The Glass Ceiling

He came to me with some paperwork, mad that business hadn't improved much.  In fact, it was the same as this time the year before. When I'd applied for the position of head manager we'd agreed that I was on probation until I proved myself worthy.  It appeared my worth may be in question.

We were currently under renovations and had been for some months, working with five rooms only.  A year ago there were eleven rooms available. “Didn't that mean we'd more than doubled in profit?”  Nothing from him but a silent retreat. Maybe if I was a bloke I might have gotten a pat on the back,  or a hardy, happy handshake. 

His incompetence as an owner of any business, let alone a brothel, continued.  He did very little while I was there. The pay was good though, unfortunately, it was in a really bad part of town.  I spent more time as a bouncer than a manager. Don't be mistaken that my bouncer skills were specifically directed to clients.

Annie had just returned from a stint interstate and asked if she could go out to dinner during shift.  She promised to be back in an hour and as she was always respectful and could be trusted to return it wasn't an issue.  She ended up returning three hours later a little tipsy, or so I thought. “No real harm done”, and I think to myself that she'd sober up quickly. Being a Friday night, I needed the staff. 

The night progresses.  It's not long before I hear a commotion coming from the girl's lounge.  I investigate to see Annie at the coffee machine. All the other sex workers are on the other side of the room screaming foul how Annie went for Savannah, a younger version of Annie, without provocation.  I turn towards Annie, who protests her innocence. She's standing, without a cup, at the coffee machine making herself a coffee by pressing for coffee and sugar and calmly watching it hit the floor. Strange, and about to get stranger.  I still need a couple of minutes behind my desk at reception. I plead with the ladies to give me a quick minute and promise to return. Big mistake. 

I had just stepped behind my desk when commotion can be heard again.  I return to see Roxy, a tall, slim redhead, standing over Annie and threatening her. 

“Go for me, bitch. Do it!”, Roxy dares. 

I stand between the two, my back to Annie, facing Roxy. 

“She keeps going for Savannah”, Roxy explains. 

“Ok.  Give me a chance to talk to her.  Let me take her away. See what this is all about”, I respond.

I see a flash of red past my left and feel an instant breeze very close to my face.  It takes a moment to realise that Roxy has ‘kickboxed’ over my left shoulder and made contact with Annie behind me.  I'm shocked how quickly the deed was done. She was wearing red silk pants and that red breeze was my only clue otherwise I'd not have figured it out.  I turn to see a stunned Annie, to my surprise, still standing and rocking a little. 

I grab her while she's getting her bearings and tell the girls we’ll be in the staff room and not to disturb us unless it was for clients or the phone.  Roxy had boasted about her martial arts previously. She had boasted about so much I'd taken it all with a grain of salt. Looks like I was wrong. 

I had Annie all to myself.  “What's up?” I ask. “You're one of the good ones. Low maintenance. This isn't like you”.  I don't have long to wait for an answer. She starts to trash the room before me, throwing lockers her height and twice her weight like they're lightweights to her and scattering condoms, makeup, garments and magazines all over the staff room.  She is on a rampage while the whole time begging me to believe her of her innocence. She's pleading with me while seemingly having no idea she's wrecking the room. Her face turned towards me the whole time as the rest of her body smashed and trampled.  She was both scary and pitiful at the same time. I managed to secure her in the room and call the police. Thankfully they arrive quickly. It takes all of their over six-foot frames to get her off the premises. She was screaming for her bag the whole time, which she was carrying.  I told them not to arrest her and just to make sure she got home safe. 

Peace was short-lived.  The police must have released her once they'd gotten her off the premises.  Not what I'd asked of them. A couple of sex workers run towards my desk to inform me, “you better check out the car park camera. Annie's back!”

She sure was.  There she was ramming my car with hers, over and over.  I had a VW beetle and even made of metal it was sustaining considerable damage.  I called the police again, only this time I tell them to arrest her. Damn her. 

She spent the night in the hospital.  Seems you can do a lot of damage to your steering wheel with your own face when not wearing a seatbelt.  When she awoke she had no memory of the events except for coming into work after dinner. Whatever drug that was, the rest was a blank.  When she woke up with her face all banged up she came to the conclusion that we had bashed her. She trudges in with the police the very next day sprouting this fallacy.  The look on her face when video shows otherwise has her apologising profusely. Promising to pay for all damages she is mortified. So mortified she disappears the next day.  Phone off, never heard from again. I wish her no ill will. Before that night she'd never posed any problems.  

My boss paid for my car repairs.  He had no choice. I drove his car until I had mine back.  I drove off with his while he was still arguing the point.  I said at the beginning he was useless. That's what you get when you're too cheap to hire security.