Broken Submission

Tending Bar

She stared at the couple pieces of club wear she had left. Could she really do this? Could she really walk back in there like she hadn't just left in poverty, like she wasn't the boss's charity case? She glanced at the clock. She was supposed to leave in five minutes, and she hadn't even put makeup on yet.

Her stomach growled, making up her mind for her. Charity or not, she needed this job. She stripped, checking her armpits while she was at it. A little stubble, but not enough to be worried about. If she tried to get rid of that, all she'd get for her trouble was razor bumps.

Amelia pulled on her favorite corset. It was simple compared to some, and maybe more than a little cliche. But she loved the black velvet, the old fashioned boning that dug into her ribs. Admittedly, it fastened with a long series of clasps down the back which were hardly historically accurate, but she didn't exactly have servants to lace her up. Crimson ribbons criss-crossed up the front, ending in a droopy little bow at her cleavage.

Since she'd be working, she paired it with a pair of black shorts and a little skirt. Her black sneakers would have to do. Health codes mandated closed toed shoes for employees.

Glancing again at the clock, she squeaked when she saw that she'd used three of her five minutes. She dashed to the bathroom, for once uncaring of how much noise she was making. Her face in the mirror was white but free of blemishes, thankfully. In that case...she slapped on a bit of mascara and lip gloss and ran for the door. She would not be late, she would not be late, she would not be late.

She was three minutes late. Derek glanced at his watch again, knowing that he was obsessing. The club was quiet, empty. He'd wanted to give her time to learn the ropes and to adjust to being back before the crowd arrived. He glanced at his watch again, and she burst through the door. It closed behind her with a clang, and she jolted to a stop, the sound bringing her out of her frazzled state enough for her to reassume her silent stillness.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He had been starting to think that she wasn't going to show. His next sigh was one of consternation at the reemergence of her mental distance. She stood in the entrance like a statue, face hidden behind her hair. He'd thought they'd made progress.

"Amelia, come here." He watched as she approached.

She had come in through the employees entrance which opened straight into the main area. Most people came in through the front door, which lead to a small foyer. This ensured that members weren't put on display every time the door opened and also provided a chance for persona non gratas to be dealt with discreetly.

She stopped before him. He drank in the sight of her in a velvet corset and that tiny scrap of a skirt. Her sneakers were a little odd with the outfit, but it was endearing. It made her seem younger, more human.

"Amelia, look at me please." He didn't censor the demand in his voice. This was his club, and here he embodied his dominant persona.

Her chin came up and her eyes met his before shifting slightly. He would guess that they were still somewhere on his face through.

"You do realize that you will have to interact with other members right?" He hadn't thought that her shyness might pose such an issue until now.

Her chin firmed a little with determination. "Yes sir. I am capable of taking drink orders."

Bartenders did a lot more than that, but he held his tongue. She would sink or swim and bruising her confidence now wasn't going to help anything.

"Tara is going to show you the ropes if you will." He concealed a boyish grin at the unintended double entendre.

"Show her the ropes? Really?"

He turned to see Tara emerging from the main entrance. "Unintentional, I swear." He held up his hand. "Scout's honor."

She laughed in his face. "Uh huh, you keep saying that, maybe someone will believe you." She turned to Amelia. "Hey, I'm Tara." She held out her hand to shake. "I've seen you around here, but I don't think we've ever been properly introduced."

Amelia took the proffered hand for a quick shake. "Amelia."

Tara waited for something else, but the other woman was silent. She turned to Derek with a raised eyebrow, and when he shrugged, she clapped her hands.

"Alright, well let's get started, shall we?" she said. She made a shooing motion at Derek. "Go on, I'll call you when we're done."

He snorted. "You seem to forget who's in charge here, little subby."

Tara just looked at him, unimpressed.

"Alright, alright, I'm leaving." He rolled his eyes. "Amelia, you good?"

"Yes sir." He eyes were firmly on her shoes again.

He and Tara exchanged a glance, and then he left them to it.

Amelia tried to shake herself out of it. How was she going to do this job if she couldn't at least act like a normal, happy person? But no matter what she did, each word came out of her mouth more wooden and monosyllabic than the last. Her skin still crawled from shaking hands with the other woman. It wasn't that she had a problem with her. Skin contact was just an issue for Amelia when she wasn't in a good place. Skin contact, eye contact, noise...she was a real nut case.

She took a fortifying breath and forced herself to listen as Tara went over the taps and the liquor and the mixed drinks and how to measure and how to rim glasses.... Amelia's mind spun by the end of it, just in time for the first customer to walk through the door.