Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(17)
“There’s a kitchen at the end there for everyone’s use. It has a big fridge, a microwave, and a coffee maker. We don’t keep our meals in the club’s restaurant kitchen, so don’t use those fridges. Serafina—that’s the chef— gets testy about it. If you want coffee, use the one back here. If there’s no coffee made, feel free to brew it. It’s self-explanatory. Also, don’t make popcorn or reheat fish in the microwave, it makes everything stink.” He said all this without turning around and we pivoted around another corner. “Where did you park? You need to park in the back, in the employee lot. It’s gated for safety. The front lot is for customers only. I have a key for you that opens the back door, and the code for the gate. It’s electrified, so don’t touch it.”
“The gate is electrified?”
“It is.” He glanced at me, giving me a quick inspection, then abruptly stopped and opened a door to our left. “Still, have one of the bouncers walk you out when you leave.”
Goodness. Did they really need an electric fence? And how much did that cost to maintain? It seemed excessive, but maybe I didn’t know enough to understand the necessity.
After my odd and unpleasant encounter with Hank yesterday, I’d stayed up way past my bedtime, educating myself on the basics of working as an exotic dancer and the typical business organization of strip clubs. In retrospect, it was something I should’ve done before asking Hank for a job.
But I hadn’t looked up worst-case scenarios or horror stories of the business. Tonight I would.
Even though I wouldn’t be dancing, the information I’d gathered yesterday provided me with some ideas on how to maximize the time I had at the club as well as how the payroll system might be organized. Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays would be the busiest days; more dancers were on the schedule, which meant I’d need to work on the weekends in order to meet as many of the dancers as possible.
I’d made a list of questions for Hank. Whether or not the dancers took a cut of their section’s food and drink bill, what percentage, how much the house took from each lap dance, and so forth would dictate how much the dancers were paid every other week. This total would need to be calculated for each person and I’d need those details to run payroll.
“Here’s your office.” He stepped through the doorway and stood to one side so I could enter. “I put your position description on the desk, right there along with a statement of benefits, your salary information, and such. Assuming that all looks right, you can start right now. The laptop is new, has Office installed, and is already connected to the Wi-Fi.”
Dismissing the position description and the salary information as irrelevant, I took in the space, surprised by how . . . normal it seemed. The furniture looked similar to my office back in Vegas for the Buckley company: graphite-colored desk, a rolling desk chair with lumbar support, white metal filing cabinets along one wall. The desk was free of knickknacks but someone had laid out an assortment of office supplies.
No art or photographs donned the walls, which were painted the same color as the hallway, but a half whiteboard, half corkboard combo had been affixed to the expanse above the desk. Last but definitely not least, a window looked over a view of the hills and valley, unobstructed by a parking lot, pavement, fence, or anything else. It felt like being perched on the top of a mountain.
“Goodness,” I whispered under my breath, blinking out the window. “That’s quite a view.”
“I have the same view. The windows don’t open for security reasons,” he said in a way that sounded sharp, drawing my eyes to him. “My office is right next to yours, but it’s bigger.”
I fought a snort and an eye roll. Of course it is and of course he’d point out the difference. Reining in my salty impulses, I asked, “What about passwords?”
“I left the computer password on a sticky note—up there.” Hank pointed to the corkboard. Before I could scrutinize the rest of the papers and information pinned to the board, he pulled out the office chair and motioned that I should sit. “Nothing else is password-protected and we use Google for email and for our calendar. Set up a new email account, one that you’ll use exclusively for work, and let me know what it is. I’ll add you to the calendar, which is how we assign and track the schedule.” He leaned over me and tapped the papers on the desk next to the laptop. “And don’t forget to look at the position description and employment benefits. If the salary isn’t right, no need for you to settle in.”
Since his eyes remained on me as he leaned back and he seemed so anxious about the subject, I picked up the position description and skimmed it. “This looks fine,” I muttered, though I was a bit perplexed.
Everything seemed fairly standard for the most part. He’d added a few office-manager-type tasks—hiring and firing paperwork, ordering supplies, etc.—but nothing jumped out as odd or beyond the scope of what I knew to be typical for a small business office. That said, the workload seemed extremely light. I couldn’t imagine the duties described taking more than twenty or twenty-five hours a week, given the size of his business—unless I was missing something.
You’re probably missing something.
Keeping these questions and suspicions to myself, I reached for the benefits information, and my eyebrows soared as soon as I spotted the salary figure, grateful Hank didn’t have a full view of my face. Good Lord. This job paid triple what my teacher’s aide position paid and had a full month of paid time off. The health benefits weren’t too shabby either.