The Olive Grove - "You Know You Need Me"
11 Feb 2018Jemine Caesar
Any initial fears Jemine may have felt about The Olive Grove were dispelled within its first two weeks of business. The pleasure house had quickly become popular with transient pilots and starport residents alike; the bar was rarely less than half full, and the girls were seldom without clients. Things were looking good.The pleasure house proprietress tapped her desktop to bring up security cam feeds from around the club. As the scene from the bar appeared before her, Jemine’s eyes narrowed.
“You again...”
With another tap, the scene shifted to depict a different view of the bar, this time from behind and slightly above the counter. In the foreground, with her back to the camera, stood Ronique, her long curly hair now dyed a vibrant magenta. On the other side of the counter stood a group of eager men, both young and old, vying for the barmaid’s attention. Ronique, The Olive Grove’s best barmaid, was busy.
With a sigh, Jemine wondered if she ought to start putting two girls on the bar instead of just one.
“I may as well have just opened a regular bar,” she said to herself, then instantly dismissed the idea. The Olive Grove meant more to her than that. It was her way of acknowledging her past life, and of helping those for whom it was their present one.
Her gaze turned towards the background of the image. There, seated alone in a booth, was the woman with jet black hair, staring impassionately at the backs of the men huddled at the bar counter. The woman, who’d announced herself at reception by the initial ‘C’, had come to The Olive Grove at least once a day since it had opened. For ten days in succession she had taken a seat in the bar, ordered nothing, observed for an hour or so and then left without a word.
Now Jemine’s curiosity finally got the better of her. Slipping her feet into her shoes, she rose and walked along the central corridor to the bar.
“Hello,” she said to the black-haired woman. “Mind if I join you?”
The woman merely fluttered a hand towards one of the vacant chairs around the table, and continued to study the bar. Jemine thought she heard a critical ‘tut’.
“I’ve noticed you in here quite a lot since we opened,” she said, earning a quick glance from the woman. “I’m Miss Jemine, the owner of the club. I’d like a quick word, if that’s all right.”
That got the woman’s full attention.
“Well now, darlin’,” she said, “you must be a reg’lar mindreader. I was just sittin’ here thinkin’ the exact same thing.”
The woman produced a dataslate from her holdall, gave it a tap and then handed it to Jemine.
“There you go.”
Jemine glanced at the ‘slate’s display. “What’s this?”
“That there’s my resume, darlin’. What this place needs is a head barmaid, an’ I’m applyin’ for the job.”
“I already have a Bar Manager,” replied Jemine, with a shake of her head. “Well, on a casual basis, that is. He’s a pilot, often away on trade runs and tourist trips. But his family is in the bar trade, and he helps me out whenever— “
“I bet he looks real purty in a short dress ‘n' high heels,too,” the woman said, with a dismissive wave. “Listen, sugar, your regular clientele don’t wanna see some big burly dude behind that bar. They wanna see a cute chick, the sexier an’ sassier the better. And from what I’ve seen, by an’ large, that’s what y’all got here. But your girls could do with a little more style, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“And I suppose that’s where you come in?”
“You got it, darlin’. Why don’t you just take a lil’ peek at my resume?”
Jemine began to read the document.
“So, your first name is… Cee?”
The black-haired young woman chuckled and nodded. “Like what you do when you open your eyes. It’s actually Cecelia, but no one ever calls me that ‘cept my mother.”
A smirk lifted the side of Jemine’s mouth. Cee had a relaxed demeanor, a casual attitude that promised that she’d either be a model employee or a right pain in the arse. Her resume was mainly comprised of a long list of bars, followed by a shorter list of references. None of Cee’s previous employers were in Inara.
“And you’re not in trouble, I take it? You are aware of what the Olive Grove is, correct?”
Cee reclined against the booth’s faux-leather seat. “Sure I am. Pay to play. Credits per whore.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” said Jemine, setting aside the dataslate. “I see that your job history is bars, bars, and more bars. Ever done anything in the pleasure house business?”
A nonchalant look crossed Cee’s face. “No, and I never will. I don’t need to tend bar at The Olive Grove. But the Olive Grove needs a good bartender.”
Amusement lifted Jemine’s eyebrows. “We already have bartenders. The girls are cross-trained to—”
Cee waved away the explanation. “Cross-trained to do what? Pour a drink? Whoopty-hoo.”
Jemine’s mouth tightened. She was tempted to simply terminate the interview, but her curiosity compelled her to continue.
“That is what a bartender does, is it not?”
A grimace contorted Cee’s youthful features. For just a second, she looked decades older than she was.
“Your girls... all they do is lay on their backs and wait ‘till the blokes are finished, right?”
Jemine exhaled. “Of course not. My girls treat their profession like an art, a skilled craft to be mastered. There’s more to it than-”
Cee cut her off. “Exactly. There’s more to it than. Same with bartending.”
Again, Jemine had to suppress an urge to thank the woman for her time. “Go on.”
An impish smile lifted the applicant’s lips. “How many drink recipes do you and your girls know off the top of your heads? What are the dozen or so local names for common concoctions? How do you walk the line between barmaid and councillor? How do you make a drink taste alcoholic so that some drunko who ought to be cut off is still happy? Well?”
To her credit, Jemine knew better than to extemporize an answer. Instead, she simply held up her hands. But Cee wasn’t finished.
“When’s the right time to give a regular one on the house, and when do you charge ‘em double? How do you catch employees trying to sneak credits or booze from under your nose? Oh, but yes! Believe me, darlin’, sooner or later, someone you trust will try to rip you off. How do you handle shift drama? How do you know when to go easy on a girl who’s having a rough day, and when to tell her to start pulling her weight?”
Jemine’s head was swimming. She realised with a start that she didn’t fully know the answer to any of the questions that Cee was asking. She also felt uncomfortable— and rather irritated— about being so brazenly challenged on her own ability to manage her employees. After all, she’d had no problems in that respect... so far.
“And I imagine that you know all these things?”
Cee shrugged. “Some, yeah. The rest would have to wait ‘til I know the girls. You’re new to this, aren’t you?”
Jemine decided to be honest. “New to management, yes. Not new to The Life.”
Cee leaned forward. “I can tell. You think that because you’ve spread for creds in the past you can run a whole operation. I’ve read your mission statement.”
A wry look crossed Jemine’s face. “And?”
The applicant exhaled. “And I think that if you’re not careful you’ll be broke in a year. You’re setting yourself up to be taken advantage of by the very people you’re fixin’ to help out. Listen, do-gooding is all fine an’ dandy, but...”
“But?”
“But without someone around to kick a little ass, you’ll get eaten alive.”
Jemine was now openly sceptical. “And I take it you are precisely the ass-kicker I need?”
Cee shot a shrewd glance at Jemine. “I'll manage the bar and I'll manage the girls. That’s it. I’m not available for spreading. That’s their job. I’ll keep ‘em honest, and I’ll keep ‘em clean. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to fool a narco test.”
“And?”
Renewed amusement lifted the woman’s eyebrows. “And in return you get a barmaid who knows every drink in the book, every trick of the trade, and every song in the jukebox. And one more thing; I don’t work on my son’s birthday. Ever.”
A smile played on Jemine’s lips. “Already planning to be at the Grove for years?”
Cee smiled in return. “Already planning to be at my son’s birthday for years.”
Jemine took a deep breath, picked up the dataslate and pretended to look over the resume once more. In truth, she didn’t know what she was going to do about the brashly confident twenty-something. A sudden noise from the bar counter drew her attention. The evening rush was already starting to pick up... and now that she was observing more carefully, Ronique really did seem to be coping a little too slowly.
Mustering an air of authority, Jemine extended her hand to Cee. “Thank you for your time. I’ll contact you as soon as I’ve made a decision.”
Cee shook with a mocking air of professionalism, and then cocked her head at the sound of a song being played over the speakers.
“Hey,” she said, “that’s Kimberly Addison’s new song, ‘You Know You Need Me’. I love this song! Say, did y’all get a microphone with this sound system?”
Jemine blinked. “Yes, four. They’re kept behind the bar, next to the console. But we’ve never used them.”
“Not ‘til now y’ain’t,” replied Cee. “You ought to start an open mic night. They’re real popular... and it’d get your clients breathin’ in a little more of that sex pheromone y’all pump into the air. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a song or two to let out.”
With that, the young woman rose and made a beeline for the bar. Quickly locating the sound system console, Cee faded out the Kimberly Addison track and replaced it with an instrumental version of the same song. Jemine watched with a twinge of envy as Cee proceeded to belt out ‘You Know You Need Me’ at least as well as the original artiste. She danced around the bar room, drawing eyes and hollers alike from the delighted patrons. At one point she snatched a man’s drink, favoring him with a smile on her face and a wiggle of her backside. In one pull she gulped it down just before the song’s next verse. The audience clapped and cheered - including the man himself.
At that moment Sam walked into the room. He'd completed his trade run and was now making good on his promise to join his girlfriend for drinks and dancing. He sat next to Jemine and planted a kiss on her cheek, his face screwing up in confusion when he traced her gaze to the wiry young woman singing her heart out in the middle of the room.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
With a shrug and a private smile, Jemine crossed her arms and slowly shook her head.
“That,” she replied, “is The Olive Grove’s new head barmaid.”
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Author's Note:
A very special thank you to the amazing Matt Lehman for the original concept and draft version of this collaboration.