Betty smiled. "Just private enough to keep the Liquor Control Board from shutting us down. Nobody goes in unless that hunk at the door knows him."

"Then this private bottle club…"

"You guessed it, honey. It's just a legal way Tony has to keep this joint open after two thirty." Betty finished repairing her make-up in the restroom. "Look, honey. My feet are killing me. Follow me home and I'll fix you a drink and tell you all about it."

It was five-fifteen when Donna parked her car beside Betty's in the lot next to a small apartment building.

Once inside, Betty waved her to the couch, switched on the gas-log fireplace and disappeared into the kitchen, clinking glasses and utensils.

Betty came back with two large Margaritas in frosted glasses, set them on coasters on the cocktail table and collapsed on the couch, sitting close against Donna. She kicked off her shoes.

"What a night," she said. "There can't be two square inches of me that wasn't pinched, caressed, fondled or mauled."

"Then there's more to this job than just serving drinks?"

"Lots more," Betty said. "By the time they've been drinking all night and half the morning, some of these guys don't have much self-control left."

"So what happens?"

"So they grab whatever comes by. If that happens to be little and cute…" She stopped and smiled as she looked down at Donna's figure. "Well, they'll pinch your ass and grab your tits. Some of them will grab other things, but it goes with the job."

Sounds like my kind of bar, thought Donna. I should feel right at home.

"There's one thing," Betty continued. "Some of those guys will think you're overdressed."

Donna looked down at her uniform, then at Betty's clothing. If anything, her own uniform was skimpier than Betty's. They both wore tight-fitting dresses that, now that they were seated, were hiked up over the tops of their stockings and garters, revealing the bare skin of their upper thighs. Both dresses were cut low, sweeping down on their tits, almost to their nipples.