“I’m really rethinking the Mellow Mauve.” Monica walked through the half-demolished condo with a hard hat on her head and gloves on her hands. She directed her designer’s attention to the wall in one of the bedrooms. “Isn’t it a bit toobright?Or is it the light that’s playing with my perception?”
Her designer, a Swiss woman named Analise, stood back and considered the blue painter’s tape on the formerly eggshell white wall. Currently, it was splattered with different shades of dark pink and light purple. The “Mellow Mauve” was supposedly Monica’s pick after studying many swatches and conducting online research into current color psychology theories. This room was meant for guests to decompress or practice what they had learned in class in private.It must be calming, whatever color we pick.She had considered a deep, royal blue but feared it was too dark. Too moody.It should also still be romantic and inspire sexual stirrings.But was mauve too close to her design of the Salon? This really should stand out on its own.
“I recommend we take another look when the sun goes down,” Analise suggested. “After all, that is when a vast majority of guests will experience it.”
“You’re right. I’m not thinking correctly.” Monica bit the end of her pen before jotting down a note in a flipbook. “I just don’t want to get stuck in endless refurbishments. I’ve learned that’s a bigger money sink, as much as I love supporting the local contractors.”
Analise laughed as they went back into the living room. Currently, the kitchen was cordoned off. One of the biggest expenses of this remodel was closing off the kitchen and destroying the “open floor plan” the condo came with. A kitchenwas distracting for a place that was more commercial than residential. Until construction was ready for that, though, they focused on the living room and main bathroom. Right now, the foreman needed a decision on what was happening with the sink they replaced that day.
By the time Analise left and the contractors were set in their ways for the rest of the afternoon, Monica was exhausted.Four days. Goodness.Four nonstop days of demolishing, reconstructing, painting, and endless questions as one thing after another came up. While that was how these things always went, despite how careful the planning was, Monica was getting too old for these huge projects.
Hopefully, this would be the last one. She didn’t think she could runmorespaces.
She hopped into the Salon next door, freshening up in the staff bathroom that was attached to her office. The only person there was Madison, the weekday manager (and Victoria Nicholson’s girlfriend, Monica could never forget) who went over that night’s reservations.
“How’s it looking?” Monica asked when she emerged from the bathroom. “I’ll only be here about an hour after opening if you think that’s fine.”
Madison looked up from the Salon’s tablet. “Blair is the only one with a couple of openings tonight. I keep telling her that Thursday is a terrible night for her talents, but…”
“But we’re grateful that Mira can lend her to us on nights they don’t have other things going on,” Monica reminded her. “Having a winner of the Summit on our roster brings in money.”
“Which makes it weirder that she’s the only one with a walk-in opportunity tonight.”
“May I see?” Monica took the tablet from Madison. “Looks like she had a cancellation this week. Well, I’ll head to the computer and send a discreet message to those on the mailinglist that tonight’s their night to reserve a Salon date with Summit champion Blair.”
“Use the picture of her in that lacy one-piece and black kimono,” Madison said. “People go feral for that one.”
“Because you can see her nipples in that lace.”
“I’m just saying, if it works on my girlfriend, it’ll work on anyone who likes women.”
“Which Blair is well-acquainted with.” Monica handed Madison the tablet back. “I’ll get on that. You do the final checks. We open in an hour.”
Thursday nights were the least busy in Le Salon and were the days they closed the earliest, but the regulars who often showed up tipped enough and bought bottles that went for thousands.I’ve run the numbers a hundred times.Besides, many of her hostesses preferred to work on Thursday or Sunday nights because they were often busy with their other hustles on Friday and Saturday. Especially Blair, one of their star attractions, who gave her allegiance to her Domme’s sex work business. She had made it clear that this gig at Le Salon was to make extra cash.
Blair was the first to arrive that night, her hair freshly done at the hottest salon in the town and a bag hanging from her arm. She went straight to the employee bathroom without a word and reemerged, changed from her T-shirt and jeans, and dressed in a negligee and one of her signature silk kimonos. Most of the hostesses preferred to do their makeup in front of the living room mirror, and Blair did that while Madison went over her lack of appointments that night.
“Someone will show up,” Blair said while applying her eyeshadow. “They always do.”
Monica turned away when Blair readjusted her breasts in her negligee. “You still have no reservations!” she called over her shoulder while helping the bartender take stock of the bottleson the shelves. “So take a selfie and post it to the newsletter channel!”
“We’re low on the Sauvignon Blanc,” the bartender noted. “I’ll have to order more, but it won’t be here until next weekend. We might run out by Saturday night.”
“I have some at home I can bring to tie us over.” Monica sighed. This was how every night at the Salon went. Somehow, it was more nerve-wracking than the Château, which was a well-oiled machine with extra staff and employees who always knew where to be and how to act. Le Salon was still small enough that they had to hustle for appointments in the city.
The inoffensive jazz music started playing on the speakers ten minutes before opening. Already, the first appointments lined up in the hall, chatting with the bouncer while patiently waiting for the fun to begin. Monica returned to her office and checked the camera on the front door. She recognized a husband-and-wife couple who had some of the best wine on reserve while the wife often preferred plain Earl Grey tea for her chats. She called in Madison and asked her to start on that pot.If the client doesn’t want it, I’ll drink it.Either way, the high-grade tea would be hot and ready by the time the couple sat for the next two or three hours.
Such was Monica’s rolling schedule whenever she oversaw the Salon for the weekend. The Château was often more chaotic and the employees were capable of directing their events. Le Salon was small and intimate enough that it required more micromanaging on her behalf.
Soon, though.Soon, everyone would know the ins and outs and she could spend more time at home.
Blair was the only one without a client by the time the first hour was up. She sat at the bar, where anyone technically on the clock was instructed to wait. Her seltzer water with lime bubbled in a highball glass as she chatted with the bartenderand occasionally snuck peeks at her phone. Technically, the phones were supposed to be in lockers in Monica’s office, but she wasn’t going to say anything. Not as long as Blair remained surreptitious.
Monica stole back into her office. In another twenty minutes, Madison stopped by between appointments and commented that someone was finally paying for Blair’s time.
“Good. Anyone from the mailing list?” Monica wanted to know how effective that marketing was.
“I don’t believe so. She said she’s a first-time visitor. In fact, she asked if she could speak with you later.”
