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LED-lit bucket with a stack of LED shot glasses. The other girls arrived to get their sparklers.
    â€œMotherfucker at table ten grabbed my boob,” said Brenda, a new girl. She’d only been at CRUSH for a few weeks, and was still shocked by manhandling. “I called my boyfriend. He’s going to pound that asshole in the parking lot later.”
    Sophia said, “Good. Can he pound the guys at table one, too?”
    Renee asked, “Ready?”
    The girls touched their sparkler tips together. Renee flipped open her Zippo and lit them, as well as the ones on the neck of the bottle. Sophia raised the LED bucket over her head. The other servers fell in line behind her, sparklers blazing overhead. Clubgoers around them started cheering and cleared a path as the girls made their way to table one. Sophia plastered a smile across her face as she hummed the “Oompa Loompa Song” from Willy Wonka in her head, as always. She placed the bucket in the center of the table. She and the other girls jumped up and down, clapping like they’d just won a car on The Price Is Right . The bimbos at table one hopped onto the bench seats, jumping up and down and flashing their thongs.
    The very second the sparklers fizzled out, the bottle-service girls stopped cavorting and returned to their own sections where they’d take orders and fetch drinks until the air horn sounded again. This ritual was repeated a dozen times a night. It lost its charm for Sophia by her fifth sparkling conga line from hell. By the five hundredth time, she despised it. Whenever she heard an air horn, her belly flopped. It was a conditioned response. She might never go to a hockey game again. What could you do but laugh … or audition for one of those shows about weird phobias. Hello, I’m Sophia, and I hate air horns.
    Sophia’s job at table one wasn’t quite done, though. She removed the sparklers from the bottleneck, and opened the cap. She made a big show of pouring the vodka into shot glasses from high up without spilling a drop. She was on the last one when the stachehole cupped her butt, making her overshoot a glass and pour a good amount of vodka on the table. The bimbos jumped like she’d throw sulfuric acid on them.
    â€œI’m not going to pay for that!”
    â€œHow’s everyone doing?” asked a voice behind her. It was Vinnie, riding in to the rescue. His timing was eerily impeccable.
    â€œYour waitress washed the floor with our vodka,” he said.
    â€œIf you didn’t grab my ass, I wouldn’t have spilled it.”
    Vinnie put his arm around her and gently squeezed her shoulder to quiet her down. “Apologies. I’ll deduct half the bottle from your check,” he said.
    â€œYou should put a muzzle on that girl.”
    Sophia removed Vinnie’s hand and stormed away from the table, knowing she’d dump the bottle over the scumbag’s head if she didn’t.
    â€œA word,” said Vinnie, coming after her, clearly pissed off.
    â€œIt was his fault, and I’m the one who’s going to pay for it.” By cutting the bottle charge, he’d also cut her tip.
    â€œJust follow me,” he said. Vinnie led her all the way around the dance floor to the club entrance. “Outside.” He pointed through the front doors.
    She followed him to the street, and shivered. Even in June it was cold at two o’clock in the morning, and she was practically naked. The sheen on her skin from running around instantly froze. She folded her arms over her chest, covering herself for warmth and from the eyes of gawkers on line to get in. Bruno the bouncer gestured to a group of girls off to the side. At five paces, Sophia could smell the gin.
    â€œDo you know these ladies?” asked Vinnie.
    Leandra? “What are you doing here?” asked Sophia. “I thought you had a graduation party.”
    â€œSophia! There you are! Where have you been ? I texted