I strut on the stage, doing a few dance moves along the way to catch the men's attention. The men are all yelling and cheering that the first dance session of the night is beginning. You'd think they were at a Beyoncé concert with their cheers. Most of the men are already throwing cash on the stage, so I have to be careful as I walk. That's a downside of tips, it's hard to dance and walk when there are just bills laying on the floor. Believe me when I say I've fallen because of money on the stage. I've also been nailed in the head with a quarter, so that sums up my career.  

When I reach the front of the stage I glance over to the middle to see Mr. Cutler leaning back in his seating looking at me. His arm is outstretched, and his finger is on the top of a thin straw that's in his glass. He's absentmindedly twirling the straw as he watches me. I ignore the nervousness and embarrassment that's ready to show on my cheeks, and instead, I send him a wink with a large s

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