I gazed at my reflection in the cracked mirror before me. Compared to the girl I’d stared back at last night, you wouldn’t have guessed that it was the same person.
I looked younger, a lot younger, with shimmery silver eye makeup and lips painted a pale pink to match primrose cheeks. Gone was the seductress corset and in its place hung a moss green tunic, belted at the waist, was just long enough to give a glimpse of thigh and allowed for a decent amount of cleavage but not so much that it pulled you away from my face. To finish it off, I wore tan sandals with a fairly thick five inch heel that buckled at the ankle.
This was Sophia. Gone was Roxy for the day, away in a drawer that only I could unlock. It was very rare that I went out at night just as myself and not in character. It felt strange that I wasn’t dressed like this to see my parents or my friends and was actually going out just as myself. I liked it.
Maybe my shortage in clients would be good for me. Though, I’d still need clients to insure my financial well being, but a few less bookings might give me the time to actually be me.
I glanced up at the clock on the dressing table and took a deep breath in. Hopefully the time that I’d heard the club opened was right – 10:00PM – and that, by arriving an hour later, I’d be able to slip into the crowd easily; there was nothing worse than being the first to arrive at a club, especially if you were on your own.
I checked I had everything I could possibly need in my bag before I left: phone, money, ID, front door key, condoms. Check. I stole a quick glance at the mirror one last time before smiling to myself and leaving for my night on the town.
For an opening night, the club had done well. Not quite to capacity, but packed no less. The music was loud, current and mixed well. I just hoped the drinks would be as well done. Slipping through the crowds of mostly University students, I edged my way to the bar. There were two members of bar staff on tonight and I felt sorry for them. One was a guy, whose backed had been turned when I first approached, and the other was a rather pretty young girl, not far from my own age I guessed. The girl served me.
“What can I get you?” she bellowed over the music, an anxious smile spread across her face. The club had only been open an hour and she looked exhausted already. I smiled back, not envying her one little bit.
“Martini.” I answered. She nodded and moved across the bar for the necessary ingredients. When she returned, she attempted to mix the cocktail in a fashion that was supposed to impress me. I smiled, none the less, so that she wouldn’t see how embarrassed I was for her. It was obviously her first time making cocktails in this kind of environment, but everyone has to start somewhere.
“One Martini,” she announced, sheepishly handing the glass over to me. I noticed the name tag she wore on her simple black t-shirt: Mo. I thought it an odd name for a girl of her age but smiled back, handing over the money I owed and a nice tip for her efforts. Her thanks were girlishly greatful as she quickly headed to her next customer.
As I sipped at my drink, I tried not to notice the fact that she’d added a wrong ingredient and, instead, leant against the edge of the bar admiring my night ahead. From the look of some of the people here, young men in particular, I was sure that it would turn out to be a good enough night.