Let the girls be

“OK, ladies. Here’s what we have to do,” you say, turning to address your girls… who broke away from you and are already at the bar as a busty woman in a crop top pours tequila. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you say, pushing your way back to the bar. You aren’t in time to stop them from the first one, and you aren’t strong enough to resist doing one yourself.

But that’s enough. You just got here.

Alex emerges from the crowd to pull you aside.

“Looks like you held up your end,” she says. “Don’t take it personally. But I’ll bid on the one with the rack.”

“Go easy on her. She’s a baby,” you say.

“Here.” She holds up a folded scrap of paper.

“Save it until we’re done. I’m about to get wet.”

“You aren’t already?”

“What’s the process here?” you ask.

“Process? We’ll put you on the stage and throw water on you. It’s not rocket science.”

“Great,” you say.

Alex moves in closer. “I’m starting to like you, kid. How about you send the little ones home after, and you stay?”

“I will if you win me,” you say. “The money’s for a good cause, right?”

“Books for kids.”

“And you can look like a bigshot in front of your other guest,” you add. “Perfect plan.”

“They said you were a little schemer,” Alex growls, putting her hand on your waist.

“Who said?”

She stares down at you. “Alene.”

“Tell Alene something from me,” you say, getting up on your toes and leaning in close to whisper in her ear. You notice something from the corner of your eye and turn to look.

It’s Roxy, staring at you. You wink at her, then go back to Alex.

“Tell her that if she ever touches one of my girls again, I’ll…” You go even closer and make sure that no one hears what you say. Alex looks surprised.

“Maybe you should tell her that yourself,” she says, giving you a new look.

“I will. After the holiday. What are you doing, messing around with Alene, anyway?”

“It’s not like that. She and her girls are loyal customers. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We’re selling something new. I think CCL might be interested.”

“Color me intrigued,” you say.

“OK, let me work up the crowd for a couple minutes, then we’ll get this part over with. See? I’m easy to work with,” she says, giving you a friendly slap on the rear.

You roll your eyes and turn away. One more shot won’t hurt, but you’re face to face with Professor Austen. She’s not dressed for the bar; she has normal clothes on, and hasn’t taken off her coat.

She grabs your arm. It’s sudden, but your reaction is mainly… anger. Do you not have enough stress right now with what you’re about to do? With what you have to do tomorrow? What is she doing here? She can only want to pressure you to change your mind. No chance. You are not talking to her.

Pull away?

Or punch her?