Gio v1.3

I fired Giorgio’s ass to make a point. That I was not a guy to be fucked with. That it didn’t matter to me who the fuck anyone was related to, or who they ‘knew’, or how much money they brought in If there was any sign of disrespect, any kind of illicit, illegal, activities happening in the motherfucking club, I would be the guy who would terminate contracts and fire motherfuckers. I fired him to scare everyone else.

Giorgio was a big name in the business. Giorgio Mendoza. One of the best DJ’s to have ever graced a microphone. He’d been a strip club DJ for over twenty years, making a name for himself in Minnesota, Las Vegas, Hawaii, and Los Angeles. He was one of the few DJ’s left that used to use vinyl records, and who quickly mastered the digital technology used decades after. He knew the ins and outs of all types of clubs, from the seedy to the ‘respectable’, from the violent to the passive, from the sperm on the walls to the velvet ropes. He knew how to work the girls, how to handle the waitresses, how to work a rowdy crowd, how to inject energy into a lifeless one, and most importantly to this story, how to fuck with the manager.

I became a manager because I was friends with the General Manager. Rick. Half-German, half-Irish, all red-head, and immune to alcohol. Big fists, but never had to use them because he was so good at talking to people. We’d been friends for ten years. He’s the only reason why I got the job. Otherwise, I’d still be working the door.

Giorgio knew I had no experience and that the only reason why I ended up as a manager was because of Rick. He saw a green, fresh, wet-behind-the-ears, target in me. So he fucked with me. And it was pretty easy for him since it was true, that I was green, fresh, and wet-behind-the-ears. That I didn’t know what I was doing, and that the only reason I got the job was because Rick said it was so.

At first, it was little things. He’d make fun of the way I dressed in front of the girls and waitresses. He’d call me “rookie” in front of the door guys and security. He’d change the rotation of the dancers without informing me. Eventually, it got to the point where he ran the club instead of me.

As a result, I never got the respect that was so important for a manager to have. The dancers didn’t listen to me. The waitresses and the front door guys and the security guys joined Giorgio in making fun of me. The customers went straight to Giorgio whenever they wanted dances. I became invisible, inconsequential, unimportant. I practically disappeared.

After three months, however, I got sick and tired of it. Of everything. The dancers would sell cocaine to the customers in plain sight. They’d snort it in the bathrooms. They’d smoke in the dressing room. They’d slide cash for ‘extras’ in the VIP rooms. Slowly, The Glass Stiletto turned into a disgusting, gross, ugly, place to be. Even for a strip club.

Finally, I had enough.

One night, I walked up to Giorgio at the DJ booth. Again, he let a dancer switch her position with another dancer on the rotation, probably for a ‘tip’ and a hug.

The girls hated doing double sets on stage. The customers dropped hundreds in the back. On stage, they only dropped singles. None of the girls liked going on stage. There was no money in it for them. So the only way we, the club, could make it fair for everyone, was to set up a stage rotation. They all had to hit the stage when it was their turn, no exceptions. That’s how it was supposed to be.

But when there was a DJ skipping dancers, doubling up sets, and playing favorites, it made for a group of unhappy girls who refused to walk the floor.

No girls on the floor meant no money for The Glass Stiletto. No money for The Glass Stiletto meant the manager didn’t do his job. A manager not doing his job meant a manager would lose his job.

So I walked up to him and said, “Gio. Call Scarlett to the stage.”

Giorgio looked at me mockingly. “Fuck that.” He said, laughing at me. “Scarlett is taking a smoke break. I’ll put Luscious on.”

“Luscious was just on.” I said, irritated. “Keep to the rotation, man. Call Scarlett to the stage.”

“No.” Giorgio smiled condescendingly. “Xavier, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you go back to the front door where you’re more comfortable? Okay? Let the big boys run the club.” And he shook his head in derision.

I looked at him. 40 years old. Greasy, black hair. Leathery face. Sharp, yellow teeth. Everything a strip club had always been. Everything ugly and disgusting and grotesque. Everything I hated it about it. All the reasons why I wanted to quit.

But I didn’t.

I fired him.

“Your contract is terminated.” I said bluntly. “Pack your shit and go home.”

He looked at me and gave me a patronizing smile. “Get the fuck out of here, Xavier.”  He didn’t believe me. And turned his attention to the music.

“I’ll tell you one more time.” I said inching closer to him, balling up my fists. “As of this moment, you’re contract is terminated.” I grabbed the microphone.

 

He looked at me, shocked.

“Since you no longer work here, the fact you didn’t pay for entrance means, you’re trespassing. This means, legally, I can kick you out. Which I will.” I said, ripping the microphone off of it’s holder.

“Now, I can either call the cops, or I can do it myself.” I handed him the microphone.

“I’m a lot younger, stronger, and quicker than you, Gio.” I said, smirking. “And I’m plenty angry right now.” I made sure he saw my eyes. I wanted him to see the pent up fury, the honest, brutal, anger that was waiting for any excuse to be unleashed.

He saw it. And he shrank. “Are…you serious?” He stuttered, confused.

“Yeah. Pack your shit. You’re out of here.” I smiled, turning into the evil that I’d ignored for three months. The evil that I had finally accepted into me. The evil that a person had to be in order to survive in such a place.

Giorgio looked at me, and then the stage. Wide-eyed and scared. “Don’t worry.” I said. “I called Eddie thirty minutes ago. He’ll be here soon to take your place. He’ll take your place from now on. All your shifts, are now his.”

He gulped. I moved aside so he could leave the DJ booth. Which he did.

“Peace out, ya bitch ass trick.” I said to him as he walked away.

And he left The Glass.

The girls saw what happened. The waitresses saw what happened. Security saw what happened. The customers saw what happened. At that moment, they all knew that things were going to change.

And they did. I went on a vendetta. Every girl who was caught with drugs or alcohol, every girl caught prostituting, had their contracts ripped to shreds. I picked up the phone book, went to the rolodex, and called every strip club in the area, black-balling each one of them. Every waitress who was late, every door man that miscounted the register, every security guy who let douche bags be douche bags, was fired on the spot, in front of everyone else to see.

Everyone became scared of me.

Six months later, fourteen girls later, twenty-five waitresses later, six front door guys and ten security guys later, I got a phone call at my house.

It was Giorgio. And he was crying.

“Xavier?” He whimpered.

“Yeah. Who’s this?” I said suspiciously.

“It’s Gio.” He said, softly, meekly, broken. “I just wanted to say…sorry…”

“Mmm hmm…” I said, coldly.

“I just called to apologize.” He stammered. “I shouldn’t have treated you like I did.”

He was groveling. He wanted his job back. He had nothing. And I was the only one who could give it back to him.

“Ya know, it’s just that I’ve been doing this for so long.” He began. “I’ve seen managers come and go. I’ve seen girls die, Xavier. I’ve seen the clubs change from the inside out. I just want you to know where I’m coming from. That I do know what I’m talking about.” He said it almost as a warning. A warning for me. That something could happen to me. That’s he’s seen ‘me’ before.

“But none of that excuses how I treated you.” He cried harder. “You were nice to everyone. All the girls. Even me. When I was being a dick, you were still nice to me…”

He wailed in pain. And he couldn’t stop. It was hard to understand what he was saying past all the choking. “I just want my job back, Xavier.” He composed himself a little. “I…have a kid. And I can’t even afford to get her a present. Her birthday is in three days…and I can’t even get her…a present…” He broke down again. All I could hear on the other side of the phone, for the next five minutes, were tears exploding from his soul.

I took a deep breath. I didn’t smile. I didn’t feel anything. I hadn’t felt anything for a while.

My plan worked. I finally broke him. He was mine. He would do whatever I wanted him to do. Anything. Any shift, any song, any girl, anytime, anything. From that moment on, I owned him. And I felt the darkness covering a little more of my body.

“Come in on Monday. Day shift. Let’s see how you do.” I said. Hung up the phone and went to sleep.

He came in. Did everything I told him to do. Fetched me water. Shined my shoes. Paid for my food. Laughed at my jokes. And got his job back.

He came back to The Glass as an example. And because of that, everyone else fell into their proper places. The club ran smoother than ever before. I made the company hundreds of thousands of dollars more than they expected from our franchise. Corporate loved me. I received a raise. Bought a new car. Moved into a nicer place. Fucked a lot.

All because I turned into a big bully.