Cindy had already gone to work by the time I got home Tuesday evening. She left me a note on the kitchen table. "Dress like a customer," it said, "but don't wear any underwear." That had been my plan, but it was nice to have it confirmed.
I arrived at the club five minutes before eight. Carl was behind the bar. He waved me over to him. As I sat down on a stool, he said, "We've got the first two shows covered, so you've nothing to do until nine. You can hang out or come back at nine, whatever you like. Just stay sober so you can perform."
"Is Cindy in either show?" I asked trying to make conversation.
"Both. She's very popular. I'd like to sit around and chat with you, but I'm short two bartenders tonight, so I have to work the bar."
I slid off the stool. "Give me an apron. I've poured a few drinks in my time."
He stared at me blankly for a few seconds. "You are something else. You want to tend bar while your wife fucks a couple johns practically right under your nose?'
"She'll be doing it no matter what I'm doing. You need help; I'm not doing anything. Why not?"
"Okay, come on back."
I went behind the bar and tied on the apron he handed me. Carl gave me a quick briefing as to how the back bar was organized, then turned me loose. Cindy was approaching the waitress station, so I went over to see what she needed. "Hi, Honey," she said cheerfully. "What are you doing back there?"
"Carl said he was shorthanded," I replied, "so I offered to help out. If I don't get to do a show with you, my time won't be totally wasted."
"I remember the last time you tended bar. You hated it."
"I'll try to stay here and let Carl take care of the counter customers. I'll help him out if necessary, of course. I figure it's a good way to avoid wearing out my welcome."
"I think you'll find we have a better clientele here than that other joint. Gotta run. The show must go on." She handed me her drink tray which I put under the counter.
The john was waiting for her at the stage door. With a heavy heart I watched as she opened the door and followed him through. Desperately I wanted to go into the audience room and watch them, but I knew that door would be locked like the stage door. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Carl stood behind me. We exchanged grim smiles.
There was a clock out of the customer's sight beneath the counter. Every time I fixed a drink, I glanced at it. Was it broken? The hands hardly moved, yet I handed out drinks left and right. Eventually it said twenty-five minutes had elapsed. The wall opened and the audience filed out. Another one entered immediately. As the wall door closed, the first john came out and the second one went in. Cindy didn't come out. Carl came up beside me. "I forgot to tell you the shows start at six on Friday and Saturday," he said quietly.
"Saturday isn't a problem," I said. "I don't know if I can get here that early on Friday."
"That's okay. The weekends usually get booked up in advance. Cindy's a real trouper. I don't know how she does it. Many nights she spent her entire shift in there. Sixteen men in an eight-hour shift, and she doesn't get sore or dried out. I envy you, David."
"Thanks."
Another half-hour dragged by. When the second show ended, Cindy came out of the theater and went to the ladies' room before coming to the bar to pick up her tray. She gave me a quick kiss and went to hustle drinks. After what seemed like a few seconds, she gave me back the tray and returned to the stage door. She smiled and waved her fingers at me as she went inside.
Fifteen minutes later Carl came up to me. "All the rest of the shows are booked," he said. "You can leave if you want, although you're welcome to stick around. You've been a godsend to me tonight. I don't know what I would have done without you. How are your tips?"
I looked at the glass. "Eleven bucks," I said. I could see why Cindy preferred the stage to serving drinks.
"The girls always give the barkeep a portion of their tips at the end of the night. You'll have to stick around to get the money."
"Sure," I said. "I wouldn't be doing anything if I went home. How many more shows does Cindy have?".
"Just one. Sorry you didn't a shot at her."
"I didn't get a shot at her here." He tapped me lightly on the shoulder with his fist and smiled.
My tips totaled forty-seven dollars with the waitresses contributions. Cindy didn't give me anything because the money would wind up in the same bank account. She assured me the amount was unusually small even for a Tuesday, but I would eventually make more. It still didn't compare with the eight hundred she made for having orgasms.
The whole situation seemed unreal. I had stood by while my beautiful bride screwed four strangers for money. True I had done the same thing during our summer vacation, except the number had been in the dozens. It's crazy, but that seemed all right. It had been more like a game. Could she fuck a hundred men in a week? It was a challenge.
Now it bothered me. We weren't doing it for fun anymore. It had changed into a job. Saturday night, we had made love in the theater because we wanted to. I enjoyed watching her with the customer. Knowing that I would be having her after she had blown Carl and screwed Bob had added to my excitement. From then on, though, I would be in that room with her because no one else wanted her. How insulting, how degrading it would for her to sleep with her husband because she had to, not because she loved him. To make matters worse, I would be paid to fuck this gorgeous woman that nobody else wanted. How could anybody not want her?
