Peaches

One

I just had one more hour before I could declare myself free from this grueling sixteen-hour shift, which proved to be more exhausting as it went on.

Our assigned bartender 'abruptly' came up with food poisoning for the second time this month, and I was the girl to take her place tonight. As a manager, naturally I was responsible for making sure the positions were all covered. At least half of the poles were expected to be used, the floor had to be full, and most importantly the bar had to have a bartender.

I suppose I don't mind mixing drinks for a whole shift. It was hard to complain about the generous tips for such an easy task. Drunk men do like to spend the most money.

Just an observation.

After many years of being objectified and seen as a product of pleasure, I accepted this as my normal. Every touch and vulgar comment could be predicted simply by the look in their greedy eyes. My purpose in life is to please others, not to gain personal satisfaction, but to survive.

At ten years old, my father made a decision that ultimately changed the course of my life forever. To put it lightly, he sold me for drugs. He and my mother had large amounts of heroin supplied to them by a group of grunts working for Daddy. Their transactions went smoothly until the day my father ran off with a large amount that he didn't pay for. Daddy's men went after him, severely beating him to be taken to Daddy.

Of course, my father pleaded for his life and Daddy agreed under the stipulation that my mother and I become products in his business. My father was quick to agree, signing Daddy's documents and under the table paperwork, assuming he could be set free. Instead, Daddy had his men take my father to the arid deserts of Mexico to kill him, and bury him in a well-hidden grave.

My mother and I were lucky enough to not be sold off to be raped, murdered, or made into slaves by foreign men. Daddy claimed he saw something in us. So he set us up to be successful workers in his business until we could pay off our debts to be free. Which was starting to look like it was simply just a dream.

Mom let go of that dream a long time ago.

I found myself mindlessly circling my towel around the bar top, wiping away all of the carelessly spilled liquor. My mind was lost in thought, thinking of my next opportunity to visit the dance studio where I regularly practiced ballet. A hobby I've held for the majority of my life, regardless of the commitment I've made to the nightclub. It was useful in my training as a dancer, helping me to become the best in the business.

Daddy's business.

"Peach? You got another letter from him." My coworker, and best friend Candice, who is otherwise known as Candy, stood behind me holding out an envelope with my name on it.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

I dropped the towel down in the sanitary bucket, trying to hide my obvious fear for what might be in that letter. Part of me already knew, but another part had hope for something better. Some good news for a change. "Just set it on the counter, I've gotta wash my hands." My tone said more than what I wanted to share, but Candy already knew. There wasn't any point in trying to hide.

"I wouldn't stress too much, Peach. You're his favorite and you know that." She leaned herself over the counter, breasts spilling out of her rhinestone corset. She eyed a gentleman, one of our loyal clients, sitting behind me drinking his fifth Long Island. "Hey Jimmy, want a dance?"

Jimmy grunted in response, slurping the last of his drink through the ice at the bottom. "Sure hun. You just go 'head and just lead the way." As he stood, the drunken fool nearly fell to the ground.