Chapter Text
Andy's pov
Some people enjoy partying at clubs until the earliest hours of the morning. It helps them to let loose and drown their problems in bottles of alcohol and mindless sex. For some, even that's not enough, and they turn to the thrill of heroin, ecstasy, or cocaine running through their veins. And even after multiple rushes of adrenaline are pumped into their overstimulated bodies, they want more. Humans are greedy little shits, especially when it comes to the stuff they know is wrong, but that never stops them. More, more, more.
And all of them know that the club, my club, Youth & Whisky, is the best place in town to satisfy those everlasting hungers.
It's Saturday night, and the place is packed. Loud music reverberates throughout the crowded room, making my headache worse. I weave my way through the swarms of drunken people indulging themselves in a brush with death, and go to sit at the bar.
"Well, well, well, looks like the famous Andy Black has finally decided to come out and mingle with the commoners," the bartender and a friend of mine, Lonny Eagleton, jokes as he sees me.
I chuckle wearily. "Hey, Lonny . . . I'll get a martini, if you don't mind."
He raises his eyebrows in surprise, but goes to make my drink. "You alright, man? You don't look so good," he asks.
I sigh. "Yeah, I'm okay, just . ." I trail off.
He smiles knowingly. "The repetition of the night life's getting to you again, huh?"
I accept the drink that he set on the counter graciously and drain half of it in one sip, the sharp liquid burning a path down my throat. I grip the glass with trembling fingers, watching the poison swirl around inside of it. "When I opened this joint, I should've known what I was getting myself into."
A few distinct memories come to mind as I say those words. The muffled voices of my parents screaming in front of the closed door to my room was a daily sound I had to endure. The memory of my dad slamming the door behind him for the last time, my mother sobbing on her bed months later when we realized we couldn't afford our rent anymore, the regretful looks on my teachers' faces when we found out there was no hope of me attending college.
I knew there was no hope for my future the very first night we stayed in our aunt's basement, and I decided I wasn't going to care. From the moment my lips touched that first bottle of vodka a few days later, I realized that I wasn't gonna be on this Earth forever, so why not fill my short life with as much fun as I could?
My world sucked, so I created a better one. Plain and simple as that.
Until a few months ago, when the fun started to die. Each night was the same thing, and I was getting restless, bored even. I understand why schools constantly remind their students to not do drugs, because now, as I look around the place, what used to look like a good time now looks sickening to me. I snap out of my thoughts and ask Lonny, "Why the fuck do people even come here?"
He's quiet for a moment, then responds, "I've been wondering the same thing for a while, and I think I've figured it out."
He takes my empty martini glass and says, "It's not the alcohol or the drugs, despite how much they crave that venom. They can buy that shit anywhere. It's the sex. Humans are desperate for connection with each other, and pleasure with another person is something that they can never get enough of."
I ponder his words for a moment while looking around the club. I realize that I see more people kissing each other and getting lap dances than I see drinking or smoking, and that the biggest crowds are flocked around the area where the strippers dance. Then I remember.
When do we have the most customers here? When a new dancer arrives. It's always kind of fun to have someone new on the team. We're an exclusive club, meaning we only hire experienced people, so we won't have any noob drama. Jake just left, so we're one short now. I smirk and look up at Lonny, saying, "We're getting a new member of the team."
🖤❤️🔥🖤
2 months later:
"Okay . . thanks again . . goodbye."
I hang up on yet another possible client who turned my job offer down, and rest my head in my hands. I had been trying to find someone to replace Jake, yet no one has wanted to take the job. I've noticed business has started to slow down ever since he left; we're losing customers, and I'm beginning to get desperate by now.
I take a swig of tequila from a bottle on my desk to ease my stress. It smells and tastes like memories of dumb teenage fun, and I hate how much I love it, how good it makes me feel. I despise it, but I wouldn't stop to save my life.
I stay there for what seems like hours, attempting to think and think my way back into prosperity. Maybe it's because I got less than two hours of sleep last night, or the flask in my left hand to help me stay awake, but I begin to develop an idea.
Some worship the phrase "The ends justify the means", and use that excuse to defend the decision I'm about to make. On most occasions, I am not one of those people. However, life has loopholes and so do I, which is what I repeat to myself over and over as I search the building for our head of security.
I find him and say, "Hey Chris . . can I ask you something?"
He looks slightly confused, but excuses himself from the group he's talking with and walks over to me. "Hey Andy, what's up?"
Chris Motionless has been a part of our team and a friend of mine for as long as I can remember. You name any dangerous scenario, he's been in it. I feel a little bad for the amount of drunk bastards he's had to kick out of here in his lifetime, but I've never heard a word of complaint from him. He's the best security guy this place could ever ask for.
"Just find me a dancer," I say with slightly slurred words. "Someone pretty who knows what they're doing. We need to get business going again."
Chris looks at me with raised eyebrows. "You know I'm not in charge of hiring people," he says, and takes the flask of tequila I'm holding out of my hand. I try to grab it back from him, but he's too tall. He chuckles and takes a sip of my drink. "I'll ask the team and see what we can do, but I wouldn't get your hopes up if I were you."
I give him a thumbs-up, and he pats me on the back and leaves. In any other situation, I would be embarrassed about my lack of professionalism, but I'm too worried and drunk to care. I stumble back in my office, sink into my chair, and try my best to sleep off the tequila before the evening rush begins.
Chris's pov
Andy's worked himself too hard. I've seen it happen a dozen times; things will start to slow down around here, and he'll drive himself crazy trying to make everything perfect again. He's always been too hard on himself, and I feel bad for him for that.
When he approached me with that flask of tequila in his hand, I automatically knew something was wrong. These days, Andy doesn't drink unless he feels particularly unsettled. I always know to expect some weird idea to be pitched by him, which he'll later retract once I remind him of it.
However, he’s never asked me to hire anyone. It’s simply not my job. Someone pretty who knows what they’re doing. Sounds less like he needs an employee and more like a boyfriend.
I head towards the lounge in the back to greet my co-workers Ryan, Justin, Ricky and Vinny. The security team here’s thick as thieves, so I know they’ll understand me once Ricky sees past my fake smile and I spill the situation.
“Damn . . . he must be real stoned tonight!” Justin laughs. I pinch the bridge of my nose and attempt to think logically. Andy’s already put out hiring alerts on social media and LinkedIn. Since nobody has been responding to those, we’re kind of at a standstill.
“Whatever, it’s not my problem. I’m taking the night off,” Vinny says proudly, slinging his bag around one shoulder. “You fuckers deal with this; I’ve got tickets to my sister’s dance recital.”
Dance recital.
Just find me a dancer.
I leap from my chair and race to catch Vinny before he walks out of the club. My hand reaches his shoulder, and he spins around just in time for me to pant, “Room for one more?”
He gives me a quizzical look before his eyes widen. “Why would you-. . . no. Nuh-uh, no fucking way are you thinking about getting my sister involved in-”
I cut him off. “Dude, come on, I’m not a creep. I’m just saying that an actual dance studio sounds like a good opportunity to find some new employees.”
He sighs, hesitating before responding, “Fine, fine! But . . . be cool about it, alright? I know a lot of people at this place and I don’t want to seem like a sleazy voyeur looking for a good time.”
“I get it, I get it,” I chuckle, “Reputation and all that, right?”
Vinny rolls his eyes. “I’ve got one spare ticket,” he explains, handing it to me. “I’m planning to arrive around 7:15, just meet me at our seats. If we’re lucky, I can ask Lacy if we can meet her backstage, but don’t count on it.”
“Sounds good,” I nod and pull out my phone to shoot a quick text to Andy about my absence. He replies with a peace sign emoji. So he’s really drunk.
Oh well, I thought to myself. Andy may feel like shit once the night ends, but at least Youth & Whisky will have a fighting chance again.