Buzz and Misti. This
is not the Wild Lily. My worn sneakers look out of place on the rosy, stone
tiles. Off to the corner, men are still laying the tiles.
I look around for a safe place to stand.
“That’s fine ma’am. You’re okay there; just don’t
go past this rope.”
That’s the second time today I’ve been called
ma’am.
The high-arched ceilings wear fans shaped as
tropical leaves as well as chandeliers that dangle with soft, blush lights. The
walls are decorated with framed close-ups of stamens and pistils inside exotic
flowers. Bamboo screens shield private areas, tables or booths. Lush, tropical
plants are pushed to one side, but I can envision them spread throughout the
room. A large circular stage is the center of the room, where the ceiling rises
above it a good fifteen feet. There are rows of lights above. Some have
different colored lenses. Off to the left is a rounded stage, up against the
corner.
“What took you so long?” Brody walks up behind me.
“How did you know…”
“What are you going to do? Work for ten—twelve
bucks an hour?”
If only. He doesn’t meet my eyes; he simply stares
at the logo on my Sir Car Wash polo shirt. It’s hilarious to him, but
thankfully he doesn’t laugh. “I knew you’d be back.”
Brody cups a hand to my cheek and rubs where it
used to hurt. “You look good. How do you feel?”
“I’m all right.” I return his smile; I haven’t had
anyone to smile at in days.
“Come with me. Excuse the remodeling.”
I follow Brody on the right side of the main stage
and wait while he unlocks a door. We walk up a staircase and down another hall of
closed doors. At the end he uses his key again and I follow him into an office.
There’s an overstated, dark desk, expensive looking furniture and pictures of
the “Biggest-Little-City,” arch at night.
Just inside the door is a conspicuous red and blue
shrine with a picture of a young Brody kneeling next to a football. The focal
point is a shadow box with a UNR jersey and several newspaper clippings.
Monitors line a wall and Brody sits on a chaise
lounge underneath them. I look at the TV images of the stage, a dressing room
with several girls, restrooms and every corner of the bar.
“I’ve become a bit paranoid.” He rubs the brocade-burgundy
seat. “So with the remodel I decided to upgrade everything, starting with the
security system.”
“Did the Wild Lily have a security system?”
“Unfortunately, no. And it doesn’t matter anymore,
she’s completely gone.”
“Will you rebuild it?”
“So many questions. Would you like something to
drink?”
After a long walk and salty French fires? “Yes.”
Brody rises and goes to a carved cupboard. He
mixes liquid from a few bottles and adds a cherry, pouring a little juice in
with it. The cool sweetness soothes and quenches. I tasted Thom’s drink once; it
was nothing like this.
“Aren’t you going to have something?”
One side of Brody’s lip smiles a little higher
than the other. “I never drink.” He sits again, places his ankle on top of his
knee and leans back. I had forgotten how soft his eyes are.
“Then why do you have a bar in your office?”
“Clients.” He smiles and it’s like he is taking a
deep breath by looking at me. “Former employees and other esteemed guests.”
We chat about the weather. He tells a joke. I recline,
following Brody’s body language. He offers me another drink.
“No, thanks. I just came by to say hello. Since
the—”
“You aren’t coming back to work for me?”
“Brody.” I stand and return my glass to the bar.
“I’m not old enough.”
He shakes his head. “Cassie broke a lot of rules.
Drinking on the job is just one of the reasons I let her go.” Brody stands and
straightens his tie. “When will you be eighteen?”
“I’m eighteen.”
“You’re old enough to work here.”
I raise an eyebrow. He laughs at my face.
“Even minors can perform and entertain. Alcohol is
only
is not the Wild Lily. My worn sneakers look out of place on the rosy, stone
tiles. Off to the corner, men are still laying the tiles.
I look around for a safe place to stand.
“That’s fine ma’am. You’re okay there; just don’t
go past this rope.”
That’s the second time today I’ve been called
ma’am.
The high-arched ceilings wear fans shaped as
tropical leaves as well as chandeliers that dangle with soft, blush lights. The
walls are decorated with framed close-ups of stamens and pistils inside exotic
flowers. Bamboo screens shield private areas, tables or booths. Lush, tropical
plants are pushed to one side, but I can envision them spread throughout the
room. A large circular stage is the center of the room, where the ceiling rises
above it a good fifteen feet. There are rows of lights above. Some have
different colored lenses. Off to the left is a rounded stage, up against the
corner.
“What took you so long?” Brody walks up behind me.
“How did you know…”
“What are you going to do? Work for ten—twelve
bucks an hour?”
If only. He doesn’t meet my eyes; he simply stares
at the logo on my Sir Car Wash polo shirt. It’s hilarious to him, but
thankfully he doesn’t laugh. “I knew you’d be back.”
Brody cups a hand to my cheek and rubs where it
used to hurt. “You look good. How do you feel?”
“I’m all right.” I return his smile; I haven’t had
anyone to smile at in days.
“Come with me. Excuse the remodeling.”
I follow Brody on the right side of the main stage
and wait while he unlocks a door. We walk up a staircase and down another hall of
closed doors. At the end he uses his key again and I follow him into an office.
There’s an overstated, dark desk, expensive looking furniture and pictures of
the “Biggest-Little-City,” arch at night.
Just inside the door is a conspicuous red and blue
shrine with a picture of a young Brody kneeling next to a football. The focal
point is a shadow box with a UNR jersey and several newspaper clippings.
Monitors line a wall and Brody sits on a chaise
lounge underneath them. I look at the TV images of the stage, a dressing room
with several girls, restrooms and every corner of the bar.
“I’ve become a bit paranoid.” He rubs the brocade-burgundy
seat. “So with the remodel I decided to upgrade everything, starting with the
security system.”
“Did the Wild Lily have a security system?”
“Unfortunately, no. And it doesn’t matter anymore,
she’s completely gone.”
“Will you rebuild it?”
“So many questions. Would you like something to
drink?”
After a long walk and salty French fires? “Yes.”
Brody rises and goes to a carved cupboard. He
mixes liquid from a few bottles and adds a cherry, pouring a little juice in
with it. The cool sweetness soothes and quenches. I tasted Thom’s drink once; it
was nothing like this.
“Aren’t you going to have something?”
One side of Brody’s lip smiles a little higher
than the other. “I never drink.” He sits again, places his ankle on top of his
knee and leans back. I had forgotten how soft his eyes are.
“Then why do you have a bar in your office?”
“Clients.” He smiles and it’s like he is taking a
deep breath by looking at me. “Former employees and other esteemed guests.”
We chat about the weather. He tells a joke. I recline,
following Brody’s body language. He offers me another drink.
“No, thanks. I just came by to say hello. Since
the—”
“You aren’t coming back to work for me?”
“Brody.” I stand and return my glass to the bar.
“I’m not old enough.”
He shakes his head. “Cassie broke a lot of rules.
Drinking on the job is just one of the reasons I let her go.” Brody stands and
straightens his tie. “When will you be eighteen?”
“I’m eighteen.”
“You’re old enough to work here.”
I raise an eyebrow. He laughs at my face.
“Even minors can perform and entertain. Alcohol is
only
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