, the man looked like he stepped out from the Viking series. His tall body settled into his seat and he clasped his hands on the table.