It was crowded tonight. Of course, it was. Saturday was always our busiest night of the week. Working men would show up around 7 pm and stay until we closed at 2am.

I wonder what their wives would say if they knew their husbands were here getting entertained by women dressed for Mardi Gras despite it being late November. But it seemed to always be Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Every day was a fucking party, and they were paying to have a great time.

I watched as more men flooded the booths, cigars in their hands and women on their laps. The whole club smelled like the inside of the lungs of a smoker. But no one here is paying for quality. We were a New Orleans Gentlemen's Club, barely that, with a western name. The El Royale. Perfect for our location.

That must've been what the owner, Richard West, thought. I don't think I've ever disliked anyone more than him. He'd always treat the dancers with no respect and thought only men had true power. A classic southern man.

His only redeemable quality was making sure none of us got physically hurt. He told us that customers liked them pretty and clear of bruises.

I wanted my shift to be over already. It was 10 pm and that was when we really got busy. After two years, I still couldn't believe people actually wanted to come here. It was a decent sized club with decent looking women, but the appearance of the inside was disgusting.

Ripped leather booths and sticky bars were all I've ever known while working here. And according to some of the workers, nothing has been changed or updated since this place opened seven years ago.

I checked the clock again. There was still ten minutes left in my break but I knew if I didn't flow in the crowd soon, Richard would give me shit for it later. I gave the bartender my half-drunk glass of water and yanked at my red skirt in an attempt to bring it lower. Tiffany, another waitress, handed me my tray with pen and pad, and I dived into the sea of people.

I spotted a pair of young men taking their seats next to the pool tables and went over to take their orders. They looked fresh out of high school but I wasn't surprised. Teens tended to sneak in here every once in a while.

Like I said, no quality. I walked up to the table as their eyes were still trained on the naked women pole dancing just meters away. I was right, they were on the young side.

They both had dark hair and light skin that was tainted with the fluorescent lights. One finally noticed my presence and looked my body up and down.

"Do you come with the table," he grinned. Pimples were plastered over his face and he had a cocky attitude for a little boy.

"No, but I can request one of the bouncers to come to join you two if I don't see your ID's." My voice was indifferent as I spoke down to them. I wasn't in the mood to deal with some kids who looked like puberty had finally decided to pay them a visit.

"No need, baby. We know Derek, the bartender. So, are you gonna get up there or what?" The boy was referring to the stage with poles on them but I didn't feel offended by his mistake.

I'm not working as a stripper, nor did I ever intend to, but being a woman in a strip club, the mistake is made quite often. Even after I reassure them of my actual job, they still request to see a show, going as far as throwing money at me for encouragement.

It's not like I was allowed to act out, though. This place may be low class and the owner is a complete asshole, but all of the female workers are required to quote on quote, "Deal with it," and I couldn't lose this job. So, I did what I always do. I kept my chin up and my smile wide and excused myself. I guess the one good thing about this place is the security. I'm sure they'll be able to get rid of them.

I walked over to one of the bouncers and pointed out the kids. Their attention traveled back to the dancers and didn't notice him stalking over to them.

I didn't have the time to watch them get out as I was called over to wait a table.

The time dragged by slowly and I still had an hour left on my shift. Music blared all around me, vibrating through my skin, though I'd grown used to it over the years.

I brought my tray back to the bar with another order and waited for Tiffany to make the drinks. Just one more hour and I can leave.

As I rested my elbows on the counter, a firm grip squeezed my ass. I pulled away immediately and glared at the man.

"What's the matter, baby? Not in the mood to party?" The man looked older than Donald Trump and I was surprised he'd be here. Maybe it was a last attempt of trying to get it up.

I moved further away from him and grabbed my tray of drinks. I barely got a meter away when the same grip traveled to my arm, keeping me in place.

"Come on, I don't bite."

"I'm working, old man. If you want company, talk to one of the dancers for a private show." I used force to free myself of his hold but he wouldn't let go.

"These girls ain't got nothin' on a body like yours. I got cash."

"I'm not a prostitute you piece of shit!"

"Woah, woah, woah, what's going on here?" Richard asked after noticing our commotion. "Anna, baby, don't scare away the customers."

I handed the tray to Tiana, another waitress. "Table six." As she took it, I crossed my arms and faced the parasites next to me. "He called me a prostitute."

Whenever I used that tone, Richard knew not to egg me on. He groaned and sighed, looking at the old man. "You don't want this one. She's sour in her blood."

I guess he didn't give any fucks tonight. That, and he reeked of weed and alcohol.

"Come on. She's the hottest piece of meat in this whole joint," he begged, "I got five-hundred on me. Give us twenty minutes?"

Richard eyed me and I considered slapping him back to yesterday. I never took their offers, no matter how much I needed the money. My mama was a whore and I'll be damned if I followed in her footsteps.

"The answer is no, assholes. Find somewhere else to get it up if you still can."

The old man rose to his feet and looked ready to slap me. I knew his threat wouldn't get too far because Richard whipped out his GLOCK 17 and pointed it between his eyes.

"We may not be classy but the girls need to be presentable. That goes for the staff too. No, I'm gonna need you to leave before I plant one of these in your skull."

The man looked shocked but I wasn't. I rolled my eyes and looked at the clock then back at the crowd. This was the south for fucks sake. Who didn't own a gun and looking at this old bastard, I'd say he had a few but never had one targeted at him.

He left angrily, leaving crumpled bills on the counter.

"Put that away, would ya? People are startin' to stare."

Richard shoved the gun in the back of his pants as he eyed the crowd. Many of them came here before and knew what went down.

"Get back to work. Your shift ain't over yet."

Strippers and guns.

Typical Saturday night.