Page 31 of To Her

Geri

T he day Friday rolled around, I had gotten the call I was waiting for. I had gotten the job, and it started on Monday. Now I just had to tell my boss I was leaving. Not something I looked forward to, but finally being able to be alone was hopeful.

"Hello, is this Geraldine?" The crisp, efficient voice of the HR manager from my interview.

"Yes, this is she," I'd replied, sitting up straighter as if she could see me.

"I'm pleased to inform you that we'd like to offer you the position. We were impressed with your experience and think you'd be a great fit for our team."

A strange mix of emotions had washed over me—relief, satisfaction, and something that might have been dread if I'd allowed myself to examine it too closely.

But I didn't. Instead, I'd accepted the offer with practiced enthusiasm, agreed to the starting date of Monday two weeks from now, and hung up with a promise to come in early to complete paperwork.

I had to hand in my resignation to my boss, who was mad I was leaving. He didn't want to find someone to replace me, but he said he thought it was coming. He had thought it was due to my commute and didn't fight me on that. I mean, he could think what he wanted.

I'd walked into his office during the mid-afternoon lull, my resignation letter clutched in sweaty fingers. He'd looked up from his computer, his expression shifting from distraction to wariness as he registered my unusual seriousness.

"Got a minute?" I'd asked, hovering in the doorway.

"Sure, Geri. What's up?" He'd gestured to the chair across from his desk, and I'd sat, placing the folded letter in front of him.

"I'm resigning," I'd said, the words coming out more abruptly than I'd intended. "I've accepted a position closer to home."

He'd stared at the letter for a long moment before picking it up, unfolding it with deliberate slowness. His eyes had scanned the contents, his expression hardening.

"Two weeks' notice?" he'd asked, looking up at me.

"Yes. My last day would be Friday next."

He'd sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I can't say I'm surprised, but I am disappointed. You're one of our best servers."

"Thank you," I'd replied, unsure what else to say.

"Is it just the commute, or is there something else? Something we could address to keep you?"

The question had caught me off-guard. I'd prepared for anger, for accusations, for guilt trips—not for this reasonable inquiry that suggested he actually valued me.

"Just the commute," I'd lied, avoiding his eyes. "And the hours. I found something with a more regular schedule."

He'd nodded, though I could tell he didn't entirely believe me. "Well, if you change your mind in the next two weeks, the door's open. Finding someone with your experience won't be easy."

I'd mumbled something about being sorry for the inconvenience and escaped his office as quickly as possible, the weight of his disappointment following me like a shadow.

The rest of my shift had passed in a blur of awkward interactions with James, who'd clearly been told about my resignation and was oscillating between hurt silence and pointed questions about my new job.

I'd deflected as best I could, keeping my answers vague and my tone light, but I could feel his eyes on me throughout the day, searching for the real reason behind my departure.

By the time I'd clocked out, I was exhausted from the emotional gymnastics of pretending everything was fine, that this was just a practical career move and not another step in my ongoing effort to isolate myself from anyone who cared about me.

I had gone home and gotten changed for tonight. Alex had chosen a nightclub right in the city, one that was meant to be seedy but was also a crowd favourite. I hadn't been there yet, so I was a little interested. It was there that my life went down the rabbit hole.

The anticipation of the night ahead had hummed through me as I'd stood in front of my closet, deliberating.

This wasn't just any Friday night out—this was a celebration of sorts, a marking of my transition from one life to another.

It called for something special, something that would make me feel powerful and desirable and in control.

My fingers had trailed over the hangers until they'd landed on a dress I rarely wore—a tight, black number that hugged every curve and left little to the imagination.

I'd bought it on a whim months ago but had never quite had the courage to wear it out.

Tonight felt like the perfect occasion to debut it.

I had turned up wearing a skimpy black dress that hardly covered my ass, with 4-inch heels and painted red lips. I had gone for the skanky look tonight. Why, I wasn't sure—the mood maybe—but I did it.

The transformation had been almost magical.

As I'd applied my makeup—heavy on the eyes, bold on the lips—I'd watched a different version of myself emerge in the mirror.

Gone was the tired, conflicted woman who'd handed in her resignation earlier that day.

In her place stood someone confident, someone who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.

Someone who didn't care what anyone thought of her.

The dress had clung to my body like a second skin, the hemline barely skimming the tops of my thighs.

I'd paired it with my highest heels—strappy black sandals that added four inches to my height and made my legs look endless.

My hair I'd left loose, letting it fall in tousled waves around my shoulders.

The final touch had been my lips, painted a deep, provocative red that demanded attention.

Looking at my reflection, I'd barely recognized myself.

But that was the point, wasn't it? Tonight, I didn't want to be me.

I wanted to be someone else entirely—someone without baggage or regrets or a nagging sense of emptiness.

Someone who lived purely in the moment, taking pleasure where she found it without worrying about consequences.

The Uber had dropped me off in front of the club just after 10.

The line had already stretched down the block, but I'd bypassed it, walking straight to the entrance with the confidence of someone who expected to be let in.

The bouncer's eyes had raked over me appreciatively before he'd stepped aside, unhooking the velvet rope without a word.

I walked up the stairs, and there was a sign on the desk that said "looking for staff," so naturally, I asked about it.

They were looking for someone to do nights—Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—door work, from 9 PM to 1 AM.

Simply standing there and taking the $10 entry fee from all the patrons.

I could easily slot that into my life, and it would mean I would have an excuse to always be out.

I gave them my number and arranged another interview.

The woman behind the desk had been striking—tall and lean, with a sleeve of tattoos running down one arm and a septum piercing that glinted in the dim light. She'd looked me up and down with an appraising eye that felt different from the bouncer's—less sexual, more evaluative.

"You ever worked the door before?" she'd asked, her voice husky and confident.

"No, but I've been in customer service for years," I'd replied, gesturing vaguely toward my current job. "I'm good with people."

She'd nodded, seeming to consider this. "It's not rocket science. You take the money, stamp hands, keep the line moving. But you gotta be firm—people try to pull all kinds of shit to get in without paying or to jump the queue."

"I can be firm," I'd assured her, thinking of the times I'd had to deal with difficult customers at the restaurant.

"I bet you can," she'd said with a small smile that suggested she was seeing something in me that I wasn't fully aware of myself. "Give me your number. We can set up a proper interview next week."

I'd recited my number as she'd typed it into her phone, then added, "I'm Geri, by the way."

"Tasha," she'd replied, extending a hand with nails painted black and filed to points. "Welcome to The Underground."

The handshake had lingered a beat longer than necessary, her fingers warm against mine, before she'd released me with another enigmatic smile. "Enjoy your night. Maybe I'll see you around later."

The interaction had left me feeling oddly energized, a buzz of anticipation that had nothing to do with the job prospect and everything to do with the way Tasha had looked at me—like she could see past the facade to the person underneath, and found that person interesting.

I'd pushed the thought aside as I'd made my way into the main area of the club, the bass already thrumming through my body, the air thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and alcohol.

The space was larger than it had appeared from outside, with a sprawling dance floor surrounded by elevated platforms where dancers in minimal clothing moved with practiced sensuality.

The lighting was low and pulsing, casting everything in alternating shadows and flashes of colour.

Then I headed into the club to find Alex and his friends. They had secured one of the booths in the back. It was Alex, Arjun, and Nick. Nick said Louise and Kelly were coming. Grrr, Kelly was the last person I wanted to see. I hadn't spoken to her since she had the audacity to tell Matt about Alex.

I'd spotted them in a corner booth, Alex's arm raised in a wave as he caught sight of me. I'd made my way over, conscious of the eyes that followed me—men and women alike, their gazes drawn to the confident sway of my hips, the flash of thigh with each step, the bold red of my lips.

Alex had stood as I approached, his eyes widening appreciatively as they'd travelled the length of my body. "Damn, Geri," he'd said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. "You look incredible."

"Thanks," I'd replied, sliding into the booth beside him, acutely aware of the way my dress rode up as I sat. "Felt like making an effort tonight."