05 - Emily

Vicky lounged at the polished mahogany bar of the Ashbourne hotel, the dim ambient lighting trickling down from the many spotlights, casting a warm glow over the crystal glasses and expensive, gleaming bottles behind the counter. She counted about fifty different types of whiskey, and that was before she’d started on the other types of alcohol.

She was in town, as always, for a quick business trip, but the real appeal of this five-star haven was the solitude of this particular bar, and the fun of trawling dating and hookup apps whilst travelling for work. Success in these departments, followed by an evening of debauchery in a five star suite, was often the reward for such tedious work trips. Unfortunately however, her Tinder catch, whom Vicky had been frantically messaging between meetings earlier in the day, had gone dark.

Ghosted. Would you believe it? Vicky thought. It happened to the best of us.

But not all hope was lost. Not yet. Vicky’s eyes fell back onto the bartender. She peered over the top of her heavy crystal whiskey glass at the slim brunette occupying the other side of the mahogany.

The bartender moved with effortless grace, her slim frame accentuated by the fitted black uniform that hugged her narrow hips and modest curves. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, and her smile, when she flashed it, revealed a playful spark that made Vicky’s pulse quicken.

The woman had been here this morning when Vicky had nipped in for a coffee, and she had been pleasantly surprised to find her still here at the end of the day.

“Oh no,” the girl had explained when asked, “I’ve been home, and to the gym - it was a split shift. We don’t do it very often but sometimes there is a shortage or somebody is off work.”

Vicky sipped her neat whiskey, watching as the woman mixed drinks for a couple at the other end of the bar. The bartender’s legs were long and toned, this was evident even through her skinny jeans, ending in sensible black flats that did little to hide the elegant arch of her feet that Vicky could conjure up in her mind’s eye. Vicky had always appreciated a well-shaped foot, and her server’s little size 4 or 5 flats promised something exquisite and exciting.

As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, Vicky decided to try and make her move. The bartender was amicable with everyone who spoke to her, even men who flirted with her. She responded with a reserved grace but also a subservient courtesy and politeness that Vicky really liked.

“Another round?” the server asked, sliding over with a fresh napkin. Her voice was smooth, laced with a hint of fatigue from the long shift.

Vicky met her gaze, letting her eyes linger just a beat too long. “Only if you tell me your name first and let me buy you a drink. I’m Vicky, by the way.”

“Emily,” she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips as she poured the whiskey. “That guy over in the corner there already bought me one, but yeah, I can do one more. Shift’s almost over.”

Emily poured both the drinks. Vicky hesitated and stole a sneaky glance over her shoulder. It seemed the lovely Emily had another admirer. Would this man be a threat?

“I don’t mind if you would like to go and sit with your friend,” Vicky tested, “I’d still like to buy you a drink because you’ve been so great tonight, but please do not feel obliged to sit with me if you’ve got prior engagements.”

Emily stopped what she was doing and came away from the back counter where the drinks were being prepped. She leaned in low and close across the mahogany and Vicky could smell her inticing perfume, a gold pendant hanging at her neck drawing Vicky’s eyes down Emily’s blouse.

“It’s OK,” she said in almost a whisper, “I think he wants to sleep with me, but I don’t go that way, if you get my drift?”

Emily gave a beautiful yet wicked smile, which Vicky returned.

“Oh, indeed,” Vicky replied.

Emily brought the drinks and together they sat. Now and then Emily had to return to the business-side of the bar to fetch a drink for a customer or a cloth for something spilt, but in the emptying, slow hour before closing, the pair chatted easily. They both laughed about the hotel’s overpriced room service and Emily shared some interesting stories about the quirky guests who’d passed through that week.

“Every week now, for months,” Emily explained with a flash of the thrill of sharing gossip, “this one guy comes here with his wife, with a little kit bag as if he’s going to the spa, and then he kisses her on the cheek, hands her a couple of hundred dollars, and off she goes. But, he doesn’t go to the spa, he goes up to the fifth floor, to the same room that he requests every single time - and pays for via his business account might I add - and then ten minutes later, like clockwork every time, this black guy shows up, takes the elevator up there, and disappears into the room with him.”

Vicky chuckled, taking a sip of the iced whiskey. “So what, he’s getting dicked down by this black guy when his wife is out shopping?”

Emily burst out laughing. “You got it, hun. An hour later, the same process, but in reverse. Out comes the black guy, then ten minutes later, the husband with the kit bag, freshly showered and with his hair wet. The wife comes back into the lobby with a bunch of shopping bags, they kiss and off they go as if nothing has happened. Isn’t it wild what people get up to?”