The last two hours of the night blurred by in a mixture of helping Ophelia hand out drinks and then chasing down those abandoned glasses and beer bottles less than twenty minutes after they left the bar. By the time the DJ gave his ten-minutes-till-close warning, he’d found a rhythm and a route through the building that made him feel like he knew what he was doing and wasn’t making a complete idiot of himself. The overhead lights began to brighten, changing the environment from dark, fun, and sexy, to extremely unflattering. Caleb found himself smirking as a trio of young ladies in crop tops and miniskirts walked past him, two of them holding up their glassy-eyed, red-cheeked friend as she laughed.
Wherever he looked throughout the night, people tended to be smiling or laughing, and if they weren’t, for the most part, no one seemed to be in a terribly bad mood. Well, except for Ophelia, but even her mood didn’t really bother him. He’d realized after helping her with her crowd that he had been tense and anxious for no reason. No one was staring at him or his scar, no one was whispering about him—they were just there for themselves. If he could keep that idea in his head, he could relax and focus.
It had worked remarkably well. He had been tapping his foot along to the music earlier when the DJ, Tariq, came nearly running down from his booth and introduced himself, and without realizing it Caleb had held a conversation with him without once worrying what the other person thought of him. That was pretty easy with Tariq, though. He was like a bouncy ball of boundless energy, his face alight with excitement, and the remnants of some woman’s glittery eyeshadow in his thick black beard after he’d insisted she give him a kiss on the cheek to play her favorite song. There was still a smudge of purplish-pink lipstick on his cheek and around his mouth, seeing as she had given him a bit more than a peck on the cheek.
Caleb gave Tariq a wave as he passed the booth, moving to one of the empty VIP zones to collect the detritus of the patrons who had been sitting there. There was an empty bottle of liquor on its side, surrounded by empty glasses and beer bottles, probably having cost the clubgoers more than the rent he needed to stay in his apartment. He stacked the glasses the same way he had seen Andrew do earlier, hugging the precarious bundle to his chest and bending awkwardly to grab the empty bottle. He steadied himself, walking slowly to the left-hand bar, glancing down every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t going to trip and break everything. He couldn’t think of a worse end to an otherwise incredible night than smashing a bunch of glasses and bottles.
He pushed the door open with his foot, moving quickly through as it swung open and feeling a swell of pride when he realized he hadn’t made a fool of himself. Ophelia set down the two glasses she was washing and walked over to him, unloading the ones stacked against his chest with soap dripping from her hands.
“Be careful, I don’t want you to break something and get blood on my bar,” she said. She tossed the liquor bottle into the tall trashcan near her.
As if on cue, the sound of glass breaking rang out from the DJ booth, drawing the attention of the few remaining patrons and the bouncers helping clean up. Ophelia rolled her eyes and pushed Caleb to the side. “Tariq, what did you do?” she called out over the fading music, looking like she was going to hop over the bar.
Tariq pulled off his headphones, flashing a sheepish grin. “Nothing!”
“I’ll go help him,” Caleb volunteered. He rushed up to the booth and saw Tariq crouching down, his cell phone’s flashlight illuminating the broken brown glass of a shattered beer bottle, tinges of red liquid staining the beige tile. He spotted two more bottles on the desk where the computer controls sat. “Overdid it?”
“Pfft, three beers? Nah, just wasn’t paying attention,” Tariq said with a chuckle.
Caleb gingerly picked up the larger chunks first, placing them in his open palm. “You know you still have lipstick on your face, right?” he said, glancing up at Tariq.
Tariq wiped his forearm over his cheek, smearing the color farther along his face. “Better?”
Caleb laughed. “Not really.” He grabbed the neck of the bottle and stood up, squinting down at the small pieces that remained. He would need to get a broom and maybe a wet paper towel to get those.
“Clean your face, Tariq. You look like an idiot,” Ophelia yelled from the bar.
Tariq rolled his eyes, still wearing a grin. “She’s just mad that everyone likes me,” he said. “You’ll learn that people like to show their, uh, appreciation to club staff that are nice. Trust me, man, give it a week, you’ll be swimming in chicks’ phone numbers. Or dudes’. Whatever floats your boat.”
Caleb felt his face flush. “I doubt that will be the case,” he said, turning toward the stairs.
“No, seriously, man, this job is great for your sex life.” Tariq clapped Caleb hard on the back, startling him. “Just wait.”
He froze, feeling the warmth before pain settled into the palm of his hand. Caleb looked down at the hand that had been holding the broken glass, watching a pool of blood form around one of the slivers of glass that he had been trying to carefully take back down the stairs. So much for a smooth ending to his first night. He gritted his teeth, breathing in through them to steady his welling discomfort.
“Oh shit, oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Tariq took a step back, his feet crunching in the remnants of the broken bottle still on the ground. He grabbed a water bottle from beside the laptop and unscrewed it, hurriedly pouring the contents of it over Caleb’s bloody hand and shielding his eyes with the other. “I’m so fucking sorry. Shit.”
“It’s okay,” Caleb said quietly, his face feeling clammy as a chill fell over him and cooled the thin sheen of sweat that had accumulated throughout the night. He let the glass fall back onto the floor, shaking his palm to force the large shard sticking out to come loose and drop to the ground with his blood.
“Ophelia!” Tariq yelled, glancing around the wall of the booth. Caleb followed his gaze and saw that she wasn’t there. “Shit. Okay, um, you see that curtain back there? That leads to the Members Only area. There’s a first aid kit down the hall to your left. Go get that.”
Caleb looked back at Tariq and noticed the hand he was using as a blinder was shaking. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, man, I just…” Tariq peeked from behind his hand, his mouth open and his lips trembling. His big brown eyes fixated on Caleb’s hand, somehow growing wider before he jerked his hand back into place. “Fuck. Okay, I don’t do well around blood. Just… go get that cleaned up.”
Caleb nodded grimly, holding his wrist steady as he walked down the steps with his bleeding hand held out at arms-length and cupped to avoid dripping blood anywhere else. His hand was beginning to throb, but he didn’t want to let Tariq know how much pain he was in. It was an accident. He didn’t want to make him feel bad.
But still, this sucked. He backed through the large black curtain, careful not to let his hand touch the cloth, noticing that the bouncer that had stood in the area was gone—probably cleaning up the dance floor still with the other bouncers. At least he would get to see what was back here now.
Andrew had mentioned the Members Only area just once and said that only bartenders and certain bouncers were allowed back there. He had seen Ophelia duck back there more than once, with fully loaded trays of special unlabeled bottles of liquor that she pulled from a locked refrigerator under the counter a couple times that night, but he hadn’t had the chance to ask what they were ordering. He’d probably learn that eventually, and when he’d asked what the point of the Members Only area was, Andrew had just shrugged, mumbling something about rich people wanting to feel exclusive.