Desperately, I glanced toward the bar. Still no Eddie. The other bartenders, Tina and Carrie, had stopped making drinks and stood, staring, along with almost every other person in the restaurant, as Britney's friend climbed up on the tabletop too. She started rubbing against Brittney in a way that elicited catcalls from the two players and a mixture of murmuring and occasional laughter from the other patrons.
Screw it. I marched across the dining room to stand, my hands on my hips, at the end of their booth. If I were lucky, I'd be able to hustle them on their way without throwing more gasoline on the fire.
"Looks like somebody's having a good time," I said, trying to make my voice lighter than it felt.
"Got that right," one of the guys said. He leaned his face over the table and peered up under Britney's dress. From the look on the guy's face, it was pretty obvious the view was panty-free.
"Alright guys," I said. "Time to take it someplace else." When they all ignored me, I rolled my eyes and added under my breath, "like the Boobie Bungalow."
Apparently, I hadn't said that last part as quietly as I intended, because one of the players immediately gave a hoot of encouragement. "Yeah!" he bellowed. "Boobies! C'mon, let's see 'em!"
He might've been talking to the blondes. Or he might've been talking to me. Or maybe, it was a general plea for boobies of any variety. Honestly, the guy didn't look too picky.
Too bad Bolger wasn't here. He had decent cleavage if you could get past the hair.
On the table, Brittney was reaching for the shoulder strap of her skin-tight dress.
"Hey!" I said, "Hoochie girls. Off the table! Now!"
One of the guys laughed. "I got a better idea," he said, giving me a look that made my skin crawl. "Why don't you join 'em?"
"Yeah," the other guy said, applauding in a way that I guessed was supposed to be encouraging. He got out his wallet and peeled off a bunch of singles. He fanned them out and shook them at me like some dog-trainer, promising a treat for a trick. "Go on," he urged, "be a good girl and show us your stuff."
I gave him a smile. "I've got a better idea," I said as I leaned in close. "Why don'tyoutake your player ass the fuck out of here, and take that travelling skank show with you."
Around us, the dining room had grown oddly quiet. Slowly, I realized that the girls were no longer dancing. The lack of motion, both from the girls and the rest of the restaurant, made them, if possible, look even more ridiculous as they stood in their sheer cocktail dresses, their high heels surrounded by empty drink glasses and plates of half-eaten food.
"Jeez, what a bitch," Brittney said. She turned to her friend and said, "Looks like someone hasn't been laid in a while."
I flushed. She was right. I was in the midst of what some might call a dry spell, but it wasn't for lack of opportunity. The way I saw it, it was better to be too picky than screw anything that moved.
"That's okay." I gave her a sweet smile. "Because it looks like you're getting plenty for all of us."
She tossed her hair. "Don't you know it."
"And, uh, how much do you charge again?" I asked.
"Hey!" the other girl broke in. "It's not like we're hookers."
"Whatever." I slammed their bill down on the table. "Time for you to go."
With a huff, Brittney climbed down from the tabletop, and her friend followed suit. Some guy across the restaurant gave a loud cheer. Was he cheering their performance, or the fact that it was finally over? I had no idea.
The girls slumped in the booth, murdering me with their eyes while the players grinned like this was the best fun they'd had all year. From the look in their eyes, they were waiting for the inevitable three-way catfight – the one that would end with a pillow-fight and torn panties.
Dumb-asses. Had they already forgotten? The skanks weren't wearing any.
I stood with my arms crossed as the first guy pulled out his wallet and tossed a credit card on top of the bill. "Here ya go," he said in a loud, important voice. "And add on a nice tip for yourself while you're at it."
"No way," Brittney told him, tossing her hair as she looked daggers at me. "She was a total bitch. She don't deserve anything." She sank down in her seat and added, "This place sucks donkey dick."
Donkey dick? Seriously? Like a regular dick wasn't enough?
"Well," I said, "coming from an expert such as yourself, we sure do appreciate your input."
Brittney stared up at me, as if trying to decide if I she'd just been insulted or complimented. And then, something in her expression changed. Her confusion cleared, and she smiled like she'd just gotten the best surprise since her last negative gonorrhea results.
"Heeeey," she said, "I knowyou." With a little laugh, she turned to her friend. "Recognize her?"
